A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  She turned her head and looked back the way she’d come. “At the bend in the path. Lancelot—”

  “Lancelot? Your brother is dead?” He was horrified for Trudy. No wonder she was falling apart.

  “No! Lancelot is with him.”

  He gave her a little shake. “Who, Trudy? Who is Lancelot with?”

  “Lord Amory. Why would anyone want to harm him?”

  “Stay here. I will be right back.”

  The orchestra ended their discordant tuning with a flourish and a moment later the sound of a single pianoforte floated to them. Lady Alice had begun her performance. How would they be able to keep this quiet and avoid panic and hysteria?

  Perhaps Lancelot would have some answers. And, on second thought, if there was a killer loose on the grounds, he did not want Trudy alone and unprotected. He took her hand and hurried along the path, aware that she was still breathless and trembling. Thank God she was not the fainting sort. He swore he would find time to comfort and calm her later.

  They rounded the corner and Dare saw Lancelot, a few feet from the body, patting the ground as if he were looking for something. He turned to them, his face white. “I was looking for anything that might tell us what happened.”

  Dare knelt by the body and looked at the wound. There was nothing in the near vicinity that could have caused the blow, but it had been struck with great force. Amory’s skull was fractured badly enough to see bone fragments and gray matter. He turned the body onto its side to look at the face. Yes, it was old Lord Amory. His eyes were open and a surprised look was frozen on his lined face. He eased the body back to its original position.

  “Carr, take Trudy back to the house and leave her with your parents. Very quietly, inform Lord Halston of these events and have him send a footman for the watch. He will have to decide how he wants this handled, but the authorities must be informed.”

  “But—”

  “I will stay with the body. There will not be many guests in the garden now that the recital has begun.”

  Trudy swallowed hard. “Charles Amory expects me to dance with him after the performance.”

  Dare gave her a sympathetic smile. “I doubt there will be dancing, my dear.”

  “Oh...” She looked lost for a moment, then— “Of course not. How silly of me.”

  Carr took her arm and and gave it a little squeeze. “Brace up, old girl. We’ll get through this in no time.”

  She nodded but gave Dare a look that tugged at his heart. He wished he could be the one to comfort her, but there was more here that needed to be done. He had to be certain there was nothing to implicate Trudy in any of this.

  “I will come back as soon as I’ve seen to your instructions,” Carr said, more somber than Dare had ever seen him.

  He waited for them to disappear, then glanced around again. The small clearing was an ideal place for chicanery—far enough from the house to allow privacy, and dark enough to allow villains to fade away. Sitting back on his heels, he scanned the ground. What had Carr been looking for? Something damning, no doubt.

  A stone bench sat between two tall arbor vitae and was backed by a boxwood hedge. The pebbled path curved gracefully toward another bend in the path and disappeared in the darkness. This, it seemed, was as far as the lanterns were strung. Private. Remote. An ideal place for an assignation.

  The glint of something metallic beneath the bench caught his eye. He scooped it up to examine it closely. A silver button with an engraved letter ‘C’. Had there been a struggle? Had Lord Amory grasped Carr in desperation and torn a button off in the process? He closed his eyes and groaned. He’d hoped against hope that Carr had nothing to do with this sordid affair, but he was looking guilty as hell.

  As he turned, Dare noted another glint in the light of the colored lanterns. He found a delicate sapphire bracelet. Lady Halston’s missing piece? He squinted in the soft glow. If there was more evidence scattered around, he’d better find it before the charleys arrived. And that thought troubled him. Was he subverting justice? The law? But it couldn’t be helped. Instinct led him to shield the Carrs until he knew more. He knelt again and began searching for any evidence he might have overlooked.

  Dare’s head began to pound. He was certain Carr was the Shadow, but he was equally certain the lad was no murderer. There was something not quite right about what had happened here.

