A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  “And just how would it look having her move in with me?”

  “It’s likely to give lie to the rumor, if one ever takes hold.”

  I stifled a groan. I couldn’t deny his point, but the prospect of that woman living in my house was untenable. “Do you really think she’d follow through on her threat?”

  “Without a doubt. Irena’s a scandal waiting to happen. She’s the most impetuous, impulsive person I’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with. Do you remember I said she’d been subject to abduction a number of times?”

  I nodded.

  “I believe she arranged at least one of them herself.”

  “She arranged her own abduction?” The woman was absolutely mad.

  “In some ways, Irena is to be pitied—no mother and an absent father. But since her father and the Teskeys have always given her anything she’s ever asked for, she’s really little more than a spoiled child and can be difficult to reason with.”

  “Yes, I’m coming to see that.” I pressed my fingers against my temple to slow the throbbing there. “Do you believe her life was really threatened?”

  “Instinct tells me she’s merely seeking attention. She was going blithely about her life until she learned her cousin was here.” He snapped his fingers. “Suddenly she is being followed and her life threatened. She has no idea what the person looks like or where the letters came from. It’s highly suspect, but it’s best to humor her. If I conduct an inquiry, she may be more inclined to drop her claims to being my wife.”

  “And that’s another thing. Why would she make a claim that can so easily be disproved?”

  “In my brief acquaintance with her, I’ve noticed she has a capricious attitude toward the truth.”

  “I can’t make out which of her stories are true. Is she an actress, or does she own the theater? Was her mother murdered, or did she die in childbirth? Is she being followed? Has her life been threatened?”

  “The only point I can answer for certain is that she is definitely not my wife. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen when we met. I would never have married her.” He sighed. “She doesn’t appear to have changed much since then, either. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, Frances, but I think it’s best if she stays here with you and your aunt while I investigate her claim and Delaney finds out if charges will be filed.”

  So I was to host that woman in my home. I’d rather jump into the Thames or move back with my brother-in-law or, worse, host my mother permanently. Heavens, my mother! “If I agree to this, she must be gone before my mother returns. There is no possible way to explain this to her, or to Rose, for that matter, so you had best investigate with all due haste.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “I promise to end this as quickly as I can, but I won’t be able to do anything tonight, as I have plans to attend the opera with my fiancée.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten.” I leaned back and gave him a chilly smile. “Will your wife be joining us?”

  * * *

  Fortunately, Aunt Hetty had been liberal with the brandy, and by the time George returned to take me to the opera, Miss Teskey was reclined on the sofa, snoring softly, under Hetty’s watchful eye. How had I come to find myself in this awkward situation? I was sneaking out of the house with George, while the woman who claimed to be his wife was sleeping off the effects of too much brandy in my drawing room. I could only imagine the scene she’d make were she awake.

  I suppose we were lucky Delaney allowed her to stay with us, though I believe part of the reason was that he didn’t want to take the responsibility for her onto his own shoulders. The risk of leaving her with me was small. George had confirmed she was the grand duke’s cousin, and as such, His Imperial Highness was unlikely to file any charges against her.

  I pushed all thought of Miss Teskey from my mind, determined to take advantage of the lull in this latest bit of insanity and enjoy something as simple and normal as an evening out with my fiancé. He barely noticed my newly refurbished gown, cut rather daringly low, as he plunked my cloak on my shoulders and nearly shoved me out the door.

  “Goodness, why are you in such a rush? We’re in no danger of being late.”

  “No, but I fear we’re in danger of someone detaining us.”

  Indeed, someone did—our temporary neighbor, Mrs. Chiswick. A middle-aged widow, she was visiting London from Chelmsford and staying at her brother’s home across the street while he was away on a spot of business. I’d experienced only one short coze with Mrs. Chiswick, and I had to congratulate Colonel Perkins on having the good sense to invite his sister to visit when he was out of town. A bit of gossip now and then is all very well and fine, but she enjoyed it far too much and seemed to relish the nastier variety.

  A glow of excitement lit her vulturine eyes as she approached us on the pavement, having just disembarked from her own carriage. I leaned a little closer to George, who tipped his hat to the lady. “Good evening, Mrs. Chiswick. Returning from an outing, I daresay?”

  “Indeed I am.” She bestowed a smile upon us that actually made me shiver. “And clearly, you and Lady Harleigh are about to embark on one of your own.”

  “The opera,” I said, wondering why I felt the need to explain.

  “I won’t keep you. I just wondered what happened out here this afternoon. Jackson told me there was quite a commotion right in front of your house.”

  Jackson, the colonel’s nosy butler. He and Mrs. Chiswick must get on like old friends. “A simple misunderstanding,” I assured her. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m afraid we must be off now, madam, or we will surely be late.” George took my arm in one hand and opened the carriage door with the other, then urged me inside, leaving Mrs. Chiswick on the street, watching us with a tight expression. It might have been a breach of good manners, but the last thing we needed at this moment was a gossipy neighbor.

