by C. J. Archer
"But that's not the interesting thing about the witness," Seth prompted him.
"No," Lincoln agreed. "The interesting thing is that he was naked, and his clothing was nowhere to be found."
Oh God, not again.
Gus groaned and rubbed his jaw where the bruises obtained from the fight with the shape changers had only recently faded. "I hate them shifters. Lady Gilly excepted, of course."
"Does the article give a name for the witness?" I asked. The previous leader of the shifter pack was dead, and the new leader, Mr. Gawler, vowed to keep his creatures in check. Perhaps one of them had rejected his authority and left the pack.
Lincoln shook his head. "He was probably deemed unimportant by the reporter. The reporter did note something about the naked man, however. Something which doesn't quite make sense with what we know about Gawler's pack."
"What is it?"
"The witness is described as a gentleman."
Gawler's pack was made up of slum dwellers, except for Harriet, Lady Gillingham. "So there's a new shifter in London." My words dropped like stones in the silence. "And he's a murderer."
Chapter 2
I didn't see Lincoln, Seth and Gus for the rest of the day. They'd gone to speak with the newspaper reporter and Mr. Gawler, as well as the members of his pack. The tasks shouldn't cause them any problems, but I worried nevertheless. The pack members had no reason to like us after the fight that saw their previous leader captured and a friend killed.
Keeping busy calmed my nerves somewhat. Alice taught me a short piece on the piano, and Lady Vickers wanted to discuss seating arrangements for dinner again. Apparently Lady Harcourt shouldn't sit next to Seth, but she wouldn't tell me why. I suggested moving Seth to be next to Alice, but that wasn't acceptable, either.
"The problem is, there will be no eligible ladies, since Miss Overton came down with a sore throat," she said with a sigh. "You ought to have let me help you draw up the guest list, Charlie. I would have found someone to replace the Overton girl."
"Both Lady Harcourt and Alice are eligible," I pointed out.
"Neither of whom is suitable for my son."
"You'll get no argument from me on Lady Harcourt's account, but I do wish you wouldn't dismiss Alice."
She picked up a knife and made a great show of inspecting it for cleanliness. "Has she made a play for him?" she asked idly.
"Alice is not like that. She's very respectable." Unlike Seth, I might have added. The more I learned about his past, the more I realized he'd done a number of morally questionable activities to earn money to pay off his father's debts.
"That may be so, but she has nothing to offer him. They cannot be matched. You know that, Charlie. We've been through this."
I sighed. Like Lincoln, Lady Vickers had a stubborn streak as wide as the English Channel. "Leave Seth where he is," I said. "He's wise enough not to fall for Lady Harcourt's charms."
"I hope so. No doubt that woman's charms will be displayed to best advantage tonight."
I stifled a giggle as two maids entered, carrying vases of pink camellias. Mrs. Cotchin had ordered them from the Syon Park glasshouse, and they added a touch of color to the table centerpiece. Lady Vickers nodded in approval as the maids set the vases down between the two candelabras while a third brought in a tray of napkins folded into the shapes of rose buds.
"Very clever," I told her, inspecting the elaborate design.
Doyle entered and handed me a missive. "This just arrived for you, Miss Holloway."
I read the brief note from Lady Harcourt and passed it to Lady Vickers for her opinion. She read it then folded the thick paper in half and half again, running her thumbnail along the fold in a firm, precise motion.
She waited until the maids left before muttering, "That woman has a nerve. I always knew her to be vulgar, but this proves it." She handed the note back to Doyle.
The butler waited for instructions.
"We have to agree to it," I told the seething woman beside me.
She studied the set table, with its equal number of male and female guests; the perfect arrangement, as she called it. "Indeed. I recognize the name. I believe he's one of the Prince of Wales's friends. She left us no choice, Charlie. We must accommodate him."
"Doyle, please add another setting," I said to the butler. "The gentleman's name is Lord Underwood. Place him beside Lady Harcourt and move Seth to—"
"He can sit beside me on the end where the lack of a female between him and the head of the table isn't so obvious."