  A low murmur of voices came closer and Dare knew he’d run out of time. One last sweep and then he stood, prepared for what lay ahead. At least he prayed he was. He slipped the button and the sapphire bracelet in his waistcoat pocket.

  Everything he’d done to this point had been edging him nearer the boundaries of his firmly held beliefs and principles, but with this one last decision, hiding evidence, he realized he had crossed the Rubicon.

  Trudy sat in a large, overstuffed chair in the Halstons’ library, a small glass of something potent in her hand. It might have been whiskey, since it burned going down. Removed from the scene of the murder, her hands washed of the blood and the effects of the whiskey loosening her muscles, she was steadily regaining her composure.

  The news was spreading slowly but steadily through the gathering. Low somber voices passed in the corridor and, outside the window, she noted carriages lining up and leaving. Her mother and father had been summoned, and her mother, predictably, feigned shock while her father waved smelling salts beneath her nose. Collingwood had gone to find Dr. Betteman, who was the only physician in attendance, and a footman had gone for the charleys.

  Charles Amory had been found in the music room and now sat somberly near the fireplace, collected but visibly shaken. He’d known nothing of these events until Lord Halston had brought him here. He was so upset that he forgot his walking stick.

  She glanced at the mantel clock. Had only three quarters of an hour passed since she’d been escorted to the library? It seemed more like an eternity. She glanced around the room until she found Lancelot. He looked flushed and a bit rumpled and was bushing one sleeve.

  No. No, surely not. Lancelot wouldn’t hurt anyone. She knew him well enough to know he simply was not capable of cold-blooded murder. He was kind and gentle. He was ethical and... and desperate and afraid. Their glances met. As if reading her mind, he shook his head once in denial. He knew what she was thinking. She had to speak to him alone. Find out what had happened.

  The library door had been left ajar and, from her position near the door, she could hear the passing whispers outside.

  “...killed Lord Amory when the poor man stepped into the garden for a cheroot.”

  “Quite gruesome, I am told. Head bashed in and all.”

  “I hear they found a scattering of stolen jewelry around him.”

  “They are saying it was the Mayfair Shadow.”

  “Shadow no longer! ‘Tis the Mayfair Murderer now!”

  Trudy cringed. Rumors. Untruths. Mere gossip. But she couldn’t banish the niggling doubts. Someone was playing a very deep game, and she prayed it was not Lancelot.

  And Collingwood? God only knew what he was making of all this. She’d seen the doubt on his face. He was already suspicious of Lancelot and this could only make it worse. He might even suspect her.

  What must he be thinking now? Regretting that he’d ever asked her to dance a mere fortnight ago? Wondering how he’d got himself entwined with a family such as the Carrs? Curling his lip in disgust over her loose behavior and trapped into a proposal because of it? Trying to think of a way to disengage himself from such an unsuitable alliance?

  Yes, unsuitable. She was nothing like him. He was dignified, aristocratic, principled and without taint. She was a harridan—what were his words? Impertinent? Yes, and incorrigible, wayward and wanton. And her entire family was messy. Not a single thing neat, tidy or prudent about any of them. They were headstrong, ungovernable, impetuous and unwise. And there was no way around that.

  If she loved him—and she did so terribly much—she would set him free. Find a way to
sever their ill-advised alliance. And the sooner, the better. Dragging it out could only make it more painful. Could even contaminate him by association if the worst happened and Lancelot was arrested for the murder of Lord Amory.

  She couldn’t allow that. How could she ever live with herself knowing she’d brought Collingwood down in society? That, if he married her, he would live in the shadow of scandal the rest of his life? No. Best to sever their relationship now—this very instant—than to drag it out and risk damaging his spotless reputation.

  She gathered every last ounce of courage and determination she possessed and lifted her chin proudly. Oh, he would argue because he felt duty-bound, but in the end he would see the sense in her decision.

  It would end tonight. That was the least she could do for him.