  George was feeling the strain of our situation, as well. He held my hand as the carriage traveled swiftly through the night, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves and watched the landscape change through the windows as we passed Hyde Park and St. James’s Park, on our way to Covent Garden. It seemed only minutes had passed before we arrived at the Royal Opera House.

  He reached out to open the door, then sat back, turning his gaze to mine. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”

  And just like that, my worries grew lighter. I couldn’t stop the smile that crossed my lips if I tried. “Oddly enough, considering the circumstances, that was something I never doubted. Heavens, confidence like that smacks of egotism, doesn’t it?”

  “It most certainly does not. I hope I never give you reason to lose that confidence in me.”

  “We will handle this together.”

  With a grin, he leaned in for a kiss. Unfortunately, one of the horses grew impatient and lurched, nearly throwing us both off the seat. “We had best go in, or we shall miss the overture.” He climbed out and handed me down. “What are we seeing, by the way?”

  “Eugene Onegin. Fanny Moody plays Tatiana.”

  He released a snigger. “Russian opera. How appropriate.”

  We were alone outside the building. It seemed we’d dallied too long, after all. We’d have to head to our seats directly, without the usual socializing. After dashing up the grand staircase, past the Ionic columns and Grecian lamps, we made it to our box just as the houselights dimmed, leaving us finding our way in the dark. We were using George’s brother’s box, as the earl was in the country, and though it seated six, it appeared we’d have it to ourselves. We settled into our seats just as the curtain rose and the first strains of Tchaikovsky filled the theater.

  “It’s been some time since I’ve been here,” I said, “but I don’t remember it being so dark once the performance begins. Perhaps because I was already seated.”

  He leaned in close to me. “I recall my mother being quite put out when they installed electric lighting. She resented the fact that one can neither see no
r be seen. And wasn’t that, after all, the point in attending the opera?”

  I smothered a laugh and rested my head on his shoulder. Though my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness by then, anything farther away than my hand was little more than a vague shadow. I knew there was only a partial wall separating our box from its neighbor, but it felt so much more private when I couldn’t see the occupants. “Personally, I rather like it.”

  George sighed, pulled me close to his side, and we settled in to enjoy the performance.

  A few minutes before the interval, a servant slipped into our box. He bowed, handed a note to George, murmured something to him in a low voice, then retreated. It all took place in less than a minute.

  “What was that about?”

  “His Royal Highness requests our presence in his box at the interval.”

  “Our presence?”

  “I have no intention of going by myself, so don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

  “Don’t tell me you fear facing him alone? Are you expecting a reprimand of some sort?”

  “What I fear is this is about Irena. In fact, I’m certain of it. Somehow, he wants to make me responsible for her. I want you there to remind him I am a man engaged to be married and cannot take custody of another woman.”

  He looked so earnest, I almost giggled.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “We must present a united front.”

  “And so we shall. We are partners, after all.”

  Applause filled the theater as the lights came up and the low buzz of voices and movement came from the audience. I blinked in the sudden brilliance and in a realization. “How did the prince even know you were here? He couldn’t possibly have seen us.”

  “No idea.” He took my hand and led the way out to the passage. “Perhaps he didn’t know and only sent the footman to check.”

  We wended our way through a trail of other patrons. The royal box was on the other side of the theater, and we did not wish to keep the prince waiting, so we did our best not to catch anyone’s eye, lest we be forced into a lengthy conversation. Finally, we arrived at our destination, which, though larger, looked exactly like our box. I’d expected something more regal. We waited at the entrance until the liveried servant notified the prince of our arrival, and he turned to acknowledge us.

  “Hazelton. Lady Harleigh.”

  I swept a curtsy. “Your Royal Highness.”

  Bertie had grown stout since I’d first met him ten years ago. He was also in possession of significantly less hair, and what he retained, particularly his beard, had largely turned to gray. What had been a dour expression lightened as he greeted me. When he took my hand, I rose, noting his eyes held some of the sparkle I remembered.

  “What a treat to see you again, my dear. It’s been far too long.”

  “Indeed, sir. I believe the last time we met was at Floors Castle, and that’s been at least six or seven years.”

  He chuckled, possibly at the memory of a week’s delight with whichever lady had taken his fancy at that time. “Ah, yes. A fine visit that. I was expecting only Hazelton tonight, but of course, now I recall you are engaged. May I extend my congratulations? And, of course, my sincerest regrets on Reggie’s passing.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I had no doubt his regrets were sincere. My late husband had spent a great deal of my dowry entertaining the prince and his friends.

  He released my hand and turned to greet George. “A bad business this morning, Hazelton. Had no idea Miss Teskey was even in London. A policeman called on my secretary today to explain it was she who caused the ruckus outside Marlborough House. He mentioned Lady Harleigh had taken custody of the gel, and that you were looking into some trouble she’d run into. He also mentioned you’d be here tonight.”

  “The inspector mentioned a great deal,” I muttered to George.

  “It sounds as though he was quite forthcoming,” he agreed.

