Lady Lost

by Jane Goodger

  “I don’t know, you may be nearly sixteen but you look ten.”

  Theresa stuck out her tongue and pouted, indeed looking like a young child. Lilian made a face at her little sister and was about to say something more when their mother interrupted her.

  “Lilian, don’t be mean to your little sister. I remember quite well what it was like to have an older sister who got to go to all the balls whilst I had to stay home. It seemed like forever before I had my own come out. Please do try to be more understanding. And what’s this about a Lord Granton?”

  “She’s in love with him,” Theresa sang.

  “Lilian is not in love with Lord Granton,” her mother said firmly.

  “Yes, she is. She was staring at him all day. Like this.” And Theresa promptly made her face go slack and her eyes go dreamy before she burst out into laughter. Her mother pressed her lips together, but Lilian could tell she was trying not to laugh. Encouraged, Theresa stood up and batted her eyes at the imaginary Lord Granton. “Oh, sirrah, I do love your curls and your broad shoulders.”

  “Stop it, Theresa. Mother, make her stop. I only wondered about the gentleman, and I had no idea he was married.”

  “Theresa, that will be enough,” her mother said, then jerked her head so that Theresa would sit on the bench. “His Grace is coming,” she whispered, then gave Lilian a frantic look, as if she could somehow tame her hair in two seconds. Indeed, the Duke of Weston was strolling toward them, a smile on his face as if finding them was a delightful surprise.

  “Ah, three beautiful ladies,” Weston said, bowing before them, and Theresa giggled, quickly stifling herself when Lilian gave her a small nudge.

  “And who is this?” Weston asked, taking up Theresa’s hand and bending over it. Theresa blushed, and Lilian smiled, thinking His Grace kind for making such a fuss over Theresa. Not too many gentlemen would have done more than acknowledge such a young girl.

  “This is Lady Theresa Martin, my younger daughter.”

  “A pleasure, Lady Theresa. I do hope you will save a dance for me this evening.”

  Anne started. “Your Grace, Theresa has not yet come out. She is but fifteen, sir.”

  “Balderdash,” he said without rancor. “This is a house party. Rules are far more relaxed than in town.”

  Theresa perked up, like a puppy being offered a prize bit of prime rib. “Oh, Mother, could I? I would be the happiest girl in the world. And no one would mind. I don’t have to stay for the entire ball, and if His Grace says it’s fine, surely no one else will care.”

  Anne furrowed her brow. “I don’t know, Theresa. You are really far too young to attend such an affair.”

  “I insist,” His Grace said. “Have no worries. I will talk to Lady Barrington and make certain she understands that Lady Theresa is attending the ball at my request.” His Grace smiled then, and Lilian felt a small fissure of unease, though she couldn’t say why.

  * * *

  That night at the ball, Lilian couldn’t help but look for Lord Granton, but it seemed as if Theresa was correct. The gentleman was nowhere to be seen so must have departed. She told herself she was being silly to search for a man who was married, but she simply couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t as if she would have pursued him, but she did wish she had gotten a good look at his face. If she were to run into him somewhere, she would not recognize him, which was probably for the best. No doubt if they happened to meet, she would not have been able to rid herself of the image of his glistening back and well-formed . . . everything. Just the thought made her cheeks heat.

  Theresa, wearing her best gown, stood beside Lilian trying her best to, well, not be Theresa. But the poor girl was so filled with excitement, she could hardly stand still. Nor be quiet. Every woman or man who passed elicited some sort of comment from her, and no matter how many times Lilian or her mother shushed her, she simply could not contain herself.

  “You are not to dance,” Anne admonished her younger daughter.

  “What about His Grace? He specifically asked that I save him a dance,” Theresa said, just one small note away from a high-pitched wail.

  “You may dance with His Grace, as it appears he may one day be your brother-in-law, but no one else.”

  “Mother, I hardly think any man here will ask a twelve-year-old to dance,” Lilian said, just to get her sister riled up.

  “I’m nearly sixteen, and you’re jealous that His Grace asked me to dance and not you.”

