One Step Behind

by Brianna Labuskes

  “I can,” Rose said, but first looked at Lucas. “On two conditions. One, you get me into the investor group for the Winthrop building project.”

  “Done,” Lucas said, relieved at how easy the demand would be to fulfill. The man running the investor group was a good friend of his. Which Rose would have known. She did not quite smile at his response, but she assumed a victorious air.

  She switched her attention to Gemma. “Two, you tell me why you are here.”

  Lucas started to answer, “We—”

  Rose cut him off with a sharp gesture, not even looking at him. “Not you, darling,” she said.

  He shifted closer to Gemma, but she seemed to be taking the turn in conversation with aplomb. He should have known not to be worried. She handled most things with equanimity.

  “A few months ago, my cousin was murdered,” she answered. Her voice was steady. “We believe…well, now that we know the story…that the Kingsmen are involved in the business somehow. Before we came here, we knew there might be a connection between Perry and Winchester, but we could not determine it for certain. I am searching for justice for my cousin.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Rose asked again, without blinking at the mention of murder. “You could have let Lucas come alone.”

  Gemma paused, clearly pondering that for a moment. “Well, in all honesty, Lucas did not inform me of who you were until we were on our way here,” she admitted. “But I think he knew I would insist on coming in any case. I am invested in finding my cousin’s killer, at any cost. It is my sole purpose at the moment.”

  Rose nodded, a respectful acknowledgment of her statement. She also looked somewhat disappointed by the answer.

  “But I would have wanted to have tea with you either way, Miss Stephens,” Gemma continued. “The fact that you built yourself a life out of a dire situation, when, I am quite sure, you faced harsh opposition, is admirable. I would not pass up an opportunity to meet such an intelligent and enterprising woman, and learn whatever I could from her.”

  Rose leaned back in her seat, her first real reaction of the visit. “Well,” she said with amusement. She looked at Lucas, who simply smiled at her.

  “You would like my advice?” Rose asked Gemma. When she nodded, Rose said, “Stay away from men.”

  Gemma dissolved into laughter. “Well, it’s a little late for that,” she said, glancing at Lucas. He noticed Rose tracking and registering the moment. Who knew when the information would come in handy, he thought, but Rose was the type of woman to gather and catalogue any bit she received.

  “Indeed,” Rose murmured. “Well, the names, yes? Let’s see, the three friends were Lord Winchester, Lord Perry, and Lord Dalton. And the gentleman who told me about them was Lord Rathburn.”

  Gemma watched Lucas from the corner of her eye. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He did not recognize a connection with any of the names. Rose was watching them carefully as well. “Not who you were expecting?”

  “We did not know whom to expect,” Lucas said. “But no, those names mean nothing. I know Rathburn and Dalton are still alive, and have encountered both of them briefly here and there. That is all, though.”

  “I hope coming out here was still worth your time,” Rose said.

  “It was,” Gemma assured her, though Rose did not seem concerned either way. “It brings us a step closer to solving our mystery.”

  “Always happy to help my friends,” Rose said.

  …

  “She is fascinating,” Gemma said once they were ensconced back in Lucas’s carriage. “You would never guess how she acquired her wealth.”

  Lucas gazed back at her, a curious look on his face. “I would like to take you to Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Gemma laughed at the sharp pivot in topics and then clapped her hands. “I would adore that more than anything. I have read about the pleasure gardens, of course, but we have yet to venture out to them.”

  Lucas smiled at her enthusiasm. “Then it will be done. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “Yes. This is so exciting,” Gemma said. One of the things she’d wanted to do most in London was pay a visit to Vauxhall. She longed to see the fireworks, attend a mesmerist performance, and hear the orchestra perform for the mixed masses. The most wonderful part of the experience, it seemed, was that the classes merged and mingled. Anyone could attend, and you could be anyone when you attended.

  “But, my lord, you are distracting us from the case,” she chided. “We have learned valuable information today from Rose.”

  “My apologies, my dear,” he said, though he did not seem sorry at all. “You are correct, we have a clear path to follow now, and we should devise a plan on how to traverse it.”

  Gemma pondered their options. “There seem to be two ways we could approach this: be stealthy or confront them. You said they are both still alive?”

  Lucas inclined his head toward her. “Well summed up, my dear. Yes, they are still with us. Getting on in years, but still about in society. I do not know much about either one of them, other than some vague generalities. Dalton has not made a name for himself in the House of Lords, nor in the investment realm. Rathburn, on the other hand, has the reputation of being viciously cunning when it comes to both. He votes in favor of his wealth, it has been said. Even so, neither has had much scandal attached to his name.”

  “That seems to be a trend in this case, does it not?” Gemma said, considering all the pieces they had thus far. “If we were not digging around in the past, I would never guess any of these gentlemen were involved in something nefarious.”

  “It does seem like an innocent boy’s club. The Kingsmen. How lofty of them,” Lucas said with a laugh. “My father never mentioned it in connection with the ring. I did not realize it carried any significance.”

  “You do not wear it,” she commented, glancing at his hands, though she knew it wasn’t there.