That put Seth between his mother and his employer. He would not thank me.
"This is what happens when foolish old men marry dancers," Lady Vickers said over her shoulder as she stepped out of the dining room in a rustle of stiff black skirts.
"They die and leave their widows free to invite an extra man to an already perfectly balanced dinner table?"
"There's no need for sarcasm, Charlie. You are correct, in essence. Their widows find themselves free to do as they please, and what they please to do is not what a woman of their station ought."
And that, coming from the woman who ran off with her second footman, was enough to have me biting back my smirk.
"You forgot to tell Doyle to alert the kitchen to the extra place," she told me as she swept into the drawing room. "You don't want them bringing up sixteen plates instead of seventeen."
"I haven't forgotten," I lied. "I just thought I'd tell Cook myself."
"Charlie," she chided, "let the servants do their job without your interference."
"I'm not interfering. I want to oversee matters down there."
"You won't be welcome. Cook will be far too busy to indulge you."
"He never indulges me."
She gave me an arched look.
I headed down the stairs then veered toward the back of the house. Delicious aromas of roasting meats, baking bread, and spices drifted out to me from the kitchen at the center of the service rooms. One of the temporary maids hurried along the corridor ahead, cloth and polish in hand. She spotted me, emitted a small gasp of either surprise or horror, bobbed a curtsy and looked uncertain what to do next.
"Continue with what you're doing," I told her in my best mistress-of-the-house voice.
She bobbed another curtsy and went on her way. I passed the empty butler's office and followed the sound of Cook's voice barking orders at his new staff. I dared to sneak a peek into the kitchen and was almost barreled over by the heat and a footman carrying an empty silver tureen.
"The larger one be around somewhere," Cook bellowed after the lad. "Ask Doyle. Charlie! What you be doing down here? You there," he said to a pink-cheeked maid rolling out pastry on the table where we had often dined when it was just five of us living at Lichfield. "I rest my head on a pillow thinner than that. Something you want, Charlie?"
The kitchen maids watched our exchange from beneath lowered lashes, no doubt wondering why the cook addressed the lady of the house by her first name. Cook wiped his hands down his apron then dabbed his shiny pate with it. He gave me a smile but his gaze darted between each of his staff and the boiling pots on the range.
"Is there enough food for one more?" I asked him. "Lady Harcourt's bringing a guest."
"Lady V. won't like that," he said.
"A few terse words passed her lips but the gentleman is a friend of the prince's."
If Cook had eyebrows they would have risen half way up his forehead. "What did Fitzroy say?"
"He doesn't know yet. So is there enough food?"
"We got enough to feed half of London."
"Anything leftover can be sent to Mrs. Sullivan and the orphans in the morning."
The maid standing by the range cleared her throat and tried to catch Cook's attention. I left him to his work and returned to the drawing room, only to realize it was time to dress for dinner.
Lincoln, Gus and Seth returned in time to change. We all met in the drawing room just before our guests were due to arrive.
"Well?" I
asked Lincoln. He cut a dashing figure in his tailcoat and white silk waistcoat. He'd tied his hair back with a black ribbon, and had removed all trace of stubble from his chin. He looked like a gentleman pirate. "What did you learn?"
"That the newspaperman did not find out the witness's name, and that Gawler claims his pack members had nothing to do with the murder." His fingers touched my gloved ones. "You look beautiful, Charlie."
"Thank you. You look very handsome too. Something's troubling you, though. What is it?"
"Where's your imp?"
The necklace with the amber orb containing a supernatural creature had been a gift from my birth mother. The imp inside had saved my life, and I liked to keep it close. Unfortunately, amber didn't go with my evening gown of blue satin with white and silver beads and embroidery at the bust, sleeves and down the front panels. "I don't need it tonight," I told him, looping my arm through his. "You're here to protect me."
"Is that so? And how do you expect me to protect you when we're not seated together?"
"You'll find a way." I squeezed his arm. "You're very resourceful, Lincoln. Besides, there won't be any dangers tonight."