  Dare kept an eye on Trudy from his position across the room. Frankly, he didn’t care about the rest of her family. Her father was a man of authority and would handle any damage without the slightest trouble. Mrs. Carr was obviously given to dramatics and would be fine in no time. Miss Fiona, flushed and shocked, had been found and brought to the family. Lancelot, standing by his father in conversation with an investigator, appeared genuinely confused by events. Disingenuous or sincere? He couldn’t tell.

  How had he come to be squarely in the middle of a scandal? An unmitigated disaster? Two weeks ago he couldn’t have imagined these events. He’d have been horrified by the circumstances in which he now found himself. He’d have left quietly. And completely. He’d already spoken with the investigator and the charleys, and he was free to go.

  But Trudy was his greatest concern. Not because she was delicate or flighty, but because she was hiding something. And because she knew more than she was telling. He deduced by her demeanor and the frequent glances she cast in his direction that her conscience was bothering her.

  As much as his was troubling him for hiding evidence? The damning sapphire bracelet. Carr’s silver button. Those two things connected Lord Amory’s murder with the Mayfair Shadow. And he was now positive that Lancelot Carr was the Shadow. But he prayed someone else had killed Amory—despite the damning evidence still in his pocket.

  If he had any sense at all he’d abandon this whole mess. He’d surrender the evidence to the investigator. Admit what he suspected. Then he’d turn his back and get the hell out. But no. One glance at Miss Gertrude Carr disabused him of that notion. Fool that he’d become, he’d press forward. Accept this challenge.

  He approached Robert Carr and clapped him on the shoulder. “Your wife and Miss Fiona look quite done in, Carr. Take them home. My coach is here and I will see that Miss Gertrude and Lancelot get home safely. They cannot leave until they give their statements to the investigators.”

  Carr glanced at his wife and middle daughter. “If you think so—”

  “I do.”

  “Perhaps I will come back when—”

  “No need. ‘Twill not take long.”

  Ellen Carr had overheard their conversation. “Yes, Robert. I do so long for the comfort of my own home. Surely that will restore me to myself. And Fiona is quite shaken. I really think we should take Gertrude, as well.”

  “Not possible, my dear,” Carr told her. “Trudy and Lancelot must give their accounts of the events while it is still fresh in their minds.”

  Ellen flung the back of her hand against her forehead. “I am still feeling faint.”

  “Go,” Dare urged them, annoyed by Mrs. Carr’s histrionics. “Before Mrs. Carr must be carried out.”

  That warning galvanized Carr. He seized his wife by the arm, helped her to stand and waved at his daughter. “Come along, Fiona.”

  Dare watched them make their way to the library door, never once looking back to reassure Trudy. Now he knew how she was able to get away with so much. Her family, with the exception of Lancelot, barely noticed her. The thought annoyed him. Trudy was worth more than the lot of them together.

  Will Esham passed them in the doorway. He cocked one eyebrow at Dare and gave him a crooked smile as he came toward him. “Neatly done, Collingwood. And now they’re out of the way, what’s to be done?”

  Leading Esham away from the clusters of groups engaged in low conversations, he found them a quiet corner. He turned to face the room, making sure no one could come close enough to overhear. “What have you heard thus far?”

  “That old Amory was found dead in the gardens. That seems to be the only point upon which people agree. Some say he took a bad fall, some say his heart gave out, and others say foul play. I am guessing the latter.”

  “You would be correct. The back of his head was bashed in. While I waited for the charleys, I searched about for a rock or a brick, but I found nothing. The first blow, from behind, would have taken him down. I estimate there were at least two more, for good measure. I’d like to have a look in the gardener’s shed.”

  “I will ask the charleys to have Halston open it.”

  “No!” Dare stopped and cleared his throat, realizing that he’d sounded panicked. “That is, I do not want to alert anyone to my suspicions.”

  “Anyone? You mean the charleys, do you not? You will not hamper the investigation, will you?”

  “I merely want to be the first to know.” What he really wanted was to be the first to know if there was something to implicate Lancelot. Odd, how little the lie bothered him.

