by Cheryl Bolen
He was relieved to receive her letter. He had determined not to go to her. The woman was maddening. Her effect upon him was maddening. He was better off not seeing her. Only he wasn’t. He’d been away from her for four days now. Four days of hungering for her. Four days of torture.
Now he had a plausible excuse for seeing her.
“When did this letter arrive?” he asked his butler.
“Last night, your grace, just after you went out.”
“Good.” Alex would go to her after he shaved and dressed. He could only hope that she had been eagerly awaiting him since early last evening.
As Gates shaved him, Alex’s thoughts were on Georgiana. Was it possible she was missing him as much as he was missing her? She was as difficult to read as an untried two-year-old filly, and he’d always prided himself on his ability to understand women. That was one of the reasons he’d never been in want of affectionate females.
He directed his thoughts back to the subject of the letter she’d written him. To whom could she be referring? He really was at a loss to imagine which member of that shooting party could wish Freddie dead—other than Sir Arthur, who would, quite naturally, be jealous of Freddie. A mere baronet unfavorably compared in every measure to a youthful duke of great fortune—but most of all in the affections of a lady adored by the baronet.
But Alex had read Sir Arthur’s letters. Alex had talked with the man about Freddie. And Alex was convinced of the man’s innocence.
That was the problem. Alex didn’t think any of those men guilty of the calculated murder of his brother. Was he too trusting? Too easily swayed? He would soon learn something that might help in his quest to apprehend Freddie’s killer.
* * *
As soon as he was shown into the Hartworth library and his eyes met Georgiana’s, she favored him with a smile. Never before had she greeted him in so friendly a fashion. Georgiana’s rarely bestowed smiles, with her snowy white, perfectly formed teeth, were something out of the ordinary. It made him feel like an inexperienced schoolboy facing his first love.
He was nearly undone when she walked up to him, that radiant smile never dimming, her faint rose scent almost unleashing his passion. God, but she was beautiful! She wore the same muted rose gown she was wearing the night of their kiss Why was it he could remember her wardrobe—even the faded togs she’d worn when he’d first met her—when he’d never before noticed women’s clothing?
“First, your grace, I must apologize to you. It was unpardonable for me to lash out at you as I did last week. I beg that you realize I do not now nor have I ever believed you guilty of murdering Freddie.” She extended her hands, and when he reached out, she covered his with hers. “Can you forgive me?”
It might just be a hand clasp, but to him—hungering for her as he did—it was erotic. He cocked his head and strived for flippancy. “Were I a murderer, my lady, I daresay you’d have been strangled.”
Her lips pursed, but she could not suppress a smile “I am told I can be most provoking.”
He laughed but could not gallantly deny that she was, indeed, excessively provoking. “Now tell me about the murderer.”
“Come sit on the sofa. You can read it for yourself.”
To his surprise, she sat next to him and gave him the letter. It was a second before he realized it was not the letter that smelled so sweetly of roses. It was the woman beside him. He looked quickly to the signature, though he already knew from the handwriting it was penned by a woman. Sophia Langston.
Did she have a strong motive for Freddie’s death? He found it difficult to believe. He proceeded to read the letter, then dropped it in his lap and faced her.
“A woman most thoroughly scorned, would you not agree?” Georgiana asked, somberly.
“I will own she was furious when she wrote this.”
Georgiana’s brows lowered. “I’m anticipating a but in your voice.”
He nodded. “If you’d met the woman you’d know she was incapable of murdering Freddie.”
“It’s unlikely she’d affect me as profoundly as she’s affected you. I’m a female.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were obviously taken in by her charms.”
“What kind of charms would you be referring to?”
She hesitated a moment before answering. “The woman’s a vixen!”
“Do you honestly believe that after reading her letters? Did you not come to believe the depth of her devotion to my brother?”
“I will own she was deeply in love with him. She did not sound like I would imagine a doxy would sound.”
He nodded in agreement.
“And here’s my but,” she said. “You and I agreed at the outset of this . . . this inquiry into Freddie’s death that there were two reasons to commit murder. The first is for financial gain.”
“One is obliged to point to me there.”
“But of course you didn’t do it,” she conceded.
He eyed her, nodding. “The other reason’s for love.”
“Exactly.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t do it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So we’re back to that. You’re her champion. Did she lure you? Is she to become your mistress?”
“She did not, and she is not.” He wasn’t about to tell Georgiana that Sophia Langston was twice as old as she and half as pretty.
She looked askance at him. “Can you honestly tell me you were immune to her charms?”
“Are you’re jealous, Georgiana?”
Fire lit her eyes. “Lady Georgiana. I told you not to address me in such a manner.”
“Yes, I recall,” he said in a low, husky voice, “the night we kissed.”
“The night you kissed!”
“Yes, I did. You’re a very good kisser, Georgiana.”
She issued a deep sigh of exasperation. “How did we get onto this odious topic of conversation?”
“There’s nothing odious about kissing you, but I believe the conversation diverged to this topic when I accused you of being jealous of Mrs. Langston.”
“You’re incredibly odious.”
