by Jennifer Joy
“Do not blame yourself, Mr. Tanner. Whoever did this must have had motive enough to kill Ambrose sooner or later to risk shooting into a gentleman's house and injuring others,” said Arabella, moving away from her brother to sit in the empty space between Mrs. Elizabeth and Georgiana on the couch.
Tanner went to the far wall, looking down at her brother. The shots had hit him in the back, but one had pierced through his heart. “Whoever did this is an excellent shot. Had he wished to hurt anyone other than your brother, he could have easily done so.”
Arabella pinched her eyes and lips closed and shook her head as if to rid herself of a horrible memory. “My brother was known to keep questionable company. He favored the Corinthian set.”
“It is as good a start as any,” Tanner mumbled, though he did not relish seeking those particular gentlemen out. They were proud of their sportsmanlike abilities and took pleasure in flaunting their skills over their peers. More than one, on taking offense at Tanner’s size, had attempted to goad him into a pugilist match. As if thrashing around at each other bare-chested and bare-knuckled proved they were anything other than barbaric savages hiding beneath the tailored coats of a gentleman. Wolves in sheep’s clothing, the lot of them.
“I think it best not to take this before a magistrate until we notify the family. I would rather not make this public and give our unknown enemy greater cause to conceal himself until we know who he is,” Darcy said.
“Another mystery to solve?” Mrs. Elizabeth asked with too much enthusiasm for Tanner’s taste.
“Of which I hope you will do your best to stay out,” Darcy replied, his voice thick with warning.
Tanner knew from experience how well Mrs. Elizabeth would manage that, but he respected his brother for trying. “We had best work quickly,” Tanner said. “Starting now. Mrs. Annesley, your brother patted his pocket when he said he had proof. Do I have your permission to search him?”
She nodded, holding herself together with admirable strength.
Tanner pulled a folded paper from the breast pocket of Ambrose’s coat and handed it to Darcy.
Darcy gritted his teeth, his full attention on the page. When he had read the contents in full, he thrust the paper at Tanner angrily.
A few lines down the page, Tanner understood Darcy’s reaction.
It was about Arabella.
Chapter 6
The writer’s hatred seeped through every word he wrote against Arabella. The pleasure he took in his plan to forever mar her name in society reeked of obsession. She had cut him in the past (how, he did not say), and he intended to make her suffer for it (when, he did not specify). He wanted her to grovel at his feet, to beg him to do things to her only a revenge-hungry cad would be capable of thinking. His aim was to deny her mercy after humiliating her. He wanted to watch her hang from the gallows … and his confidence in his ability to do so knotted Tanner’s stomach.
Tanner was tempted to rip the vengeful words to shreds, but it was the only clue they had. Finding the writer was a priority.
“What? Is it that awful?” asked Georgiana, holding her hand out for the paper.
Tanner held it far out of her reach. There was no way in heaven he would expose his little sister to the vile thing.
“Who wrote it?” Mrs. Elizabeth asked.
“We do not know,” Tanner answered.
Arabella pressed her hands against her red cheeks. “I am so sorry. I do not know why this has happened, but it disturbs me greatly to be the source of these troubles. I will pack my things and leave immediately,” she said to Darcy, already rising from where she sat with Mrs. Elizabeth and Georgiana.
Georgiana caught her by the arm. “You will do no such thing. You are so much more than a companion to me, Arabella. You are one of my closest friends, and right now you are in trouble. How could we cast you off as if you are of no import to us?”
“We do not turn our backs on one another. We are in this together,” Mrs. Elizabeth added, looking to her husband for confirmation, which he readily gave.
It made Tanner proud to see how quickly they rallied to Arabella’s aid. She fit with them in a way he never could, and while the thought was bittersweet, it gave him comfort to know she would always have a home. Just like he had his inn. And how he longed to return to it now he knew for a certainty he must stay.
Tanner smoothed the page in his hand, searching for anything which might help them identify the writer. The handwriting was bold, the ink thick. The edge on one side was ragged.
Darcy pointed at it. “The paper was torn. If it was taken from a private journal, then there is a greater chance its contents are still secret. We will have to read the newspapers and listen to the gossip at the club every day, but I do not think he has executed his plan — whatever it is — yet.”
Tanner handed the paper to Darcy. “Put it somewhere safe until such a time we are able to burn it.”
Darcy tucked it into his pocket as the eyes of three inquisitive females looked between them.
Mrs. Elizabeth spoke. “If you do not wish for us to read it, will you at least tell us what it says in your own words? Perhaps we can offer some insight as to who wrote it.”
Darcy took a deep breath and began, “The paper is of excellent quality and, since the writer seemed to be known by Mrs. Annesley’s brother, we can assume he is also a gentleman. He wrote that cost is no concern, so we know him to be a gentleman of means. He stated that though his plans had been thwarted up to then, he would bide his time and ruin anyone who would attempt to help Mrs. Annesley.”
“Like Ambrose might have tried to help me?” Arabella whispered, her eyebrows furled. Shaking her head, she added, “I wept for my brother, but I do not know if he was my ally or my enemy. It is a dreadful thought, but true all the same. Ambrose never did anything that did not serve his purpose.”
