How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4)

by Blythe, Bianca

  Isla blinked. “You’ve already been incredibly helpful. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything more.”

  “We’re not going to let you venture somewhere a dangerous murderer might be trying to harm you. You are too important,” Callum said.

  Isla widened her eyes. “But your wife—”

  “I can wait,” the Duchess of Belmonte said. “I have my sister for company. But now, let’s go to Wiltshire.”

  Oh.

  “That is so kind.”

  Wolfe sighed. “I left you alone too much in the last decade.”

  “You were battling Bonaparte.” She glanced at Callum and Hamish. “You all were.”

  “And you were alone,” Wolfe said. “That must not have been easy.”

  “You’ve always been so confident,” Callum said. “It was easy to overlook that you had your own trials that you shouldn’t have been expected to take on.”

  The others murmured agreement.

  They ate a hasty dinner while the servants prepared the carriage. Finally they left Brighton, and Isla allowed herself to sleep, cuddled against Adam’s arm.

  The next day, the rain seemed to be in even fuller force, as if warning them about their destination. Isla’s confidence wavered. She’d focused so much on finding Adam, on convincing him to return, that perhaps she’d ignored there were reasons why he’d left. She’d met Ware. He’d lacked any claim to goodness.

  They journeyed back to Wiltshire. The road was uncomfortable and horrid. It must have rained recently, for the carriage slid over the roads and the driver often paused, as if to calculate how best to avoid puddles.

  Finally, in the evening they passed through Salisbury and approached the manor house.

  Isla’s spine prickled. Perhaps Ware was observing them now, eager to obtain more money from them. Perhaps the same thing that had compelled him to kill Adam’s employer in Cape Colony who had truly inherited the title would compel him to kill Adam.

  This was a lovely home, but the last time she’d been there, Ware had been pressing against her and threatening to do vile things.

  “You can stay here when we search for Ware,” Adam said.

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m going to help.”

  “And how will we do that?”

  Isla smiled. “We know what he looks like. We’re going to ask the tenants. Someone will have seen him.”

  “They’ll think it suspicious I’m inquiring about him.”

  “Nonsense. We’re going to thank them for attending the ball.”

  “Oh.”

  “And we’re going to bring them some baskets. It will be more polite.”

  “You don’t think we should hurry more?”

  “Perhaps we won’t find him,” Isla said. “But that might mean that he’s returned to Cape Colony. After all, he does have money.”

  Adam nodded. She was correct.

  She made baskets of fruit for the villagers, and then he accompanied her from house to house.

  The visits were short, and in each one she inquired as to the health of the tenants and then asked if they’d seen a man matching the magistrate’s description.

  Though Isla was comfortable in elegant dresses embellished with jewels and embroidered with silver thread, she seemed equally at home with the villagers.

  Finally, one woman nodded. “I’ve seen him around.”

  “Oh.” Isla glanced at Adam, and they both leaned forward. “Where? It’s just that the viscount is ever so anxious to greet him. Apparently, the man was inquiring after him at the ball, but they did not see each other.”

  Isla wasn’t certain how much the footman may have spoken with the other villagers. Hopefully, he’d been discreet, but on the off-chance that he hadn’t been, Isla knew it was important for their stories to match.

  “Oh, that’s so nice of the viscount,” the woman said. “But he’s been staying at the public house.”

  “Indeed?”

  The woman nodded. “I do the cleaning for them.”

  “So you’re certain it’s him?”

  “Well, not certain. But he did have a funny accent.”

  “Thank you so much.” Isla rose. “We are most appreciative.”

  “You’re very welcome,” the woman said. “The previous viscount never visited. Nor his wife.” The woman gave an odd look at Isla, and Isla remembered that she should have brought Miss Grant with her.

  Never mind.

  “My brother is here,” Isla said.

  “And we are betrothed,” Adam said.

  “Oh, how lovely!” the woman said. “How very lovely.”