  “Gave us all the pertinent details, I believe,” the prince continued. “Of course, the grand duke won’t pursue charges, but have you any idea what the incident was about?”

  “She claims she’s had a threat to her life, sir,” George said. “She was hoping to speak to the grand duke about it but couldn’t gain his attention.”

  “Well, that’s a dodgy way of obtaining it.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “Any truth to her claim?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  The prince heaved a sigh. “A bad business all around. Last I heard of her, she was living a rather bohemian life in Paris. Alexei should have married her off by now and had her living quietly somewhere in the country. Every time I hear something of her, it’s that she’s causing more trouble. This little incident made the papers this evening. Embarrassing to the Romanovs. I wouldn’t blame her father if he sent her to a sanitorium after this.”

  He paused for a moment and stroked his beard. “Still, someone should check into this threat on her life. Can’t have someone threatening a member of the Russian royal family on British soil, even an illegitimate member. I’ll leave that to you, Hazelton.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Poor George. This was exactly what he’d feared. Well, perhaps not exactly. He’d already intended to look into Miss Teskey’s claims.

  “And keep an eye on her. Make sure she gets up to no more trouble while the grand duke and the countess are visiting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  All right, now it was exactly as he’d feared. The prince dismissed us, and we left, keeping our thoughts to ourselves and uttering not a syllable until we rounded the curve along the back of the theater and were well out of earshot.

  “Why you?” I asked him, taking care to keep my voice low. “Are there not hundreds of investigators with the police who could be trusted to deal with this?”

  He blew out a breath. “The prince knows I’ve dealt with her before, but my guess is he thought of me because he somehow heard she was claiming to be my wife. Perhaps Delaney mentioned that detail, as well. That would lead him to assume I also have a stake in obtaining her good behavior.”

  “Does this mean she’ll be staying with me longer than planned?” My feet suddenly stopped propelling me forward. “If he heard of her claim, do you think anyone else has?”

  We wandered over to the saloon, crowded with patrons in need of refreshment during the interval. “I think it’s likely anyone who’s been in company with the prince or the Romanovs will have heard about it. Shall we have a glass of wine? I could use one.”

  He stepped away to see to our refreshments and left me with my disgruntled thoughts. A glass of wine was not likely to help us with this problem.

  “Frances.”

  A gloved hand was raised in the crowd, its long, tapered fingers wiggling over coiffed heads. A bejeweled bracelet glittered on the wrist below it. I watched it move closer, until I saw it was attached to the arm of Alicia Stoke-Whitney. Another minute and her full person moved into view, and much to my surprise, she had her husband in tow. Such a rare occurrence to see them together. Then I recalled her determination to work herself back into his good graces. There was always a purpose for Alicia’s actions.

  The diamonds around her throat glistened as bright as her smile when she greeted me. “You remember my husband, don’t you?”

  “Of course, though it’s been some time since we last met.”

  Arthur Stoke-Whitney was the perfect foil for his flamboyant wife. Just as his stark black evening attire showed off her bright pink gown, everything about him, from his thinning fair hair and beard, both flecked with gray, to the stern lines of his face, his square shoulders, and, well, a bit of a paunch, contrasted with the petite, effervescent redhead.

  He took my hand and bowed ever so slightly. “Enchanted, Lady Harleigh. You are looking lovely, as always.”

  “Ever the politician, Mr. Stoke-Whitney. I’m well aware I could be standing here in sackcloth and ashes and you would say the same.”
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br />   His brown eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Either you are trying to wound me or urge me to a greater compliment.”

  I retrieved my hand. “Neither. I’ll accept the one you’ve offered with somewhat belated good grace.”

  “You needn’t be suspicious of Arthur’s compliments, my dear. You are definitely in good looks tonight, and you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

  That was certainly true.

  “I’m so glad I caught sight of you. Arthur was determined to talk politics with some of his cronies.” She cast a sweet smile at her husband. “And while I admire his dedication to queen and country, it’s good for him to take part in some light conversation, as well.”

  “How flattering that you think of light conversation when you think of me.”

  Alicia didn’t attempt to contradict me, though her husband smothered a laugh.

  She glanced around the lobby. “Is Hazelton with you this evening? Have you two resolved the matter of that young woman?”

  I shot her a glare and was about to respond that this was not the time or the place to discuss the matter when George stepped up and handed me a glass of wine.

  “Evening, Stoke-Whitney, Mrs. Stoke-Whitney. Enjoying the performance?”

  “Man snubs girl, shoots friend, decides he wants girl, after all.” Alicia feigned a yawn. “The music is splendid, but I’m enjoying the interval more.”

  “Ah, then you must be discussing something interesting.”

  “Indeed. I was just asking Lady Harleigh about the woman who claimed to be your wife.”

  Both men coughed, as if their wine had gone down wrong.

  George recovered first. “Mrs. Stoke-Whitney, this is hardly the subject for discussion in a crowded room. And certainly not when you use such a strident voice.”

  She jerked back, as if struck. “My voice is never strident.”