Typical gentleman, thought Tanner.
A lesser woman would have lamented her troubles, but Arabella’s eyes sharpened. She said, “You mentioned plans. Were they mentioned in the letter?”
“Whoever penned it is bent on avenging himself against you, saying he would see you humiliated publicly and ruined beyond reparation.” Another deep breath, then Darcy said in one exhale, “He says he can prove you murdered your husband.”
Tanner gritted his teeth at the suggestion. It would take much more than the malicious accusation of a revenge-seeking blackguard to make Tanner believe Arabella capable of taking a life.
Arabella sat abruptly on the couch, the bit of color she had regained draining from her face. “It is not possible. I could not save Nicholas, but I did not kill him.”
Mrs. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, already mulling over the details revealed to her while Georgiana grabbed Arabella’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I do not believe it. Brothers, we cannot allow it,” Georgiana said resolutely.
Why did Ambrose carry the torn page in his pocket when it lacked so many pertinent details?
Who wrote the blasted thing?
Who murdered Arabella’s brother?
How did the writer mean to accuse Arabella of murder?
Would he slaughter Darcy, Georgiana, or Elizabeth as easily as he had rid himself of Ambrose?
How could they stop him?
Silence reigned as Tanner (and everyone else in the room) pondered what had happened and what it meant.
But thoughts would only get them so far. They must act — and quickly.
Tanner looked intently at Arabella. “Now is not the time for delicacy or secrets, Mrs. Annesley. Who would write this about you? And, assuming the writer is the shooter, why did your brother lead him here?”
All eyes were on Arabella as they sat in a circle in the drawing room. The surgeon had come and gone, the parlor had been tidied up, and her brother lay peacefully in the cellar until they could convey him to her family. There was no other pressing task to delay the telling of her story. More was the pity.
Until then, there had been no need to r
eveal more than this basic fact: She had married for love, and it had not gone well. With all the effort it took to repress her impulsive nature, it shamed her to have to speak of her weakness so openly to a family she admired. What would Mr. Tanner think of her when he knew her suffering had been her own doing?
But the embarrassment she felt before her friends paled in comparison to what awaited her on the morrow — what she should have seen to immediately … had she possessed courage enough. She would have to talk with her father. It fell to her to give him the news that his favorite child — his heir — was dead.
She could already hear him ordering her off his property. Again.
Setting her teacup down, she said, “I held fanciful views of love when I came out in society. Nothing but the deepest love would persuade me to accept an offer.”
“A prospect every young lady should entertain,” said Elizabeth.
“Perhaps so, if they have sense enough to choose wisely. My father urged me to consider fortune and position, but I was adamant. I convinced him to allow me more time, not thinking it unreasonable to fall in love with a gentleman who possessed what my father required along with a heart I could complete.” Her chest felt hollow and heavy with regret. How young and ignorant she had been.
“Unfortunately, I grew more headstrong and determined as my father became more insistent. Fueled by rebellion, I encouraged the attention of a young soldier with neither fortune nor a title. He was everything I thought a young man ought to be: gallant, charming, handsome in his uniform… We conversed for hours on every subject from fashion to politics. I thought he was a man to encourage my mind, a man who respected a woman with opinions. I ignored the gentle warnings from my closest friends and the subtle behaviors I ought to have seen as proof of his hypocrisy. I fell in love.”
She pinched her eyes shut, regret enveloping her. Consuming her.
A hand rested on her forearm, and Arabella opened her eyes.
Georgiana smiled supportively, her expression devoid of judgment or disapproval. Of anyone in the room, Georgiana understood what it was like to fall in love with a fortune-seeking soldier. How fortunate she had a brother who looked out for her best interest … unlike Ambrose.
Taking a deep breath, Arabella continued, “My father's patience had reached its limit. Ambrose had developed some expensive habits while at Cambridge, and after years of self-indulgence he had placed our family's estate in peril with his debts.”
Arabella could still see her father's stoic face in her mind. “It is high time you put the needs of your family before your own selfish desires for a change,” he had said, making no mention of how Ambrose's selfish pursuits had endangered their home. She had resented his favoritism then. Now … now, Arabella did not know what to think. It was hard to resent her brother now.
Her father’s next words had truly broken her heart, giving rise to her spirit. She repeated them aloud to her friends. “The evening before I eloped, my father said: ‘I have arranged your affairs to all of our satisfaction. You will do what all women in society must do. You will make the most of it for the betterment of your family.’”
Something inside her had snapped. Even then, her voice trembled under the burden of his words. Father had always encouraged her to nourish her mind, to express her informed opinions respectfully, and to act with decision. He had never treated her like most fathers viewed their daughters — like nothing more than an object for trade.
She had blamed Ambrose for that, but it hurt more than Arabella had ever allowed herself to admit that her father had repeated her brother’s oft-expressed opinion to her.
Forcing her anger aside, she continued, “My father arranged for me to marry Lord Lofton. He had always been a close friend to our family — a man of considerable wealth and property, as well as Ambrose’s dearest friend. My marriage to him would solve all of our woes, and my brother could continue in his course with no thought for the consequences of his actions so long as others would sacrifice their happiness to cover his debts.”
