Scandal Meets Its Match (The May Flowers Book 7)

by Merry Farmer

  “And then there is Mr. Jameson, the publisher, to worry about. He has a family to support as well. Any legal action brought against him would be a disaster that I would not want to lay claim to causing.”

  “I understand, Mr. Mercer,” Lenore said, turning her gaze to him with a contrite look.

  Phin smiled. “After what we shared last night, I think it’s only right that you call me Phineas. Or Phin, whichever you prefer.”

  Lenore smiled as well. “After what we shared last night, I believe you should call me sweetheart or darling, or something equally as ridiculous and sentimental.”

  Phin’s emotions flashed from wary to elated so fast that he thought the world might have tilted off its axis. “I’ll call you anything you’d like, Lenore, as long as you’ll be—”

  Before he could finish, Lenore gasped so hard at something she spotted over his shoulder that he thought she might swallow her teeth. Even more than that, all color instantly drained from her face and her eyes went wide. The look of utter, genuine terror that passed over her was beyond anything Phin had witnessed in his life, and he knew immediately she wasn’t teasing or joking with him in any way. Instead, she dove suddenly behind him, hiding as though the National Gallery itself had exploded and hurled shrapnel at them.

  Chapter 7

  As Lenore dove behind Phineas, hands trembling and heart twisting with fear like she hadn’t known for over a year, one thought raced through her head—it had only ever been a matter of time.

  “Lenore,” Phineas asked in a strained voice, attempting to turn toward her, which Lenore made nearly impossible as she continued to use his body as a shield. “What the devil is the matter?”

  A tiny voice of reason whispered in Lenore’s head that she was more likely to draw attention by ducking and dodging behind Phineas than she would be if she simply stood straight, pretended to smile and behave as though nothing were out of the ordinary and as though she hadn’t just seen a ghost. No, not a ghost, a demon straight from hell. Because there was no mistaking the thick, burly man who strode through the crowds of Trafalgar Square, looking as out of place as he did dangerous. He held something that must have been a map in his hands, glaring out at the hodge-podge of humanity roaming the area, his brow knit in a scowl. Lenore would have known Bartholomew Swan anywhere. The trouble was, he would know her the moment he spotted her as well.

  “We need to leave,” she hissed to Phineas, grabbing his arm and tugging it, though she had no idea which way to go. Bart glanced up from his map, scanned the area, and rubbed a hand over his face, smoothing his wide, bushy moustache. “We need to leave now.”

  “All right,” Phineas whispered tightly, almost as though he understood the direness of the situation, though there was no way he could.

  He started toward Bart at first. Lenore made a strangled sound and dug in her heels, pulling him in the opposite direction. Phineas frowned, sent her a worried look, then glanced in Bart’s direction.

  “You’ve seen someone you know, haven’t you?” he asked her. He paused, then his face flinched in understanding. “Is it that thick-set man with the western boots?”

  Lenore had been too terrified to notice Bart’s boots, but when she peeked back at him she spotted a pair of worn, brown boots poking out from beneath the hem of his grey trousers—boots that would have been far better suited on a ranch than the streets of London. She nodded stiffly to Phineas, then pulled him away.

  “I take it he’s American and someone of your former acquaintance,” Phineas murmured as they dodged around various tourists and locals who had come to take in the sights. “Someone from home?”

  Lenore nodded again, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was very much afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit. And that would draw so much attention that it would be a death sentence for her.

  “I’ll get you back to Howsden House,” Phineas said, his voice and posture full of resolve.

  Lenore glanced to him in surprise. It wasn’t common knowledge that she was living with Reese and Freddy instead of with Freddy’s sister, Henrietta, and Lord O’Shea. But of course, Phin knew everything. That was one of the things she admired about him.

  They hadn’t gone more than a few yards, pressing their way through the crowd without jostling anyone enough so that they would cause a fuss, when a shrill cry of, “And just where do the two of you think you’re going?” stopped them dead in their tracks. Lady Hamilton cut into their path, preventing them from fleeing.