“But thankfully not a murderer. Now we’re back on topic.”
“I shouldn’t have sent you that letter.”
“In all seriousness, my lady, you needed to. I appreciate your eagerness to help the investigation into the death of my brother, your betrothed. As you’ve attempted to instill in me, we cannot ignore any lead. And while I don’t believe Sophia Langston capable of having murdered or having instigated the murder of Freddie, I shall not ignore the lead.”
“What will you do?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “Part of my conviction of her innocence hinges upon her telling me that when she learned of Freddie’s death she was too prostrate with grief to perform that night.”
“You’ll find out if she was telling you the truth?”
“Yes. And furthermore I will have my man—he’s most resourceful—befriend someone in Mrs. Langston’s household to see if she could have made the journey to Gosingham—though that would have been difficult, given that the length of that trip would prevent her from being on stage for a week.”
“How could you find out if she encouraged someone else to do it?”
He shrugged. “I shall have to think on that.”
“I am gratified that you’re at least amenable to suspecting someone of the vile deed.”
“I didn’t actually say I suspected her, but as you’ve frequently pointed out, I should not be so easily convinced of innocence. I still cannot conceive that any of those who knew Freddie could be guilty.”
“You do seem to have exonerated—at least in your mind—most members of the shooting party.”
He started to count on his fingers. “My cousin, most certainly. Freddie’s best friend as well. I do not believe Sir Arthur guilty, either.” He looked her in the eye. “I’m equally convinced of the innocence of Mrs. Langston.”
“A
re you sure you weren’t captivated by her beauty?”
He did not remove his pensive gaze from her. “I’m sure.”
He thought perhaps she let out a barely audible sigh. “You’ve left off your Gosingham neighbor.”
“I have difficulty believing Lord Barnstaple would wish his lifelong friend dead, but I’m willing to explore any motives that should arise.” He couldn’t shake the question of Barnstaple asking Freddie for the additional land by the lake. To his knowledge, Freddie had never consented. “And I haven’t ruled out Lord Hickington either,” he added.
Her brows lowered. “What possible motive could Lord Hickington have for wishing Freddie dead?”
Alex’s lazy gaze moved from the perfection of her face, to her lovely shoulders, to skim along the smooth curves of her slender body. “You.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Whatever can you mean?”
“Can you deny that the man has asked for your hand?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And he’s still unwed. Does he not seem to be anxiously seeking your company?”
“I am sure the silly man would not resort to murder to win my hand. In fact there’s nothing he could do that would gain my affections.”
“I’m happy to know that, Georgiana.”
“I have asked you to cease trying to make love to me.”
“Acknowledge you’ve missed me.”
“Wretched man.”
She did not deny having missed him. He stood and smiled down at her. “Alas, I must go instruct my man to spy on Mrs. Langston.”
He hoped the brevity of his visit would ignite her desire to see him again. Soon. Disappointment from leaving her now was easily worth the reward of her smiling welcome when next he returned.
* * *
Not long after Alex gave Gates his orders—whilst also having the good man make inquiries at Drury Lane—Alex was surprised to find Barnstaple calling on him.
They met in the library, which was altogether different from the cozy library at Hartworth House where he’d kissed Georgiana. The Fordham library was especially grand for the modest proportions of a town house. It featured no less than two fireplaces, a vast number of Doric columns, and an even more vast number of leather-bound books. He invited his Lincolnshire neighbor to sit on one of the chamber’s four sofas.
“I called yesterday,” Barnstaple said, “but when you weren’t here I was happy to visit with your charming sisters.” He sighed. “I needed to offer them my condolences on Freddie’s death. Such a sad occurrence, to be sure.”
Alex’s expression grave, he nodded, then changed the topic. “It’s a wonder I didn’t see you at White’s last night.” Alex had continued going to his brother’s club in the hopes of picking up something that might help lead to his brother’s killer. Sir Arthur had been there, and Alex had once more engaged him in conversation but still believed the man innocent.
“I was fatigued. I’d just arrived in London late in the afternoon. I had a very early night. Nothing’s more tiring than traveling all day in a coach, do you not agree?”
“I do, and I’m flattered that you came straight away to Fordham House.”
“I felt I had an obligation to see your sisters. You see, I hadn’t written them since Freddie’s tragic death. Thought I’d visit them in person to tell them how dearly I cherished my friendship with their brother.”
“Very kind of you.”
“There’s another matter I wish to speak to you about.”
Would he bring up the land adjacent to Gosingham? Alex arched a brow.
“Freddie had verbally given me permission to acquire a small parcel of your land, but he died before we could complete the transaction.”
Alex’s attention perked. The only letter in Freddie’s papers mentioning the land expressly said Freddie had refused to convey the property to his neighbor. Now that Freddie was dead, there was only Barnstaple’s word for it that Freddie had agreed to part with the parcel.
Though Alex was not close to Freddie, he knew his brother was more interested in expanding his land holdings than in selling them off. God knows he didn’t need the money. Of course, there was the longstanding—though not terribly close—friendship between the two neighbors. Perhaps Freddie was willing to part with the land in consideration of their friendship.