  Lucas looked down at his hands as well, and he clenched and unclenched them. “No.”

  She wanted to ask him about it, but she stopped herself. She’d already pried enough into his relationship with his father. It seemed complicated at best.

  “What do you think we should do in regard to Dalton and Rathburn?” she asked instead.

  “If one of them is the blackmailer, it could be dangerous to confront him. I do not think that is likely, however,” he said.

  “Because of the timing?” Pleasure tingled along her nerve endings. She had been thinking along similar lines. They were in such sync when it came to the case.

  “Yes, it does not make sense. If they wanted to punish my father and Perry’s they would not have waited until years after they’d died. My guess is they are victims as well. In which case, it might be more efficient to ask them directly,” he said.

  “Shall we pay our calls now?” Gemma was eager to continue their forward momentum. But Lucas flipped open the lid of his gold pocket watch to check the time and shook his head.

  “It is getting late. I think we have missed our window today.”

  A wave of disappointment crashed over her, but she realized he was correct. They could not call on someone without warning at this time of day. Lucas seemed amused by her discouragement.

  “Mayhap we could go by Lord Dalton’s house, to take a look before we try again tomorrow,” he said, and Gemma brightened.

  Lucas opened the divider to the coachman’s perch and gave him an address on the outskirts of Mayfair. They should be able to blend into the flow of traffic and passersby.

  He shook his head as he settled back into his seat. “I should not let you talk me into such things.”

  “But how else would anything be accomplished?” she replied as the carriage made a sharp turn toward central London.

  …

  Something was wrong.

  They watched the house for more than a quarter of an hour, but they saw no sign of movement.

  Even though they were stopped two houses down from Lord Dalton’s reside
nce Lucas could see that no one passing by seemed to pay the house any attention. That was perhaps a sensible reaction for a nondescript home among others of the same kind, but this house was dark and shut down, whereas the ones around it were lit up with activity as servants were preparing dinner and the occupants were getting ready for their evenings out on the town.

  Lucas could sense Gemma’s disquiet as well. She had not said anything since they had pulled up to the address. She bit her lush lip and kept glancing in his direction, which he could see from the corner of his eye even as he kept his attention focused on the house.

  “He may not be in town,” Gemma said, breaking the tense silence that had filled the carriage.

  “I remember seeing him only a few days ago,” Lucas responded. “Perhaps he has gone off to a country party, though.” For some reason he did not feel confident that was the case. He had learned to trust his gut a long time ago. There was something wrong.

  “You don’t believe that,” Gemma noted, reading him correctly. When had that happened, he wondered. It had been a long time, perhaps never, since someone was able to discern his thoughts with such ease.

  “No.”

  “Should we go check on the house?” she asked. “We could walk right up and knock on the door. I think it is time for society’s calling rules to be tossed in the bin.”

  “I agree with you on that front, but we do not know what we will find. I would prefer to come back under the cloak of darkness. I do not want you tied to this at all. Who knows who has seen my carriage here as it is? I will come back at night when I can have a better look around,” he said, even though he knew she would protest.

  “I will come with you, my lord,” she said, as expected. “I know how to be stealthy as well, or have you forgotten?”

  He weighed the possible dangers. As long as they weren’t seen, it might be beneficial to have a lookout in this case. And he did not underestimate her ability to be useful in such situations. If something went wrong, though, he would never forgive himself if he failed to protect her… But it wouldn’t. The chance of real harm seemed extremely low.

  He nodded and smiled at her sigh of relief. “We shall come back tomorrow, after Vauxhall.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mr. Harrington was to come to the house after breakfast, Lucas had told her yesterday. Beatrice peered critically at herself in the looking glass, not fully understanding why she’d put extra effort into her appearance that morning.

  Her maid had woven a pretty, light pink ribbon through her short blond curls. It complemented the dress she’d slipped on—her favorite—and both highlighted the color she’d pinched into her cheeks.

  She turned slightly to get a different angle then nodded at herself, content with what she saw. Not that it should matter anyway.

  Still, she hurried downstairs into Lucas’s study so she would not be late. Her brother glanced up when she barged through the door unannounced. He raised his brows but quickly went back to poring over the documents he’d been reading, without so much as a greeting.

  “Well, hello to you, too, my dearest brother,” she said as sweetly as she could manage. His lips curled up at her tone, but he continued to ignore her otherwise.

  “When is Mr. Harrington arriving? And will Gemma be by, as well?” She quickly asked the second question so as to not seem too interested in Mr. Harrington’s coming and goings. Her brother heaved an outsized sigh and made a show of placing his papers aside. She bit back a grin. No matter how old they grew, she could always manage to be a thorn in his side.

  “I have somehow convinced Gemma not to attend this gathering,” he told her. “It would not be quite the thing for her to call on me, especially at this early hour, even though we are betrothed.”

  “I never fancied you to be such a stickler for propriety, dear brother,” she said, unable to resist teasing him.

  “I had not realized the depths to which I could be driven until I got a fiancée who cares not a whit for propriety.” He smiled. “Who would have ever believed me to be its enforcer?”