  “He was simply being kind to my baby sister,” Lilian said, with emphasis on the word “baby.”

  Lilian swore she could see steam coming from Theresa’s ears, so she relented. “You don’t look twelve at all. I was only teasing. And that dress is very becoming on you, Terri, truly.”

  Mollified, Theresa looked down at her white dress, trimmed with a bit of lace and light blue satin ribbons. “Are you certain? This is such a little-girl dress.”

  “You look lovely,” said her mother, whose voice sounded slightly strained. “Lilian, a word if you please.”

  Lilian could tell from the forced smile on her mother’s face and the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead that she was not feeling well. She was always trying to hide her illness from Theresa, though Lilian was painfully aware that her mother would not be with them long. It was she, after all, who had spoken with her mother’s physician.

  “I don’t believe I’ll be able to stay for the entire ball,” Anne said. “I want you to look after Theresa and make certain she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

  “Yes, Mama. Don’t worry.” She searched her mother’s face to determine just how ill she was feeling. Most times, her mother could struggle through, but it was clear she was feeling particularly ill.

  “Thank goodness His Grace is here to watch over the two of you.”

  Lilian gave her mother a small smile before the older woman turned to leave, the weight of what was unsaid not lost on her.

  “Where is Mother going?” Theresa asked when Lilian returned alone.

  “She’s feeling a bit under the weather,” Lilian said with forced brightness. “I think perhaps she had too much sun today. It was dreadfully warm.”

  Theresa nodded, accepting the explanation without a word, and turned back to the throngs of the wealthy and powerful before her. The orchestra had begun playing nearly an hour earlier, and Theresa basked in the experience of being part of such an evening. “It’s so exciting, is it not?”

  “I suppose.” Lilian looked around the room and didn’t see a single familiar face—or at least no one she could comfortably walk up to and converse with. At that moment, she longed for their home in Cornwall with its lichen-covered stone walls and riot of roses that seemed to climb over every surface. She felt as if she didn’t belong here, with these finely dressed people, no matter that her father had been an earl and her mother a countess. Her memories of their grand home were few, and so she didn’t miss the lavish lifestyle she might have experienced had her father lived. While the Martins had not wanted for life’s necessities, and indeed lived better than most in their tiny village, they had not participated in society and watched nearly every penny spent. They had a handful of servants and new dresses when they outgrew the old, but they’d never experienced anything as lavish as the house party they now attended. She ought to feel as excited as Theresa, but the truth was, Lilian missed her friends and their sedate and simple life. “To be honest, Terri, I’m looking forward to returning home. I haven’t had a good strawberry tart since we left.”

  “I’d rather have a single ball than a dozen strawberry tarts,” Theresa said feelingly. “You’re such an odd bird.”

  Lilian secretly agreed. She’d participated in the season only to please her mother. She had tried to be charming and demure on the rare occasions when a gentleman had shown interest. But it appeared she lacked the social skills to garner more than a single dance or perhaps a cup of punch. It wasn’t until the Duke of Weston that any gentleman had come round more than once. L
ilian couldn’t help but wish almost any other gentleman had shown her interest. As her mother had pointed out, beggars could not be choosers, and Lilian very much fell into the category of beggar, at least when it came to men. And having a duke express interest was far beyond anything she could have imagined. Why, then, was she so reticent about a future with him?

  Theresa clutched her arm suddenly, bringing her out of her small bout of self-pity. “His Grace is coming.”

  Indeed, the Duke of Weston was making his way toward the pair, his eyes sparkling and completely on Theresa. “I think he’s come to claim your dance,” Lilian said indulgently. “And then it’s off to bed with you. Mother’s orders, you know.”

  Theresa instantly pulled a pout, but quickly lost that expression when she looked at the duke.

  “Lady Theresa,” he said, grandly sketching a bow. “I request the honor of your hand for this dance.”

  Theresa curtsied nicely, and shot a look to Lilian as if to say, Isn’t this the most fun ever? Lilian grinned at the pair and gave her little sister a wink. Really, the duke was being so sweet, asking her little sister to dance a waltz with him.