“Freddie said nothing to me about this,” Alex responded. “It would have been something he’d have directed to the attention of our solicitor. Have you checked with Waterman?”
“No. You see, Freddie just agreed at the shooting party. I hardly think he would yet have forwarded it to Waterman.”
“So, my dear fellow, am I correct in thinking you’ve come to ask me to approve the conveyance of this property to you?”
Barnstaple nodded.
“And what piece of property would this be?”
“It’s a little parcel between my modest property and the smaller of the Fordham lakes Capability Brown built for your father. I wouldn’t even think of asking were it not that you already have the larger lake.”
“So then you’d be able to enjoy having a lake on your property without the cursed nuisance and expense of having one dug? Is that correct?”
Alex was well aware of the vast sums his father had paid to have the previously barren land surrounding Gosingham transformed with man-made hills and lakes as well as trees brought in from as far away as North America.
“Yes, but as I said, I’m willing to pay.”
“Wretched luck Freddie died before he could instruct Waterman to draw up the contracts.” If, indeed, such an agreement had even been reached between the two men. “The pity of it is that my father’s dying instructions were that no part of our land was ever to be sold or given away. It wasn’t like Freddie to go against our parent’s wishes.”
“You know how it is with one’s parents. They say so many things that were never meant to be taken literally. Take my father, may he rest in peace. He told us that he was exceedingly attached to the Gainsborough of his sister—one of two, I might add—and he did not want it to leave the family. I don’t mind saying I sold it for an enormous sum after the old fellow died. I think he would have done the same, given the offer.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if we don’t have another portrait of Aunt Fanny—just as you have another lake.”
“Some men do value money above all other things, but not the men in my family, I regret to tell you.”
Lord Barnstaple’s face fell, and it was a moment before he spoke. “Does this mean you will not honor the agreement between your brother and me?”
“Not at all, dear fellow. You’ve only to show me proof of the agreement, and I will be honor bound to comply with it.”
Barnstaple stood and glared at Alex. “I can’t believe you could be unmoved by our long-standing friendship.”
“You can always count on me as a friend, my dear Lord Barnstaple, but I have a duty to honor my own father’s request above yours. This is not to say that you’re not welcome to use the small lake at any time you wish.”
Barnstaple murmured thanks as he nodded. “I shall not take this refusal to sell as your final answer. I pray you’ll reconsider, your grace.” Lord Barnstaple swept from the room.
Finally! Alex had a bona fide suspect in his Lincolnshire neighbor. Until today he would never have thought his old neighbor capable of killing Freddie. Now he had a strong motive, though for the life of him, Alex could not understand why it was so blasted important to Barnstaple that he acquire a slender strip of land. Furthermore, Alex knew his neighbor’s pockets were shallow. He couldn’t possibly be prepared to pay very much for that lake access. Had he hoped to barter using the two familyies’ high regard for one another?
Even though Alex had heretofore been trusting of the members of the shooting party, he did not believe Barnstaple. Freddie would never have consented to give away any of the Fordham holdings—even for friendship.
Two questions were posed. Why was a slip of land so i
mportant to Barnstaple, and why would it be worth killing for? Alex could not deny that Capability Brown had outdone even his own enormous talents when he’d designed the small lake. Spanned by a humpback bridge made of the local stone, the shimmering body of water reflected the graceful lines of a small Grecian temple constructed on a Brown-created hill covered in velvety grass. Willows bent to dust the water on the opposite side. A prettier place Alex had never seen.
He could understand coveting such a place—though such a vice was alien to him—but killing for it? Unimaginable.
Still, this was his most solid lead yet. If the killer should prove to be Barnstaple, though, how could Alex prove it? Obviously, there were no witnesses, and expecting his neighbor to confess was unrealistic.
Establishing guilt would be nearly impossible.
Now Alex pondered if he should apprise Georgiana of this newest development. Perhaps he should wait a few days, see what the valet learned about Mrs. Langston. Then when he reported to Georgiana, he would have much to reveal.
Hopefully, another prolonged absence would elicit the lady’s provocative smile. And perhaps even unfurl some of her tightly guarded affections.
Chapter 15
When Georgiana first started listening to Lady Wycliff speak on expanding the franchise at the next Tuesday gathering, she was possessed of the oddest feeling that she didn’t belong there. It wasn’t just that she felt vastly inferior to the exceedingly intelligent and well-informed Lady Wycliff—which she most decidedly did. It was more that she felt as out of place as she would had she wandered into a gathering of Hottentots.
No peer or peeress of Georgiana’s acquaintance had ever dared to criticize their own class or the system of government by which they were ruled. Georgiana showed great restraint in not leaping up to protest. How could anyone think everyone had the right to vote? Surely illiterate men had no use casting a ballot. What kind of men would be elected if everyone had their say in an election?
She couldn’t help but remember what went on in France just two decades previously. Such wild thinking could bring about the end of the aristocratic class. Unconsciously, she clasped a delicate hand around her cambric collar.