  “Lady Hamilton,” Phineas greeted the angry woman with a surprisingly calm smile, given the circumstances. “How lovely to see you this morning.”

  “Don’t you lovely me, Mr. Mercer.” Lady Hamilton narrowed her eyes at him. “You thought I would give up my pursuit after the musicale the other evening, didn’t you?”

  “And what pursuit is that?” Phin asked.

  Lenore winced, both because she didn’t think it was a particularly savvy move for Phin to deny what everyone in London now knew she was after and because Lady Hamilton was loud enough to alert everyone in the square of her presence.

  “I will have justice for my daughter and her sullied name,” Lady Hamilton declared. “I will see the author of the scandal that has ruined her pilloried if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  “I hope you do just that,” Lenore said, alarmed by how strangled her voice was. She glanced over her shoulder, searching out Bart. He had moved closer to the steps to the National Gallery and farther away from them, but it wasn’t much of a relief. “If you will excuse us, Lady Hamilton. We have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”

  “Not so fast.” Lady Hamilton stopped her as she tried to move on. “I want you to meet Det. Gleason.” She grinned as though she’d accomplished some sort of coup.

  Lenore swallowed and turned her attention to the man by Lady Hamilton’s side. He had been shadowing her from the moment Lenore spotted him. She hadn’t thought much of it when Lady Hamilton had announced to the crowd that the man would be investigating the matter of Nocturne’s author. Now that she saw the man up close, however, dread pooled in her stomach. And there was already enough dread there to sink a ship. Det. Gleason was slightly shorter than average, but the sharpness of his blue eyes made up for any lack of stature. He sported a fashionable moustache, which gave him a serious air, but Lenore could see more than a little thick, brown hair poking out from under his hat, as though he had a hard time keeping it tamed, which gave him the air of being a rogue who might do anything to solve whatever mystery he was tracking.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Garrett,” Det. Gleason said, extending a hand.

  Lenore gulped. The man already knew her name. That was most certainly not a good thing. She put on a smile and shook his hand all the same. “The pleasure is all mine, Det. Gleason. Might I introduce Mr. Mercer?” She turned to Phineas.

  “Yes, I know Mr. Mercer,” Det. Gleason said, his wide mouth pulling into a slight grin. Phineas looked baffled and more than a little alarmed, until Det. Gleason added, “By reputation if by nothing else.”

  That admission did nothing to ease the tension that was painted all over Phineas’s face, even though he attempted to appear casual as he shook the detective’s hand. “I’m afraid I don’t have the honor of knowing your reputation, sir,” he said with an affable smile.

  “Which only goes to show I am very good at my job indeed,” Det. Gleason replied.

  He held Phineas’s hand for longer than was necessary, and judging by the way their hands were joined, both men were attempting to squeeze the life out of the other in some sort of show of masculine superiority. On any other day, Lenore would have rolled her eyes, but Bart had taken up a position halfway up the steps of the National Gallery and was scanning the crowd closer to the fountain.

  “I understand that you were an editor of your class newspaper at Durham University,” Det. Gleason went on to say, smiling at Phineas as though he knew something.

  “I play
ed a minor role,” Phineas said with a casual shrug. Lenore had the feeling the shrug was to distract from the flush that formed on his face.

  “I did a bit of scribbling myself, back in the day,” Det. Gleason went on. “We should have a pint sometime and talk about literature.”

  “That sounds delightful,” Phin answered, then cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, sir. Miss Garrett truly does have a pressing engagement that we are already late for.”

  “Understood,” Det. Gleason said with a nod. “Have a good day, sir. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

  “Aren’t you going to examine him?” Lady Hamilton asked Det. Gleason as Lenore and Phineas hurried away. “I’m certain both of them have something to do with this whole, horrid affair.”

  “Shit,” Phineas growled once he and Lenore had reached the edge of the square and were able to move faster. He didn’t say anything more.