  “Thank you,” Isla said.

  They hurried from the cottage and found the others.

  “He’s at the tavern,” Isla said. “He has a room there.”

  The others nodded.

  “The carriage is ready,” Hamish growled.

  “Splendid,” Isla said. “I’ll come with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Isla shouldn’t be offering to help find a murderer, and Adam’s heart fell. He didn’t desire to put her in danger.

  And yet, she didn’t seem terrified. She only seemed resolute.

  “That is kind,” Adam said. “But are you certain? You can stay at Tremont House.”

  She nodded. Her jaw was firm. Perhaps she expected him to say no. But he wouldn’t.

  She’d been correct. Perhaps he shouldn’t have attempted to rescue her. She had shouted for him to go away, and perhaps she could have driven Ware away with the candlestick. She’d just needed to slam it against his head. The man’s pistol had not been drawn at that point.

  Adam could have lingered in the corridor, giving her more time. The sight of another man so near her had horrified him, and he’d acted without listening to her pleas to remain in the corridor. Had he not entered the room, Ware would never have recognized him. He might have thought an unknown man was feigning to be the viscount, and he may have been satisfied with the money Isla had given him. After all, the Cape Colony was far away from Wiltshire.

  “Then you can come,” he said. “Thank you.”

  They all squeezed inside the carriage, and Adam pulled her onto his lap.

  The carriage sped past verdant fields and soon it arrived at the public house.

  Adam swallowed hard.

  This was it.

  This would decide the rest of his life.

  If Ware wasn’t here, they would always worry he would make another appearance, but if he was here... Adam shuddered, considering all the terrible things Ware might do to them. He might attack them. He’d been successful before at murder.

  Adam cared for Isla, and he cared for her brother and friends.

  He couldn’t allow anyone to get hurt: not for him.

  His heartbeat quickened, and he scanned the area, searching for Ware.

  But no one matched that man’s description.

  But then Adam’s gaze fell on someone else: an older man in old-fashioned breeches, though he could tell from here that the quality was good. The man turned around.

  Adam stared. “That’s my solicitor.”

  Isla followed his gaze, and her eyes widened.

  Adam furrowed his brows. What was his solicitor doing at this coaching inn?

  His office was in London, nowhere near Wiltshire.

  Unless...

  Perhaps Ware had contacted the solicitor. Perhaps Isla had given Ware money, but all Ware had done was to inform the solicitor that Adam was an imposter.

  Adam’s heart beat more quickly.

  Perhaps the solicitor had gone to investigate himself. Perhaps he’d been wary of Adam, and had chosen to stay in this quaint public house rather than to draw Adam’s suspicion.

  The tenants hadn’t said anything, but would they have? Had the solicitor cautioned them not to say anything else? The solicitor had said he’d visited Tremont House before.

  “Perhaps he’s simply sightseeing,” Isla said with a calmness Adam suspected she did not feel.
“It is lovely here.”

  Adam gazed about him. The green countryside was beautiful. If he lived in London, he would want to hire a carriage, and come straight here.

  He’d been eager for his own time in London to end quickly. The crowded streets had not filled him with awe, but with unease. Even the beautiful facades, embellished with columns and porticos, had not lessened his tension.

  Still, the solicitor had seemed content in his large leather armchair and his room filled with similarly leather-bound books. He hadn’t pontificated about the virtues of the countryside, and the paintings that lined the office had been of the Thames and other London landmarks.

  “Or perhaps he had some business with you,” Lady Isla suggested.

  “Perhaps.” That dreaded sour taste was in Adam’s throat again.

  Isla sent him a worried glance.

  There shouldn’t be a reason for the solicitor to be here. He’d already given Adam the keys to the estate, and he’d written the servants to expect Adam. He’d stated the estate manager would show Adam about the estate. He’d made no mention he would do that as well.

