Elena gave the older woman a searching glance, sure she detected something more than casual concern in Lady Cicely’s gently lined face—sympathy for her plight in those faded grey eyes, perhaps?
A suspicion that seemed to be borne out as the other woman gave Elena’s fingers a reassuring squeeze before she looked up at her grandson. ‘Adam?’
He crossed his arms across his muscled chest. ‘I am not going anywhere until El—this young woman has answered my questions to my satisfaction.’
‘I admit to feeling a little in need of a restorative myself, after all this upset,’ his grandmother murmured weakly.
‘And I repeat, I am going nowhere, Grandmama, until this puzzle has been solved,’ Adam repeated firmly, his gaze remaining stubbornly fixed on Elena.
In truth, his imagination was once again running amok at Elena’s obvious reluctance to reveal her identity. Who, or what, was she that she had lied in order to obtain a position in his household?
If she was merely a woman left alone in the world and desperate to find a way of supporting herself, then it should not have been necessary for her to lie about her name. Unless she was, after all, that runaway wife Adam had once suspected her of being?
The mere thought that she was another man’s wife was enough to drive him completely insane.
Adam needed to know—now—exactly who she was and what she was doing here! ‘Well?’ he demanded.
Her lashes lowered. ‘If I might be allowed to sit up, Lady Cicely…?’
‘Of course.’ The older woman stood up so that Elena might sit up on the side of the bed.
Her face was a pale oval against her dark and dishevelled hair as she looked up at Adam. ‘My name is Magdelena Matthews.’
Adam’s face remained a blank following Elena’s announcement, but she heard a slight gasp of recognition from Lady Cicely’s direction. Needing every ounce of courage she possessed, in order to continue, Elena did not so much as glance in the direction of that lady, but continued to look up at the stony-faced man standing in front of her. ‘My grandfather was—’ Her voice broke emotionally as she talked of her grandfather in the past tense. ‘He was George Matthews, the late Duke of Sheffield.’
Adam recoiled away from her as realisation of her identity finally dawned on him. ‘You are the same granddaughter suspected of murdering that gentleman and robbing his home?’
Elena’s vision blurred as the tears came readily to her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Good God…!’ Adam exclaimed in horror; this was worse, so much worse than he had even imagined. He had been harbouring a murderess in his household! A young woman who had cold-bloodedly done away with her own grandfather before then stripping his home bare of every jewel she could carry.
Good God, she might have murdered them all in their beds this past month before robbing them too!
‘That is why—You have your father’s eyes, my dear,’ Lady Cicely murmured.
‘Yes.’
Adam turned to his grandmother incredulously. ‘How can you stand there and talk of the colour of her eyes when she is nothing more than a murderess—?’
‘I believe you just stated she was a suspected murderess,’ his grandmother reproached him. ‘Personally, I have always had my suspicions as to the validity of that claim—’
‘The only reason she is not presently in a prison cell awaiting sentence is because she ran away before the authorities could charge her with such!’ Adam growled, pinning her to the bed with his piercing gaze. ‘You were about to tell us who the man Jeremiah is?’
She drew in a deep breath. ‘He is one of the grooms who worked on my grandfather’s estate—’
‘You were romantically involved with one of your grandfather’s grooms?’ he barked incredulously.
‘No, of course I was not.’ Irritation flickered in those blue-green eyes. ‘Jeremiah merely recognised me as being the Duke of Sheffield’s granddaughter.’
Another thought occurred to Adam at the full import of this statement. Rather than making love to his daughter’s governess yesterday evening, as he had thought, he’d dallied with the granddaughter of a duke. An occurrence that would, in normal circumstances, have resulted in his being forced by the dictates of society into offering marriage to that same person.
His mouth thinned. ‘You realise that this disclosure means I shall have to call in the authorities and have you taken into custody?’
Her face paled to the colour and stiffness of white parchment. ‘Yes, of course—’
‘Let us not be too hasty in our actions, Adam,’ his grandmother put in firmly.