  “Certainly not the person who knew you when you stole kisses from every pretty girl in the village,” she commented, and they grinned at the shared memory of a young boy’s mischievousness. She really did not know what she would do without Lucas. She so wished she were not the cause of all his problems.

  The sharp rap on the door pulled her out of her troubled thoughts. Lucas called out an order, and the footman let Mr. Harrington into the room.

  He made a slight bow in greeting to Lucas and then turned to her. Their eyes met, and the world stopped, and she knew instantly why she’d worn her favorite blue dress.

  A ghost of a smile flitted over his lips, but it almost seemed mocking. “Lady Beatrice,” he murmured.

  She curtsied and tried to shake off the sensation that her life had changed. She had certainly enjoyed their day together researching the pocket watch shops, but nothing earth-shattering had happened. They had talked on all matters, mostly trivial, and laughed a bit. He was quite serious, but he had a wicked sense of humor, if one paid attention. Most people might miss it, but she caught it under the dryness in his voice. They lowered themselves into opposing seats.

  I am not in love with him.

  I am not.

  I.

  Am.

  Not.

  Love was fireworks and passion and devastation. With Ralph, it had been a fire that burned through her against her better judgment. And in the end, when he’d abandoned her, it had left her scorched. Panic clawed at her throat, threatening to cut off her air.

  No, what she was experiencing now was friendship. When she saw Mr. Harrington, the pleasant glow that coursed through her was nothing like the passion she’d carried for Ralph. She just had never experienced such a thing with a member of the opposite gender.

  “I think the more information we collect on this case the better,” Lucas said from behind his desk, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. So much for any preamble, she thought, amused at her brother’s abruptness. She hoped Mr. Harrington would not take it personally. “Although we have not crossed anyone off through the pocket watch connection, we have corroborated that there are those on our suspect list who are collectors.”

  Mr. Harrington nodded, his shoulders taut. He was clearly frustrated he had not progressed further with his questioning. He waited for Lucas to continue.

  But instead of speaking, Lucas reached into the upper left-hand drawer of his desk and withdrew a small, emerald green box. Without warning, he tossed it lightly to Mr. Harrington, who, with a surprising grace, snatched it out of midair. She scooted to the edge of her seat so she could see what was inside when he pried open the lid.

  “It was my father’s,” Lucas said. Beatrice saw that it was a heavy gold ring, with a ruby inset at the top of the band.

  “Your father was connected to Nigel Lancaster’s murder over a pocket watch?” Mr. Harrington asked, his brows raised.

  Lucas did not spare her a glance, and she was thankful. If he had, Mr. Harrington might have looked as well, and then both men would have seen that her cheeks were the color of tomatoes. Secrecy and deception had never been her forte. She left that to her brother, for better or worse. Instead, she was allowed to sink into her misery without notice. But it was a good thing she was not in love with Mr. Harrington. Otherwise, she might care if he found out her secret. Yes, it was a good thing indeed.

  “We believe Nigel’s death is connected to a revenge scheme involving something that took place decades ago,” Lucas said, without any mention of her blackmail.

  Mr. Harrington took a moment to process the information. “And it’s tied to this ring?”

  “The ring was bought by four gentlemen who called themselves the Kingsmen,” Lucas informed him.

  “Lofty,” Mr. Harrington commented, his mockery dry and only partially hidden. Beatrice smiled, and Lucas smirked.

  “Yes, well, from the sounds of it they weren’t exact
ly modest in their view of themselves,” he said. “Apparently they formed the club right out of Oxford. It lasted for a Season at most. I would guess it was focused on typical rakish behavior favored by young bloods of the ton. But I think something happened to cause the men to stop associating with each other for the rest of their lives. Something that may have been responsible for tearing the group apart.”

  Mr. Harrington nodded. He had not taken his eyes off the ring. “You want me to figure out what happened,” he said.

  “I want you to find out more information about the club,” Lucas corrected. “We may never figure out what happened, but I plan on confronting the surviving members over the next few days. But having information when doing so would be immensely helpful.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Harrington said. He finally looked up, and when he did, it was directly into Beatrice’s eyes. She caught her breath at the unexpected move. “Is there anything else I should know about this case before I proceed?” he asked, still looking at her, as if peering directly into her soul.

  He knows.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Why would you ask such a question?”

  “I find myself to be most efficient when I have all the information available,” Mr. Harrington said, clearly choosing his words carefully. The room was taut with tension, and all three occupants were on high alert. She felt it in the air. “I would not want to duplicate efforts or chase down dead ends unnecessarily.”

  Beatrice interrupted before either could say any more. “I want to help you, Mr. Harrington. I was helpful the other day, was I not? I think we could get more information if I accompany you today, and Lucas did say I could help you, even if he does not really think I am clever enough,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. Both men would try to discourage her, so she hoped to overwhelm their senses enough that they didn’t realize they’d agreed to let her participate in something potentially dangerous.

  “You do not know how I intend to spend the day, Lady Beatrice,” Mr. Harrington reminded her in an even voice. “You might not wish to join me if you knew where I was planning to visit.”