"Where have I heard that before?" he muttered under his breath. He cupped my jaw and stroked his thumb along my cheek. "You're beautiful."
"You already told me so. But thank you anyway."
"Mr. Fitzroy." Lady Vickers' picked out the consonants in his name with brisk precision. "No touching your fiancée before, during or after dinner."
"The guests aren't here yet," Seth told his mother. "Besides, it's his house and he can do as he wishes."
"Not if he wants to launch Charlie into society. He must follow the rules, just like everyone else, or she'll be an outcast forever."
Being an outcast didn't always strike me as a terrible thing where London's society was concerned. But I bit my tongue and nodded my agreement. I wanted to host a successful dinner party. I needed to, if only to know that I was capable.
"Most of the guests know all about Charlie," Seth went on.
Lady Vickers touched the earbobs at her ears. They were imitations, not real diamonds, but only those of us who knew she'd sold all her jewels would be aware. "Most know," she admitted, "but not all."
The first guests to arrive were Lord and Lady Marchbank, the eldest committee member and his wife. She fell into easy conversation with Lady Vickers on the sofa while her husband asked Lincoln if he'd seen the papers. Other friends of Lady Vickers' soon arrived. They'd invited us to dine with them in previous weeks and so I had repaid their kindness with an invitation to Lichfield Towers. I enjoyed their company, despite the age difference, and appreciated the friendship they gave Lady Vickers.
Lord and Lady Gillingham arrived at a quarter past eight, and Lord Gillingham promptly turned his back on his young pretty wife. She didn't seem to notice, too intent was she in waiting for an opportune moment to draw Alice and me away from Lady Vickers and her friends. I could tell from her barely contained smile that Harriet had news for our ears only. She finally succeeded in getting us alone and steered us toward the window.
"Harriet, you're hurting me," Alice whispered when we were out of earshot.
Harriet's big hands released us. She clasped them at her breast and bounced on her toes. Her blonde ringlets bounced too and she broke into a grin. "I can't hold it any longer. I have to tell you my news. I'm with child."
I recovered from my shock rather rapidly, but Alice continued to stare. "Congratulations," I said before Harriet could notice Alice's reaction. "That's wonderful news."
"Isn't it the grandest news of all? You know how I've longed for a child, Charlie. Finally, I am to be a mother with a little one of my own. It's all I've ever wanted since my marriage to Gilly."
Marriage to such a snake must be both a disappointment and a trial, so it was hardly surprising that she wanted a baby to cherish, since cherishing her husband was out of the question. Yet she had hinted that he ended all marital intimacy when he discovered she could shift shape into a large, hairy wolf-like creature, and a baby seemed a dream never to be fulfilled. It begged the question—had Gillingham overcome his fear of his wife and lain with her, or had she sought intimacy elsewhere, perhaps with his blessing?
"Congratulations," Alice finally said. "How delightful." She looked away, clearly unsure how to ask the question we both wanted to know the answer to. Unfortunately her gaze fell on Lord Gillingham who happened to glance over at us.
He flushed to the roots of his receding ginger hairline and quickly turned back to Lord Marchbank.
"He doesn't want me to announce it yet," Harriet said, unconcerned that her husband had caught her doing just that.
"Why not?"
"He says it's too soon, but I disagree. I know the little one is strong. I can feel it already."
"You'd best be careful," I told her. "He might retaliate somehow if you go against his wishes." While it galled me that anyone should bow to that horrid man on any point, I didn't want Harriet to bear the brunt of his anger.
"No, he won't," she said with a tilt of her chin that was unique to persons of her class. "He wouldn't dare. He no longer tells me what to do. I tell him. After I reminded him that I am the strongest in our marriage, he has been more accommodating toward me. We get along quite well, now."
She had certainly changed since she began regularly running with Gawler's pack in her animal form. She was still silly and girlish at times, but the demure shyness was gone. I could well believe she now stood up to her husband, and he cowered before her.
"Oh," Alice said, staring at Gillingham's back. "I see."
"Good for you, Harriet." I took her hand in mine. "And good luck. If you need anything, just ask."