‘Hasty?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘It appears to me, as the Duke of Sheffield met his end two months ago, that her arrest is long overdue!’
Lady Cicely tutted. ‘Adam, I have come to know and like Amanda’s governess this past few days, and believe that you are now allowing your…personal involvement to rob you of your natural sense of fairness and logic.’
‘Indeed?’ He eyed her frostily.
‘Most certainly,’ she said, unrepentant. ‘Think, Adam,’ she continued impatiently as he remained impervious to her look of reproach. ‘Why would a young lady accused of those crimes now be working in your household as a governess?’
He gave a scornful snort. ‘As a safe place to hide from capture, of course.’
‘And why would she not have used the money and jewels she is reputed to have stolen to have taken herself as far away from England as possible? To the Continent, at very least? Indeed, that is where the gossip in society these past few months has said she is rumoured to be.’
Adam gave a sudden frown as the logic of his grandmother’s comments permeated what she had referred to as his ‘personal involvement’. ‘It is my belief that we should leave it to the relevant authorities to decide as to her guilt or innocence.’
‘Did you wish to say something, my dear?’ Lady Cicely prompted as Elena gave a strangled sound of protest at Adam’s suggestion.
Elena swallowed before answering. ‘Only that the authority to which Lord Hawthorne refers consists of my cousin Neville, the new Duke of Sheffield, and that he—that he—’ She swallowed anxiously. ‘He is the same gentleman who, for reasons of his own, levelled the accusations of murder and theft against me at the outset!’
‘Can that possibly be so, Adam?’ Lady Cicely looked wide-eyed at her grandson. ‘Surely, for the sake of impartiality, that cannot be allowed?’
He shrugged. ‘I know nothing as to the authority in Yorkshire.’
This past few minutes had been more excruciatingly painful for Elena than she could ever have imagined. As well as having to live through some of the events of two months ago she also had to listen to and see, in Adam’s cold and remorseless eyes, his condemnation of her as being the guilty party, without so much as a second thought or doubt. It was beyond bearing, when only hours ago Elena had believed herself to be falling in love with him.
A shy and hesitant love, which now withered and died in her breast as if it had never been. ‘If you did, then you would know that my cousin Neville has inherited my grandfather’s magisterial role in that area, as well as his title and estates,’ she spoke flatly, unemotionally—indeed, what point was there in her pleading when Adam so obviously believed her to be guilty without benefit of a trial? ‘And that, once safely in his custody, no matter what the evidence, I have every reason to believe he will not hesitate to ensure that I am immediately hanged by the neck until I am completely dead.’
Adam’s gaze moved instinctively to that long and delicate throat, wincing slightly as he easily imagined the crudeness of a thick rope about it, squeezing and bruising that soft and ivory flesh until all life had been extinguished from the young and beautiful woman to whom it belonged.
He shuddered at the very thought of it…
Chapter Fourteen
‘I believe that a certain amount of hysteria has been allowed to enter into this conversation—’
‘Hysteria?’ Elena s
tared at Adam incredulously as she began to pace the bedchamber, her skirts swishing about her ankles at the briskness of the movement. ‘Perhaps you, too, would feel less than calm, sir, at thoughts of your own demise in such a horrible fashion?’ Her eyes glittered brightly, partly with anger, and partly with those unshed tears Elena refused to allow to fall.
‘Hold your tongue, Adam.’ His grandmother rounded on him with unaccustomed sharpness, as he would have replied. ‘And let me remind you that you certainly liked Miss Matthews well enough—perhaps too well!—before being told of her identity.’ Her expression gentled as she turned back to a now blushing Elena. ‘I knew and liked your mother and father very much, child.’
Elena felt an emotional lump rise in her throat. ‘It is very kind of you to say so.’
‘Not at all.’ Lady Cicely reached out to clasp both of her hands in her own, at the same time halting Elena’s pacing. ‘Your grandmother—Jane—was also a friend of mine in her younger days. And your grandfather—’
‘How long is this trip down memory lane going to last, Grandmama?’ Adam asked with a sigh.
