“I want you to know that . . . your secrets are your own.”
Her expression grew guarded, clearly guessing what I was hinting at.
“I will not pry. Unless it cannot be helped,” I amended. “But . . . if someone should hurt you, or . . . pester you in any way.” I clamped my lips together, knowing I was making a hash of this. “Well, I want you to know that you can tell me. No matter who it is. And I will help you.”
Her eyes lowered and her brow puckered. “Thank you, m’lady. But . . . you should ken, no one’s been pesterin’ me.” She lifted her gaze to stare warily at me through the fringe of her lashes. “I dinna ken what ye were told, but ye dinna need to be concerned.”
I nodded slowly, searching her eyes. She appeared to be telling the truth, and I felt the tightness in my chest ease a fraction. “Well, regardless, the sentiment still stands.”
This time it was her turn to search my gaze, and I made sure she could read that I was perfectly in earnest. Her mouth creased into a small smile. “Aye, m’lady.”
She pushed to her feet, lifted my tray, and moved toward the door. However, something made her hesitate and glance back at me. “When do ye think we’ll receive word from Anderley?”
If I’d needed confirmation that it was Anderley we were both speaking of in our previous exchange, this was it. I schooled my features so as not to display my reaction, for to be sure, she had revealed far more with her dithering and hesitance to speak than I supposed she wished.
“I doubt we shall hear from him before Monday,” I told her evenly, my gaze straying toward the windows where the snowstorm raged outside. It being only Saturday, that meant two days of waiting.
There was no need to express my worry over the weather, for it was stamped across Bree’s features as well. Snowstorms, cholera, and possibly a duplicitous escort. I could only pray nothing else stood in Anderley’s way. For the sake of his safety, but also because, for obvious reasons, I was anxious to see this inquiry resolved. I didn’t see how that was possible without determining once and for all whether the corpse was indeed Helmswick.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I lay on my left side, dozing again, when I heard the click of the door to the sitting room opening. Dressed in dark evening attire, his damp hair curling atop his head, Gage checked his progress into the room at the sight of me gazing up at him. I suspected I looked quite a slovenly sight, having lounged in bed all day. What I could see of my braid dangling over my shoulder was frayed and fuzzy, and I could feel a dull ache beginning in my side, telling me it was almost time for another dose of laudanum.
Nevertheless, Gage’s expression softened as he looked down at me, his supple mouth curling in a gentle smile. “I’m pleased to see you’re obeying the surgeon’s instructions.” He shifted aside a pair of books I had been perusing earlier so that he could perch next to me. “Though it must be killing you to lie there when there is a murder to be solved.”
I arched my eyebrows at his clumsy wording. “Yes, well, I haven’t been completely unproductive.”
“Oh?”
I ignored the implied question in favor of my own. “Did you speak with that footman who says he helped Helmswick into his carriage the morning he departed?”
If he was surprised Bree had told me as much, he didn’t show it. “I did.”
“Do you think he was being honest?”
He shifted position, pulling his leg up onto the bed so he could face me more directly while he contemplated the matter. “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a small frown. “He seemed like he was being honest, but as I’m sure you’ve already noted, he has a great deal to be either gained or lost depending on what the truth really is.”
I nodded, wondering if the duchess was honoring her promise not to interfere. But of course, the footman needn’t have been given instructions to lie. He might have taken it upon himself to do so, thinking it would help the family, and thus him.
“I’m going to speak with the men in the stables tomorrow, see what they can corroborate.”
That seemed like a sound plan, though it was evident he didn’t expect to uncover any discrepancies. But every avenue had to be exhausted.
“What of Colum Brunton? Were you able to find out anything about his disappearance?” I asked.
Frustration tightened his features. “His friends were singularly unhelpful, but they definitely know something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They were fidgety, evasive, at times unwilling to answer.”
I considered this. “Could they be frightened?”
“Maybe. They’re definitely uneasy. The question is, why?”
I pushed myself upright. “And are they worried for themselves or for their friend?”
Gage leaned over to help me adjust the pillows, and the scent of bay rum from his shaving soap tickled at my nostrils, along with the starch of the crisp white collar of his shirt. Candlelight glinted off his high cheekbones and pale lashes and picked out the paler streaks of blond in his golden hair.
“I see you’re joining the others for dinner,” I said, settling myself against the carved headboard.
“Yes, I figured one of us should be present, lest someone slip up and reveal something they wish they hadn’t.”
I couldn’t argue with that, and normally I would be more than happy to spend the evening in solitude rather than being forced to socialize. But I couldn’t paint or sketch, which would be my normal choice of distraction, and reading seemed incapable of holding my attention. All I could do was wallow in my own thoughts, struggling to push aside my worries and tamp down my irritation at being unable to pursue answers to the dozens of questions which had occurred to me as I lay there all day. Add to that the annoyance I suddenly felt at having to share my incredibly attractive husband rather than keep him to myself, and it was no wonder my patience was wearing thin.
“What of Mrs. Blanchard? What did she have to say?”