  Perhaps they were too late. Perhaps Ware had already written the solicitor. Perhaps Adam was not returning to England to happiness with Isla, but prosecution for stealing the identity of an aristocrat. If snaring a fowl from an aristocrat’s estate was a capital crime, what would the punishment be for stealing the identity of a viscount and hosting a large, costly ball?

  It wouldn’t matter that Adam intended to lower the budget of the estate in other manners, devoting less of the budget to expanding an already brilliant art collection, and it certainly wouldn’t matter that the villagers liked him.

  But worst of all, if he were exposed, Isla would also be tarnished. Everyone had seen them together.

  “It will be fine,” Isla whispered. “You’ll see.”

  It was a confidence he did not feel, but perhaps he could trust in it. He refused to flee again. If there was a chance they could actually be together, he would risk ruin.

  He strode toward the public house. The half-timbered, thatched building appeared innocent, encapsulating rural charm.

  He glanced at the others. The Duke of Vernon, the Duke of Belmonte, the Earl of McIntyre and Lord Hamish were all here.

  They were friends.

  He hastened his steps, following the solicitor into the public house. Adam’s heart thumped, but he resisted the impulse to leave. He needed to discover why Mr. Gilroy was here.

  When he entered the public house, he scanned the room. The tavern was filled with people. The air was smoky, and the scent of ale was in the air, though Adam suspected it was less so people might drown their sorrows, but so they could meet with their friends, given the sounds of laughter and merriment.

  He moved through the room, looking for the solicitor’s familiar respectable gray hair, and the familiar glint of his metal quizzing glass.

  “He must have gone upstairs.” Adam pushed open a door and climbed a staircase, conscious of the others following him. The voices from downstairs quieted, and he was left with the thumping of his heart. The public house was shabby. Some pictures hung on the walls, but they had no frames, and they looked like they may have been drawn by one of the owners of the public house in an effort to create a cozy feel, rather than by someone who devoted himself to the artistic life.

  A family passed him in the corridor, and Adam smiled politely, even though he wanted to rush past them.

  I’m going to lose him.

  But when the family passed, Adam discovered the public house was small. There were only four doors. Of course, every room was closed, and though normally Adam valued people’s privacy, as if by doing that they might value his, today everything was different.

  He opened the room of the first room.

  It was empty.

  Then he swung open the second door.

  It was not empty.

  Not empty at all.

  The solicitor was there.

  So was Ware.

  Blood was on the floor.

  “What?” Adam’s tongue felt thick.

  This was the second time he’d witnessed a murder, and he stared down dumbly.

  The solicitor seemed every bit as surprised to see him. “I—er—I discovered this body. Terrible place, Wiltshire, most unsafe. Makes one long for London.”

  “I believe you’re Mr. Gilroy.” Isla swept into the room, even though Adam was fairly certain that if there was a murderer around, his wife-to-be shouldn’t be striding toward him.

  “Indeed,” Adam said. “That’s him.”

  He had the same gray hair, the same slight frame, and the same quizzing glass. In London, the solicitor had not been holding a knife. Blood dripped from the knife onto the floor, and the solicitor scowled.

  “You’re not going to London anytime soon,” Hamish said, “unless it’s to prison.”

  “I—er—” The solicitor blinked.

  Adam knelt beside Ware. He knew what to do when an animal was wounded. But this wasn’t some farming accident. Ware had not hurt himself on a fence. Ware was dead.

  Wolfe yanked the solicitor’s hands behind his back. “This is him, right?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Nonsense,” Wolfe said calmly.

  “I am a paragon of society,” the solicitor protested.

  “I doubt it,” Lord Hamish said. “You just killed a man.”

  “Nonsense,” the solicitor said.

  “His blood is visibly on his hands,” Lord Hamish countered.

  The solicitor’s cheeks grew a ruddy color that Adam had doubted was possible behind all his wrinkles.

  “You don’t want to tell us what happened?” Wolfe asked, his eyes glinting. “Perhaps we’ll understand.”