Lady Cicely’s eyes, so like his own, flashed as she cast him a brief and censorious glance. ‘Perhaps if you had not become so rigid in your thinking, Adam, you would not only see, but also hear that I am endeavouring to point out that Miss Matthews has a fine pedigree—’
‘I believe that every family, even those in possession of a “fine pedigree”, has been known to have its black sheep, Grandmama.’
‘Your sarcastic sense of humour is not welcome in this conversation, Adam!’
Elena stared at Lady Cicely. The older woman did not truly believe that her grandson was jesting? For, if she did—
‘Admittedly it is usually a gentleman who is referred to as such,’ Adam continued regardless, ‘but I see no reason why it should not occasionally be—’
‘Adam!’
‘Very well, Grandmama.’ He sketched her a mocking bow, that levity swiftly fading as he turned to Elena. ‘May I ask what has happened to the real Mrs Leighton?’
‘She is in Scotland, living with the parents of her dead husband.’
‘And you know this because…?’
‘Because I was acquainted with the Bambury family and so was aware of Mrs Leighton’s decision not to accompany them to the Continent.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’ Adam frowned. ‘My grandmother is obviously of the opinion that the respectability of your antecedents renders you incapable of murdering anyone.’
Elena looked at him guardedly, no longer sure herself as to whether he was jesting or serious, and the cool derision in his expression did not give an indication either way. She drew in a deep breath before speaking. ‘Even without my antecedents I am incapable of harming so much as a fly—’ She broke off as she recalled the blows and scratches she had rained upon Neville as she’d attempted to fight off his attack. ‘Unless I am sorely provoked,’ she corrected huskily.
Adam raised dark brows. ‘And were you given such provocation by your grandfather?’
She hesitated. ‘No.’
His eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘By another person?’
Her lids lowered. ‘Yes.’
‘Would you care to tell us who that person is?’
Could she tell the Hawthornes the awful truth of what had really happened two months ago?
Elena looked first at Lady Cicely, seeing only gentleness and understanding in that lady’s countenance, before turning to Adam; his mood was now much harder to gauge, hooded lids lowered in order to shield the emotion in his eyes, his general demeanour unreadable.
But what other choice did Elena have other than to confide in these people? She either told them the truth and threw herself upon the mercy of their compassion, or she found herself removed from Cambridgeshire forthwith and placed in Neville’s vindictive clutches, where she knew she would receive no mercy whatsoever.
Elena drew in a deep and controlling breath, determined to relate past events with a calmness and precision Adam would appreciate, if not condone. Where to start, that was the problem.
Adam kept his gaze narrowed as he watched the conflicting emotions flickering across Elena’s face, as he waited for her to answer. Or not. He hoped she did as he had no idea how to proceed if she did not.
Contrary to what his grandmother might think, he was not in the least unemotional about this situation. If anything, he felt too much. The surprise of learning Elena’s true identity as well as the shock of realising she had been accused of a terrible crime.
Admittedly, Adam’s immediate reaction had been to go into protective-father mode; but what parent would not feel concerned at learning their child had, for the past few weeks, been in the care of a woman who was accused of murdering her own relative?
But, despite his grandmother’s rebuke, his own good sense had prevailed almost immediately. Elena Leighton, as he had known her to be until a few minutes ago, had shown nothing but kindness and concern in regard to Amanda’s happiness; indeed, she had made every effort to bring father and daughter closer together, and he had bought the very pony upon which Amanda was now riding because Elena had told him it was his daughter’s fondest desire to have a pony of her own.
And as for the woman he had made love to last night—
Adam drew in a deep, controlling breath as he thought of that woman. A shy and yet responsive young woman, who had given as much pleasure as she had received. A woman who had asked nothing of him in return. Not last night. Nor when they had spoken again this morning. She had even decided to leave his employment rather than be the cause of any further embarrassment to him or his family.