He chose to ignore the lightly clipped tone of my voice. “A great deal. But nothing of much use. She did very little to hide her contempt for the duchess, or her obvious frustration that she will never usurp her in that role. That is, unless, of course, she dies.” His eyes glittered with such disapproval that I was left with no doubt she had actually stated aloud something so vulgar. “But even then, she’s deluding herself if she believes the duke is going to marry her. In truth, I think he’s tiring of her already.”
“What of the animosity between her and Traquair?”
“She claims it’s because he’s a pompous prig. That he objects to his parents’ affairs.”
Except I hadn’t observed him behaving in such a manner toward Lord Wansford, his mother’s current lover. In fact, they appeared to be quite cordial toward each other. All the same, I supposed it was possible. Men did often give other men an amount of leverage they would never accord to women who behaved similarly.
“I still think there’s something more to it than that,” I maintained. “The level of hostility they aim at each other seems to far exceed such an explanation.”
“I agree. But Mrs. Blanchard herself is not going to admit to it. And I doubt Traquair will either.”
“Then perhaps his sister or one of his brothers knows. I’ll see if I can draw the information from Lady Helmswick tomorrow.”
I was relieved when he didn’t object to this or the implication that I would be leaving my bedchamber the following day, but his thoughts seemed to be focused on something else.
“There was one thing the waspish woman said that I thought worth noting.” He looked up from the spot on the wall he had been contemplating, the hollows of his eyes cast in shadow. “I know she meant it to be derogatory, but she said that nothing was more important to the duchess than her children. Not the duke, and certainly not her lovers. That she would do anything for her brood.”
Th
e implication was clear. “Even murder?”
“Or helping to hide one.”
I wondered if that was what Lady Bearsden had been hinting at when she told me to ask the duchess the real reason she had hastened to her daughter’s side at Sunlaws. Had Lady Helmswick needed her to help conceal her crime?
I pressed a hand to my forehead. “If the body is Helmswick, then I am finding it increasingly impossible to believe that at least one, if not multiple members of the duchess’s family are not involved. Even if the killer was Marsdale,” I choked out. “I can’t believe no one else knew. After all, the body was hid in a place that the duchess’s sons professed to know best. A place it was unlikely the corpse would ever be found until it was too late.”
His expression was also troubled. “Except Lord Edward decided to conduct that ridiculous ghost tour. With me and you in tow.”
“Yes.” I frowned. “Although I don’t think that clears him. He could have just as easily led us there because he had a guilty conscience or because he needed the body to be found.”
“To be identified as Helmswick,” Gage added, following my thoughts. “Unless his body was found, he would be classified as missing. A state which could drag on for years before the authorities agreed to declare him deceased.”
My disquiet grew the longer I contemplated this and the duke’s third son. “Traquair didn’t arrive at Sunlaws until nearly a fortnight after Helmswick is supposed to have departed.” Which seemed to rule him out, though not completely. “And Lord Henry appeared to be genuinely shocked by the discovery of the body.”
“He does impress me as being the brother whose behavior seems to display the least amount of artifice.” He tilted his head. “Though that may just mean he’s better at concealing it.”
I sighed, conceding his point.
“Lord John is the most difficult for me to apprehend,” he admitted, his fingers tapping the crisp black linen of his trousers. “One moment he’s attempting to be as helpful as can be, and the next he’s refusing to even consider the possibility that the body belongs to Helmswick.”
“He seems very protective of his sister.”
Gage’s gaze slid sideways to meet mine. “Which leads me to wonder if perhaps he knows something, or at least suspects it.”
“Something about Lady Helmswick and Marsdale.”
He didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.
I stared grimly down at the hump created by my feet beneath the coverlet. “Then I think we know which conversations we need to have tomorrow.”
“But don’t try questioning Marsdale alone.”
I turned to him in surprise.
His gaze was shuttered. “I don’t want to think it, but I’ve seen people do terrible things when they believe they’re cornered. In that way, we’re no different from animals. And Marsdale is no rabbit to cower in fear.”
I swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of my throat and nodded, praying it would never come to that. I didn’t want to be wrong about the inveterate rogue. Especially when it came to his inability to hurt me. But the fact of the matter was that someone had pushed me down the stairs. The more I thought about the incident, the more convinced I became that was true. Someone had evidently felt threatened by something I knew. Threatened enough to attempt to do me and my unborn child physical harm. If that was an indication of the type of person we were up against, then it would behoove me to take extreme caution with everyone, except Gage and Trevor.
* * *
* * *
Gage and I both knew from experience that it was better not to disturb Lord Marsdale before the sun had risen high in the sky, so we each began the following day devoted to different tasks. He set off for the stables to inquire about Helmswick’s carriage, while I went in search of the duchess and Lady Helmswick.
One glance out the window at the end of the corridor showed me a world smothered in white. Overcast skies blotted the sun, but the storm had abated, leaving almost a jarring stillness in its wake. Gage would be glad he had donned his riding boots and caped greatcoat, for shoveling a path from the castle to the stables would not have been a swift job, and might still be ongoing.