She squeezed my hand. "Thank you. You're a true friend." She looked past my shoulder and blinked rapidly. "You invited Lady Harcourt?" Harriet's lips twisted as if she'd tasted something sour. "She's so vulgar. I do hope you don't consider her a friend, Charlie. That sort can bring you low."
Didn't I know it, although I suspected her definition of being brought low was different to mine. I went to greet Lady Harcourt, Andrew Buchanan, and their friend, Lord Underwood. Underwood was about the same age as the Prince of Wales, Lincoln's father, with florid cheeks and a stomach that looked as if another hearty meal would be one too many for the buttons on his waistcoat.
Lady Harcourt made introductions with a smile firmly in place, despite the stares of the other guests. Now that her secret past as a dancer was out, she could not venture anywhere without extra attention. Sometimes I thought she despised it, but at others, she seemed to relish her new notoriety and perhaps even played it up by wearing even lower-cut gowns and cinching her corset even tighter. Her choice of gown tonight was rather daring. The jade green and black dress hugged her tiny waist and showed off her deep décolletage and the emerald pendant nestling there like the key to temptation.
"Julia tells me you're a friend of her late husband's," Underwood said to Lincoln. "I must say, I was expecting someone…older."
Buchanan smirked. "And not so handsome, I'd wager."
"Harcourt was a good man," Lincoln said.
"And you are still a friend to his widow," Underwood went on. "That's decent of you to act as her protector."
"I've found Julia is more than capable of taking care of herself."
"It's those of us caught in her web who need protecting," Buchanan muttered.
"Allow me to introduce you to the other guests, my lord," I said, taking his arm. I led him around the room and discovered that he already knew most. He was quite charming to everyone, particularly Alice after learning she was not spoken for.
On the other side of the room, Lady Harcourt kept an eye on them as they conversed. Her lips pinched once, as Alice laughed at something Underwood said, but otherwise she looked like a woman confident in her chosen man's affections.
"He's a fine fellow, isn't he?" Buchanan whispered in my ear. Despite the softness of his voice, I detecte
d the sneer. "Very agreeable, just like his friend the prince."
"You sound as if you like him, yet I find that unfathomable considering what your stepmother means to you."
"Very astute, as usual, Charlotte. I didn't say I like him, but he is perfect for her."
"In what way?"
"Dear, innocent Charlotte. Didn't I explain it to you?" He huffed out a breath reeking of liquor. "Julia will marry again, and I am determined she will marry a man she can't possibly love. He must be like my father—old, rich, titled and either dull or ridiculous."
"And which is Underwood?"
"Both. Oh, he's charming enough, and can hold a conversation in this sort of setting, but there is little by the way of substance in his brain. Once polite topics are exhausted, he's at a loss. He can't abide politics, talk of money is too vulgar, and I doubt he's read a book since his school days. His wit is the obvious kind, and he hasn't a clue when someone is mocking him. Believe me, I've tested that on numerous occasions. Julia couldn't ever love him but she could marry him. She prefers her lovers subtler, cleverer, and vastly more handsome."
I barked out a laugh. "Like you?"
"Like your fiancé," he bit off, all humor gone.
I refrained from stomping on his toe or elbowing him in the jaw like Lincoln had taught me to do when a man accosted me. While it might make me feel better, it would ruin the evening.
"But since the amazing Lincoln Fitzroy is happily engaged to you, she is once again giving me the attention I so deserve." He winked at me, and yet the bitterness in his voice grated.
I made my excuses and sought out Lincoln.
"Was Buchanan bothering you?" he asked.
"Yes, but that's not unusual." I glanced toward Lord Underwood, now engaged in conversation with Gillingham and Marchbank, Lady Harcourt's fingers wrapped around his arm. She listened as he spoke and laughed when he laughed, but there was no spark in her eyes. She glanced at Lincoln and me before quickly looking away again.
"You spoke to Harriet earlier," Lincoln said to me. If he'd noticed Lady Harcourt looking at us, he gave no indication. "Did you ask her about the pack and whether one of them could have murdered that fellow?"