The injustice stung her throat and made her words bitter. She regretted them as soon as they passed her tongue. “I apologize for my poor manners. It is improper of me to speak ill of the dead.”
Arabella purposely kept her eyes away from Mr. Tanner, ashamed to reveal before him how her heart had blinded her, how resentful she was toward a brother who could harm her no longer.
Mr. Tanner said firmly, “You should not have to apologize for speaking freely. We have all been threatened, and you have been accused—”
She interrupted him. “Do you think I murdered my husband?”
“No,” he answered without pausing for breath.
Arabella waited, but when he offered no explanation for his simple answer, she asked, “Why not?”
She chewed the insides of her cheeks as she waited for his reply. She knew the claim on the page found in Ambrose’s pocket was made out of spite, but she needed to hear it from Mr. Tanner. She needed to know.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam never would have recommended you to Darcy had he questioned your innocence regarding your husband’s death. And after what happened with the last companion, that detestable Mrs. Younge, Darcy would have gone out of his way to ensure your qualifications before welcoming you into his home.”
Mr. Darcy nodded gravely, and Arabella swallowed hard. But of course he would have been cautious before allowing her to come near his sister so soon after her own heartbreak. He knew, then, how Nicholas had been caught cheating at cards. He knew her husband had been so badly beaten, she had sold her wedding ring to secure the surgeon and pay for draughts to manage Nicholas’ pain.
All that effort, and it had not been enough.
Nicholas had died, and she was freed … with no money, no home, and nothing left to sell for bread. Some freedom. But she had still felt blessed to have it.
Arabella shuddered to think what would have happened to her had Colonel Fitzwilliam not intervened when he did. He and the Darcys had saved her.
Mr. Tanner’s reasoning was perfectly sound — the epitome of logic — but still she pressed, “My husband’s death was a relief to me. I did not mourn his loss. How can you be so certain I did not help him along?”
Her insistent questions sounded crazy in her own ears. Did she want him to believe her guilty? Why was she doing her best to make him question her when she knew she was above reproach?
He met her gaze fully, his eyes reflecting the pain she felt, reaching into the bruised depths of her soul and comforting her with his understanding.
The burden of judgment lifted from her completely when Mr. Tanner said, “It is as certain to me as the sunrise every morning. You are not a killer.”
This time, she believed him. Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled.
“Besides,” Mr. Tanner added, “Brutus likes you. He is an excellent judge of character.”
“Your horse likes me, and so I must be innocent?” Arabella’s lips curled up despite the gravity of the past few hours.
“You cannot lie to a horse. He sees people for what they really are.”
Georgiana said, “I suppose we ought to ask his opinion on our situation. We could lead him about London and ask him to bite whoever murdered your brother and wrote that horrid note.”
Everyone snickered, but the idea was not half bad. Their only other option was to compare the handwriting on the paper to the manuscript of hundreds of gentlemen known to Ambrose in town. A daunting task indeed.
Mr. Tanner narrowed the search with one question. “You jilted a gentleman with a title?”
Arabella chuckled at the absurdity of the suggestion. “Only a viscount. You think he is acting the part of a jilted lover? Lord Lofton knew I never preferred him, and I always suspected I was nothing more than the latest prize he had won in a bet lost by Ambrose. He was kind enough to honor it and thus come to the aid of my family, but he would have regretted his good nature.”
“Tell us more about him,” Mr. Darcy said, pinc
hing his chin and narrowing his eyes.
Arabella shrugged her shoulders. “There is not much to tell. He is as amicable as Mr. Bingley and as responsible as you. He got my brother out of more scrapes than I can recall. I never gave Lofton any encouragement, and I daresay I ignored him completely when I met Nicholas. He could not have been surprised or overly disappointed when I eloped with another.”
Mr. Tanner’s chair groaned as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You believe him incapable of resentment toward you?”
“I do. There are few gentlemen so kind as Lofton.”
The way Mr. Tanner’s eyebrows raised suggested he doubted that.
Chapter 7
Arabella pressed her cold fingers against her puffy eyes. It had been a long night.
The Darcys had been full of reassurances, adding to Arabella’s misery for being the cause of their current predicament. Cellars were for wine, not a dead body — her brother’s dead body!
Would that Ambrose had said more. Would that he had not come to Darcy House. Would that he had even once given her reason to believe him sincere, then she would not doubt his desire to help.
Instead, she questioned his motives, believing him capable of putting her and the Darcys in danger in an effort to lessen his own problems. What a horrible thing to think of her own brother. Arabella tried to think of an instance where he had placed the welfare of another above his own, but she could not recall a single occasion. What a selfish, sad life Ambrose had led.
And now, he would never have the chance to redeem himself. The realization filled Arabella with melancholy so that she cried again for the brother she had not liked at all … but whom she had loved despite his many faults.
Her father would be devastated. Arabella’s chin quivered for the man who had disinherited her, for she remembered a time when he had loved her too. Her body ached to see her mother.