  “Ah, your reputation is riding on this. Your bet, eh? Only four days remaining.”

  Dare shrugged. “We have yet to prove if this event is connected to the Mayfair Shadow.”

  “Meantime?”

  “Meantime, I’d like you to look into the affairs of a few people not on your list. Peter Littleworth, Lancelot Carr, Colonel Burke, and... Charles Amory. Look for any connections.”

  “Amory?” Esham glanced toward the fireplace where the man in question sat in quiet conversation with the investigator. “You think he could have killed his father?”

  “He is the only one who stood to gain from his father’s death. Can’t ignore that.”

  Esham nodded. “Aye. And that would be a very personal motive, but what of the rest? What would Burke, Carr or Littleworth have to do with Lord Amory?”

  “They are all men with deep secrets.”

  “And you believe one of them is the Shadow? And that the Shadow killed Lord Amory?”

  Dare reached into his waistcoat pocket and opened his hand for Esham to see.

  A low whistle was Esham’s only reaction. “Hmm. Was it not Lady Halston who reported a stolen sapphire bracelet?”

  “I found this near Amory’s body. The logical conclusion is that Lord Amory came across the Shadow and there was a struggle during which the bracelet was dropped and Amory was killed.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Necessary. The Shadow would have to kill Lord Amory if he did not want his identity revealed.”

  Esham sighed. “Are you going to turn the bracelet over to the charleys?”

  “Not yet.” Nor was he ready to reveal Carr’s monogrammed button—which would link the man to the Shadow. He needed to talk to Trudy first. Make her understand what must be done.

  “I will catch up to you tomorrow.” Esham tipped a finger to his forehead and turned.

  Dare nodded and watched as the runner exchanged a few words with a charley and took his leave. He trusted Esham as much as he trusted any man, but this time Trudy was involved, and he was not about to risk her welfare with anyone—not even her indifferent family. They’d likely sacrifice her to save Lancelot if it could be proven he was the Shadow.

  Trudy was momentarily alone, looking into her lap as if she would find answers there. He crossed the room and sat across from her. Resting his forearms on his knees, he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.

  “I do not wish to trouble you, Trudy, but how are you faring?”

  “Better now that the shock has worn off. I... I’ve never seen a dead man before. It was quite unsettling. And I’ve yet to give my account
.”

  “Would you like me to ask if someone can come to your house tomorrow morning for your statement? I could tell him you are still too shaken to give a coherent account of what happened.”

  She sighed deeply and looked up at him with tears swimming in her eyes. He prayed he was wrong, but the terrified look on Trudy’s face told him that she was thinking the same thing he had—Lancelot. He’d been there. Alone. With no witnesses. And he had been furtive when he and Trudy had returned to the clearing.

  He needed to remove Trudy from this atmosphere. Give her a chance to collect her wits. Think about what had happened, and why. She was far too vulnerable now, and could say something she would regret. He went to the investigator and made quick arrangements, then returned to her.

  He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve told the investigator you will need time to collect yourself. He agreed to ask the magistrate to come to your home and question you tomorrow.”

  The relief in her eyes was heartrending. He held out his hand to help her to her feet. “We shall get your wrap and collect your brother. We can talk in the coach.”

  “Lancelot gave his statement and has gone. He said he had something to do and that he’d be home later.”

  Damn the man! He was hell-bent on destroying himself and his family. Dare tamped his anger down as he escorted Trudy out of Halston manor and into his coach. He sat opposite her, unwilling to risk the diversion of her nearness. “How are you, my dear?”

  “I feel as if I can breathe again.”

  “This has been quite an ordeal for you, but there are some things we need to discuss. Now. Before it is too late. For you and for Lancelot. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again, uncharacteristically silent.

  “When the magistrate comes to question you tomorrow morning, do not volunteer anything, Trudy. Answer only the questions you are asked. Do you understand?”