  Lilian watched as they danced, feeling a small swell of pride at how happy Theresa looked, how well she danced, and how expertly she charmed the duke. It really would be too bad if Theresa could not have her own season when the time came. If her mother was wrong about the duke’s interest, Lilian would not marry, and Theresa would have to wait to be introduced to society until Lilian came into her inheritance. By then, Theresa would be twenty-two and far too old to have her first come-out.

  If the duke did not propose, Lilian had no idea where they would live when their mother died—something Lilian did not want to think about at all. Wishing her mother would not die with all her heart would not change the truth of how ill she was. Lilian had prayed and prayed until tears streamed down her cheeks, but her mother had grown only sicker. This trip had been especially taxing for her, and she’d spent more time in bed than out of it. Times such as that afternoon, when her mother had joined her daughters on the garden bench, had been rare indeed.

  Sometimes, when her mother looked at Lilian, she’d seen in her mother’s eyes the desperation she felt. The house they lived in was part of their cousin’s entailment, and he could decide it was unseemly for two young girls to continue to live there alone. Indeed, he’d hinted at as much in a recent letter, which was why it was so imperative that Lilian marry, and marry quickly.

  Lilian forced her thoughts away from her dire predicament and to the man who had shown such interest in her in the past week. They had gone for walks, they had danced, and played cards, and spent an almost unseemly amount of time together. And now he was being so charming by entertaining her little sister. Really, Lilian thought, she could do far, far worse than to marry a kind duke, no matter that he was so old and a bit plump. After they were done with the waltz, the duke dutifully returned Theresa to her.

  “His Grace has asked that I accompany him to dinner,” Theresa gushed. “Oh, please, Lilian. Mother would say yes, I know she would.”

  Lilian looked from Weston, who was giving her an almost apologetic look, to her sister, who looked happy enough to fly to the moon without wings, and simply could not bring herself to say no. “Very well, but this is our secret. Mother will be quite vexed with me—and you—if she finds out.”

  Weston looked slightly contrite. “I do apologize for putting you in such a difficult position, my lady. I hope I can remedy this transgression with a dance.”

  Shaking her head and smiling, Lilian extended her hand and placed it on Weston’s arm just as the small orchestra began playing a country dance. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Lilian was at dinner, thinking the duke would make a rather nice husband, when the first hint of concern struck her. She sat across from her sister and the duke, who had been positioned side by side, Theresa on the duke’s right. Lilian had never seen Theresa look happier. She was fairly glowing under the attention the duke was giving her. Every once in a while, Weston would look up at Lilian and wink, as if acknowledging that he was secretly suffering from not being in Lilian’s company.

  It wasn’t until the third course that Lilian noticed her sister’s coloring was unusually high. And that Weston’s right hand appeared to be . . . not where it should be. Lilian stared for a moment, then looked away, trying to tell herself that appearances could be deceiving. No one else at the table seemed to notice anything amiss. The ancient baron to her left was far too interested in his meal to even say more than a polite “good evening,” and the gentleman to her right was engaged in conversation with the lady next to him.

  Biting her lip, Lilian kept stealing surreptitious looks at Weston and his hidden hand, which by all rights should be holding his fork. Instead, His Grace ate with his left, and Theresa had stopped eating entirely, her entire body gone still. Gathering her courage, Lilian dropped her napkin to the floor and made a small show of being miffed at her own clumsiness. Then she dipped down to retrieve it and looked beneath the table.

  Weston’s large hand was, indeed, resting on her sister’s thigh, shockingly high up. As she looked, he caressed her, moving his hand between Theresa’s legs and Lilian got the horrible feeling he knew she was watching. Grabbing up her napkin, Lilian sat back up and stared at her plate, her face red, her heart beating madly. What should she do? Confront the Duke of Weston now, during dinner? Breathing became difficult and her hands shook in her lap as she clutched the napkin.

  Finally, she looked up at Weston, who stared across the table at her.

  And smiled.