  “I quite agree,” Lenore said in a hollow voice.

  Neither of them spoke as they moved far enough from the bustling square to hail a cab. Even once they were inside, Lenore couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief. Bart was in London. London was huge, but it wasn’t big enough to keep her hidden forever. She had to assume that Bart was searching for her and that he would ask around. All it would take was for him to find someone who knew her or had even heard of her, and he would know where to find her. The clock that had been ticking over her head for more than a year suddenly seemed louder than ever before.

  “You’re going to have to explain what’s going on,” Phineas told her with a pointed look as the cab let them out in front of Howsden House. Phin paid the driver, and the two of them continued to the house.

  Lenore didn’t wait for Mr. Tilney, the butler, to let them in. Reese had taken to leaving the front door unlocked during the day, since all three of them had a tendency to come and go, though she hoped and prayed both Reese and Freddy were home.

  “I’ll explain,” Lenore said, pressing a hand to her stomach as she and Phineas headed down the hall in search of Freddy and Reese. “But I’d rather only explain once.”

  She considered it a stroke of luck that Freddy and Reese were, indeed, both home, enjoying luncheon in the dining room along with Reese’s son Harry and Harry’s best friend, Ricky, who also happened to be Freddy’s nephew and Henrietta’s son from her first marriage. All of them glanced up as Lenore and Phineas appeared in the doorway.

  “I thought you were having luncheon with your May Flowers friends,” Freddy said, though he stood with a smile and moved to kiss Lenore’s cheek. Before he stepped back, his expression dropped and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Lenore glanced to Harry and Ricky, who looked delighted to be present when something grown-up was happening. That didn’t last long, though.

  “Boys, it’s back to the nursery for you,” Reese said, standing and pulling back Harry’s chair as though he would comically dump him out of it.

  “We never get to hear anything fun,” Harry complained to Ricky as the two boys shuffled out of the room.

  Reese gestured for Lenore to sit in the chair Harry had vacated, but Lenore held up a hand and shook her head. “I don’t think I can sit still right now.” She proved as much by pacing the length of the room, hands pressed to her stomach.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Freddy asked Phineas.

  Phineas shrugged and shook his head. “She saw a man from her past in the crowd at Trafalgar Square.”

  All three men turned to Lenore. There was nothing she could do but confess.

  “His name is Bartholomew Swan,” she said in a hoarse voice, her shoulders itching as sweat ran down her back. That didn’t seem like the right place to begin her story, so she turned in her pacing and headed back to the end of the dining room table where the men stood. “How much of the news from Wyoming has been reported here in England?” she asked.

  All three of them exchanged baffled glances and shrugged or shook their heads.

  “Only what you have told us,” Freddy said.

  “We wouldn’t have heard anything that you haven’t,” Reese added.

  Lenore gulped and grabbed the back of one of the chairs tucked into the table. “Have you heard anything at all about the Wyoming Range Wars?”

  Again, she was met with baffled looks.

  “There is a war in Wyoming?” Phineas asked.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Suddenly, Lenore felt as though she had to sit down. She pulled out the chair and flopped into it. The men followed suit. “I’m sure there are many facets of the war that I don’t understand, but in short, it’s a war over cattle and grazing rights.”

  She gathered her thoughts a bit more as the men settled into their places. She had all three of their rapt attention.

  “Ranching is a serious business in Wyoming,” she explained. “Fortunes are made and lost raising cattle for market. The largest of the ranches have formed an organization, the Wyoming Stock Growers Association. Papa is a member, and so is Howard Haskell, the founder of our town, but neither of them are comfortable with what’s been going on recently.”

  “What has been going on?” Freddy asked. He sat beside Lenore, which enabled him to reach for her hand and squeeze it in comfort.