I smiled at the sight of the duchess’s grandchildren frolicking in the thick powder. The older children ran and shrieked, tossing snowballs or flopping onto their backs to create snow angels, while the youngest clung to their nursemaids, wary of this strange new landscape. I couldn’t help but wonder if this snow had also fallen at Blakelaw House, and whether my nieces and nephews would be enjoying the same antics. Wee Jamie would be too little yet for such capers, but his older brother and sisters would be pink-cheeked with delight.
The thought of them and their mother brought a pang to my heart. I wished Alana had come to me.
As if sensing my turmoil, my brother chose that moment to join me at the window. His hands clasped behind his back, he stood tall and straight, looking decidedly handsome in a frock coat of mink gray. It was not a shade I would have chosen for him, but it suited his complexion and contrasted nicely with his thick chestnut brown hair. I often wondered how it was that my brother, sister, and I had all managed to inherit slight variances of the same shade of hair and lapis-lazuli eyes when other families’ looks differed so greatly from one another.
“How is your shoulder?” he asked evenly.
“Much better, thank you.”
I expected him to protest my leaving my bedchamber, even with the sling looped under my arm, but he merely nodded. “Have you broken your fast?”
“Yes. Bree brought a tray to my chamber.”
He nodded again, but now I was suspicious. I turned to study his profile, wondering at the moderated tone of his voice and his restraint from bringing up the topics he had been so determined to pursue the past two days.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I demanded.
His gaze finally flicked toward mine, his eyes jewel bright in the refracted light from the snow shining through the window. “Aren’t I usually nice to you?”
“Not lately,” I stated flatly, refusing to be bammed.
His brow lowered in a fierce scowl, and I began to turn away, unwilling to listen to his criticisms yet again. However, he reached out a hand to stop me. “You’re right,” he staggered me by admitting. “I’ve been canting at you like a vicar. I wouldn’t like it either.” His eyes pleaded with me. “But I can’t help it. I worry for you, Kiera.” His gaze flicked downward. “Especially in this state.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Maybe not,” he retorted, cutting off my protest. “But I do so anyway. Because you’re my sister.” He shrugged one shoulder in chagrin. “And maybe because I didn’t do such a good job before of worrying about you when I should have.”
“Trevor, I’ve told you that’s not your fault.”
“I know you have. But that doesn’t absolve me of the guilt, nor does it remove the sense of responsibility I feel toward you.” His voice softened. “You’re my sister. And my younger one, at that. I’ve been struggling to keep you out of trouble for twenty-six years, and I’ll continue to do so. Marriage and motherhood don’t change that.”
I gave a huff of laughter. “You’ve been keeping me out of trouble? I would say it’s been more the case that you’ve gotten me into it.”
His lips quirked. “Well, yes. That, too.”
I arched my eyebrows in teasing. “So only trouble started and sanctioned by you is allowed?”
“Something like that.”
I shook my head fondly. “You are a noodle.” I sighed. “But I love you anyway.”
His teeth flashed in a wide grin. “Of course you do.”
I swatted his arm at that, and then turned to stride down the hall. “Come on, then. I’ve a duchess to find.” I peered over my shoulder at him. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? Either Gage or you appoi
nted yourself to be my escort.”
Matching his stride with mine, he threaded my uninjured arm through his. “Can you blame us?”
“No. But there’s no need to be sly about it. Contrary to what you men seem to think, I do have common sense.”
In truth, I was rather relieved to have Trevor at my side. Whatever the truth surrounding my near tumble down the stairs, I was justifiably nervous about taking the staircases on my own again. It was a fear I would eventually have to overcome, but with one arm in a sling, further compromising my balance, it would not be today.
The duchess’s bedchamber was situated directly below mine, though the configuration was slightly different, and her sitting room exceeded mine in sumptuousness. More hand-painted wallpaper graced the walls, this time decorated with little birds perched among peonies. Luxuriant velvet curtains on gilded curtain rods flanked the windows, and a small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Pale turquoise damask upholstery graced the creamy furniture edged with gilding, while veins of blush pink ran through the marble of the fireplace.
Her maid had answered the door, ushering us inside before setting off to locate the duchess. The fact that we were granted such easy access to her sanctum told me she had been expecting just such a visit from me. My gaze trailed around the room, noting the writing desk in the corner, swept free of all correspondence. Whether the duchess wrote her letters on a different piece of furniture, or she had tidied away all evidence of her communications for another reason, I could not say.
The portrait over the fireplace immediately drew my eye next, for it was undoubtedly painted by that most popular of Regency portraitists, Sir Thomas Lawrence. It had his polished and gratifying style, though he had chosen to boldly highlight the subjects while painting the rural background in deepest shadow. It portrayed all six of the duchess’s children, from the infant Henry up to an eleven- or twelve-year-old Traquair. They were all posed in almost a fanciful manner—one lounging on the ground, another with their arms spread wide—and their faces the sweetest and most serene.
A Stroke of Malice Page 22