  “You’ve shown no evidence of that,” the solicitor huffed.

  “Then I’ll explain,” Isla said regally, and the solicitor’s eyes widened. Isla glanced at him. “You may correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “Splendid idea, sister,” Wolfe said. “Go right ahead.”

  Isla beamed. “I believe you ordered Ware to kill Lord Tremont.”

  “Nonsense.” The man gave a condescending smile. “My dear woman.”

  “Lady Isla,” Wolfe said. “She is my sister, and I am an earl.”

  The solicitor’s smile grew rather less condescending. His face whitened. “This is all a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “Is it?” Wolfe asked. “We know you work in London. I find it most suspicious you would be in this tiny hamlet in Wiltshire.” He turned to Callum. “What do you think, Your Grace? Do you find it suspicious too?”

  “Your Grace?” The solicitor’s eyes bulged.

  “Surely you know the Duke of Vernon,” Wolfe said. “Or perhaps you don’t quite go in his crowds? You don’t go in mine.”

  The solicitor’s Adam’s apple moved, as if testing potentials for escape.

  “I’ve read about the Duke of Vernon,” the solicitor said finally. He gazed at Wolfe. “You look familiar.”

  “Perhaps you’ve seen me wandering Hades’ Lair,” Wolfe said. “I’m the proprietor.”

  “Oh.” The solicitor’s cheeks flushed.

  “That seems the sort of place you might find yourself,” Wolfe said. “Though I don’t think you’re a regular client. Most likely you don’t go in our circles.”

  “I am a respectable man,” the solicitor protested.

  “I would argue that,” Hamish said, glancing at Ware’s body.

  “I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” the solicitor protested.

  “I wonder if your clerk would confirm that,” Adam said. “Anyone who visits your office must pass by him.”

  “That man attacked me the other night,” Isla said. “He was attempting to harm the new viscount.”

  The solicitor looked down abruptly.

  “There was a man who died in the Cape Colony right before I left as well,” Adam said carefully, glancing at Isla, who nodded.
Behind her, Wolfe, Callum and Hamish appeared somewhat confused.

  No matter.

  They would all realize why soon.

  “I believe you arranged for Ware to kill me,” Adam said. “After all, I’m the new viscount.”

  Mr. Gilroy didn’t protest.

  Good.

  Ware had known Adam and Randall were not the same person, but Ware was dead.

  Hamish’s lips twitched, as if he were attempting to keep himself from smiling.

  “You knew it was your duty to inform the new viscount of his inheritance,” Adam continued, “and perhaps your clerk or someone else knew there was another relative. But unfortunately Ware killed the wrong man.”

  “Yes, that’s it precisely,” Wolfe said. “You must have been shocked when the viscount landed here safely. You must have been also surprised when later Ware showed up to demand his payment.”

  “He didn’t even realize he’d killed the wrong man,” the solicitor said sadly. “He claimed he’d been successful.”

  “And then he wanted a payment? Poor character indeed,” Isla said. “Is that why you sent him to Wiltshire? Perhaps you went to meet him here and discovered he’d received a large payment from—er—the viscount. Perhaps you knew Ware was double crossing you.”

  “I would rather not implicate myself,” the solicitor said stiffly.

  “Very wise,” Wolfe said soothingly. He glanced at the window. “Enjoy the sunshine. Pity there are so many clouds in the sky. You’ll be looking at it from a much narrower window soon.”

  Adam and Isla went to inform the proprietor of the public house of the need to send for the magistrate.

  They strode through the corridor, and his footsteps felt lighter.

  “It’s over,” Isla said, and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

  “I’m going to be the best viscount you can imagine,” he said.

  “Naturally,” Isla said, and her lips formed a smile. “After all, I trained you.”

  EPILOGUE

  There was a new postman.

  Adam could tell from the upward tilt of the man’s neck, as he took in the vast estate from his horse.

  Adam still sometimes tilted his neck in that precise manner.