In truth, Adam could not seriously believe that woman to be capable of theft, let alone the murder of her own grandfather.
‘Proceed, if you please,’ he instructed curtly, only to see Elena flinch as if he had struck her, the paleness of her face taking on such a look of fragility, it took every ounce of his will not to stride across the bedchamber and take her into his arms and offer her comfort.
A comfort that would solve nothing, if it should emerge that Elena really was responsible for her grandfather’s death, by whatever means. There was also the accusation of theft to consider. But, as his grandmother had already so astutely noted, that accusation did not at all tally with the young woman who had entered his household three weeks ago as a governess. Or the fact that she had not possessed the money with which to replace those black mourning dresses she wore. Mourning dresses which it now appeared she had worn out of respect for her grandfather’s death rather than that of a husband…
The confusion of emotions Adam now felt at knowing there was not, nor had there ever been, a husband in Elena’s life, was enough to make him scowl anew.
Elena turned away from Adam’s harshly condemning face, knowing she would not be able to talk about what had happened to her if she continued to look at him. Instead she walked over to the window of the bedchamber to gaze out over the beautiful rolling grounds at the back of the house. Such an idyllic picture of the Cambridgeshire countryside, when here inside the house, her life was falling apart for the second time in as many months.
This past two months had been an illusion, of course, a delaying of the inevitable—but she knew she could delay it no longer. ‘My grandparents had two children, two sons, the younger being my own father, David,’ she began, her voice husky but steady enough. ‘His older brother, Howard, was killed in a hunting accident many years ago, after which his wife and son moved to live in the Dower House on the Sheffield Park estate. My own father died fighting against Napoleon, and as my mother and I were visiting with my grandfather when we received the news, we remained living with them.’
‘Your cousin being the heir?’
Elena could not help but smile tightly at his astuteness in going directly to the heart of the problem. ‘My cousin Neville.’ She nodded. ‘He is not the most likeable of men.’ She repressed a shiver at how unlikeable she personally fou
nd him.
Oh, Neville was handsome enough, with his golden blond hair and his deep-blue eyes, his regular features and trim form not displeasing to look upon. It was his nature, cruel and vindictive, apparent at an early age, which had always caused Elena to avoid his company even when they were children together. As adults it had quickly become clear to her that Neville intended to rob her of her virginity at the earliest opportunity. A deed he had finally succeeded in doing after their grandfather’s funeral in February…
‘And I suppose he became your guardian on the death of your grandfather?’ Once again Adam showed himself to be a man of both astuteness and intelligence.
‘Yes, Neville is now my guardian.’ Elena suppressed another shudder at all that now meant to her. ‘My grandfather, in his wisdom, left me well provided for and Neville—he made it known to me, shortly after my grandfather’s death, that he wished for the two of us to marry.’
‘Indeed?’
Elena looked down at her clasped hands, the knuckles showing white even through her gloves. ‘It was not a match I either wished for or encouraged.’
‘Of course it was not,’ Lady Cicely spoke for the first time since Elena had begun her halting explanation. ‘I am slightly acquainted with that young gentleman,’ she spoke to her grandson, ‘and he is not at all the sort of man I would wish any granddaughter of mine, if I had one, to ever contemplate marrying and spending the rest of her life with.’
‘I do not recall ever meeting him?’ Adam frowned darkly.
‘That is because you have chosen not to be in society for so many years, Adam.’ There was censure in his grandmother’s tone. ‘For if you had been, you would know that Neville Matthews is not only a known reprobate, but is also responsible for the ruination of several young ladies in society! Edith St Just will not so much as have his presence in her ballroom, let alone seated at her dinner table,’ she added as if that settled the matter regarding Neville Matthews’s nature and reputation.
Which, Adam acknowledged ruefully, it probably did; Edith St Just, the Dowager Duchess of Royston, was not only a close friend of his own grandmother, but also a much-respected matriarch of society, and if the Dowager Duchess had decided Neville Matthews was unacceptable, then so must the majority of society.
Not Just a Governess Page 16