  Chapter 2

  Three years later

  “I seen her standing over His Grace, holding that gun. She turns to me and she says, ‘His Grace is dead,’ cool as you please.” Bessy Wilson, upstairs maid to His Grace, the Duke of Weston, was rather relishing her role as Birmingham Town Police Department’s best (and only) witness to murder. “Just like that. No emotion, no tears. It gives me the shivers, it does. But I’ll tell you what. If Lady Lilian did do it, I say good for her.”

  Constable Toby Conroy looked over his notes, rubbing his large mustache. “Did you hear gunfire?”

  Bessy shook her head. “No one heard a thing, not even Her Grace, who was in the room next door. When I seen poor Lady Lilian standing over the body, I run to Her Grace, you see. She was asleep and not too happy to get woken up, I’ll tell you. Then I tell her what I seen an’ off she goes, running into His Grace’s room, screaming, ‘You murdered him, you murdered him.’”

  A woman wailed from the second floor, a sound of abject despair, and the two lifted their heads and looked up. To Conroy, who had investigated more than one murder in his day, the display of grief seemed a bit excessive, as if Her Grace were an actress on a stage. A bad actress. Her Grace was, of course, far too upset to submit to questioning, but Conroy did get a glimpse of the young woman as she sat upon a chair in her room, dabbing at eyes that appeared to be completely devoid of tears. He could have been wrong on that account, but he’d noted it.

  “What was Her Grace wearing?”

  Bessy looked shocked. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Please just answer it, Miss Wilson.”

  The maid screwed up her freckled face in thought. “Now that is a bit odd, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Conroy said, smiling and patient.

  “She were wearing her robe.”

  “That’s not unusual,” he said lightly, but he made a note of it. Now, if she’d been fully clothed, that would have sounded an alarm in his head. “And what did Lady Lilian do when her sister confronted her?”

  Bessy lifted her chin. “Poor thing denied it, of course, while holding the pistol standing next to his bloody corpse. It were awful, it were. Her Grace started screaming, calling her sister a murderer, saying she’d always hated His Grace for choosing her over Lady Lilian. It’s no secret, you see, that His Grace was first attracted to Lady Lilian but
turned his sights toward Her Grace when he saw her.” Bessy made a face of disgust before schooling her features. Conroy had spoken to half a dozen servants and had quickly realized they adored Lady Lilian and were less than charitable to the new widow.

  “And what did Lady Lilian say? Can you recall?”

  “She said, ‘You know I didn’t do this, Terri, you know I didn’t.’ And then Her Grace got madder than a hornet and calls her a murderer and says she’s sending for Scotland Yard and that she’ll hang, and that’s when Lady Lilian left. She drops the pistol and runs. That’s the last I seen of her.”

  Conroy thanked Bessy, closed his notebook, and tucked it and his pencil into his coat pocket. It seemed like an open-and-shut case, and a murderess was on the loose. Why would Lady Lilian run away if she were innocent? No doubt, innocent or guilty, the threat of a hanging was more than enough to cause a young lady to run away. He tried to picture events as if Lady Lilian was innocent. She heard a sound and, curious, she went into the room and found a pistol, picked it up, and hurried over to His Grace to see if he was well. And that was when Bessy entered the room, later followed by Her Grace. In her robe.

  Conroy had been a constable for a long time—nearly as long as the police force had existed—and something wasn’t sitting quite right. He let out a deep sigh, wishing this case were as cut-and-dried as it appeared on the surface. The only thing he knew for certain was the Duke of Weston was dead and the duke’s sister-in-law was missing.

  Chapter 3

  Marcus Dunford, Viscount Granton, was in a particularly foul mood, which was saying quite a lot as he’d felt wretched most days for nearly five years. He sat in the damp, dark interior of his well-sprung carriage, lumbering through the North York Moors on his way home from a brutally trying interview with his dead wife’s parents.

  They were outraged that, upon the death of their daughter, Eleanor, he’d immediately stopped the five hundred pounds he’d been paying them monthly as part of his marriage contract. Marcus had been avoiding the meeting for a year, but decided to have done with it as they had threatened to visit him at Merdunoir and he wanted no one in his home. As it was, it was already getting overcrowded, what with two full-time servants.