  “The WSGA has been trying to buy out or otherwise eliminate competition from smaller landholders and homesteaders,” Lenore went on. “As you might imagine, those homesteaders aren’t too happy about it. In turn, the WSGA members aren’t too pleased with their resistance. Which is just business as usual in most places, but this is Wyoming and they are frontiersmen. What might have been a simple disagreement elsewhere is starting to turn into violent clashes. Several men have already been killed in Johnson County.”

  “And this Bartholomew Swan has something to do with that?” Phineas asked, glancing to Freddy as though he should have been the one sitting next to her, holding her hand.

  Lenore nodded tightly. “I met Bart at a social event in Laramie a few years ago. I hate to say it, but he took a shine to me.” She swallowed the sick feeling that rose up her throat. “I had no interest in him at all, of course, but he didn’t much care about that. I was naïve and more concerned with balls and social events at the time, so I let him escort me to various functions while Papa and I were visiting. This was right before his planned trip here, to London.”

  The men exchanged looks, though it was clear none of them knew where the story was going.

  “I’ll spare you the details of how I ended up in a particular situation,” she said, sending a look across the table to Phineas, “but one evening, I found myself in a position to look through Bart’s personal correspondence.” Phin would likely be able to guess that the way she snooped through his office the night before wasn’t the first time she had gone nosing in someone else’s business. “What I found there was evidence of Bart’s involvement in the murders of some men at the Waverly ranch and detailed plans to murder several more of the local ranchers who were holding out against the WSGA.”

  “Murder?” Freddy’s hand grew tight around hers.

  A look of understanding dawned in Phineas’s eyes as he likely remembered her passing reference to the Waverly ranch during their walk through Hyde Park.

  “In cold blood, for the most part,” Lenore continued with a nod. “These are not polite, London gentlemen. Some of them are one step up from gunslingers. And I had the proof of what they were planning in my hands.” She took a breath and went on. “I had the proof in my hands when Bart burst into the room and caught me with it.”

  Freddy, Phineas, and Reese all flinched in alarm, as though they knew exactly where the story was headed now.

  “Needless to say, I only barely escaped being murdered myself,” she went on, face burning as she left out the most important detail of the entire story. She couldn’t confess to how she’d managed to escape just yet. To reveal that part of the story would only cause a whole other set of problems that she simply couldn’t deal with. “I was
supposed to return home to Haskell with some of my friends, but I begged and pleaded with Papa to let me continue on to London with him. I told him I wanted to be one of those women we all read about back home who marries a titled lord and becomes a countess or something. Fortunately for me, Papa is a little on the indulgent side, and he agreed.”

  “To bring you here to London to find a husband,” Freddy said, blinking.

  “Yes.” Lenore took a breath, but it did little to settle her nerves.

  “But you really came here to hide from this Bart person,” Phineas said. His expression hardened. “A murderer who is intent on killing you lest you expose him for attempting even more murders.”

  “For all I know, those other murders were carried out,” Lenore said in a haunted voice. “Granted, none of my friends or family back home has written to me about them as of yet, but then again, I don’t hear much about state news in those letters, only goings on in Haskell.”

  “A bloody murderer is in London, and in all likelihood, he’s searching for you?” Reese said, incredulous.

  Lenore could only nod in affirmation.

  “You have to get out of here,” Freddy said, standing suddenly. “You can’t stay in London as long as that man is here. You aren’t safe.”

  “I agree,” Reese said, assuming the imperious air that sometimes came over him. Truth be told, Reese was one of the few men Lenore would have trusted to take charge in a situation as dire as the one she found herself in.

  “I can take her to Yorkshire,” Phineas said, rising as well. His face was dark with determination to protect Lenore at all costs, but it pinched slightly as he went on to say, “As it happens, it would be wise for me to get out of the city right now myself.”

  “Yes,” Lenore agreed. “Det. Gleason is on to you.”

  “Who?” Freddy asked, glancing between them.

  Phin let out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Lady Hamilton has hired a private investigator to search out the author of Nocturne so that she can bring a suit against him.”