Still, it didn’t seem like a good way to begin his life with Annabelle.
The tension pressing on his shoulders steadily increased as Lady Gold turned and dipped her head as he bowed.
“Congratulations,” she said in a less than enthusiastic tone.
He detested the doubt evident in her expression. While he couldn’t blame her, he searched for a way to reassure both her and Annabelle.
“Please know that I will do everything in my power to make your daughter happy.” The vow slipped out before he had a chance to think about it, but he realized it was how he felt.
He truly liked and respected Annabelle. While he might not have imagined this future, he would do all within his means to make the best of it for both himself and Annabelle. How he didn’t yet know. He could only hope the path forward would reveal itself.
“We’ll allow the two of you to have a moment alone.” Lady Gold turned to her husband and held out her hand. “Reginald?”
Her husband hesitated before stepping around the desk and escorting his wife out the door.
Thomas turned to face Annabelle, words failing him now that he had the chance to speak with her in private. Did he apologize? Reassure her that all would be well? Tell her he’d do his best to make certain she didn’t come to look at this moment as a dreadful mistake?
“I’m quite certain the uproar will soon pass, and all will return to normal.” Yet the smile she offered was brittle as if even she doubted her words. “A broken betrothal is not so unusual.”
The weight pressing on him—or rather, on his heart—increased ten-fold. “I don’t think we should expect that.” He wanted to ask if being married to him would be so terrible, but he couldn’t, too afraid of her answer.
“We shall see. Allow us to shift our attention to what is truly important. What did you find in Sir Alexander’s desk?”
Thomas sighed. Trust Annabelle to be more concerned with the investigation than their betrothal.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days later, Annabelle sorted through the notes she’d jotted down about the mystery element of the book she was plotting. Unfortunately, nothing was clear as to how all the bits and pieces she’d written would work together.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed back from her desk. The book wasn’t the only thing that failed to be going smoothly in her life at the moment.
Though she hadn’t seen Thomas since he’d asked her father for her hand, she had no doubt she’d somehow disappointed him by her response that day. The idea bothered her more than she cared to admit despite the feeling that she’d disappointed everyone. She hadn’t been trying to ignore the situation. It was just that a murder seemed more important. Something she could investigate and work through to solve while her relationship with Thomas felt more complicated and impossible to unravel.
Had he been surprised by her suggestion of breaking the betrothal once all the uproar had passed? Surely he wasn’t happy about being forced to propose because of Society’s silly rules. She already knew he was an honorable man and would protect her whenever possible. He’d proven that when he’d saved her and her father at the dock.
Did he understand how much the idea of marrying him pushed and pulled at her? It was appealing on many levels as she enjoyed spending time with him, and there was no doubt as to the attraction they shared. But it frightened her as well. He could so easily become the center of her world. But allowing that to happen meant she’d lose herself by becoming fully immersed in his wants and needs, the very thing she’d tried so hard to avoid.
The entire situation, so filled with uncertainty, was upsetting. Therefore, it made sense to focus on the murder.
She’d scoured the broadsheet each day for mention of a second murder, but much to her relief, none had been noted. Did that mean the right person was in jail and Pickford was guilty after all?
When Thomas had told her he’d only found a mention in Sir Alexander’s correspondence that the East India Company wished to purchase her father’s business, she’d been frustrated. Considering the ramifications they’d experienced, the least they could have done was find evidence to prove who the guilty party was.
A knock sounded on her door. She considered ignoring it as she assumed it was Margaret trying once again to cheer her spirits. She appreciated her sister’s concern, but her attempts at lighthearted conversation weren’t helping. Yet she knew if she didn’t answer, Margaret would open the door anyway. “Enter.”
Caroline peeked her head inside before walking in. “I’ve come to see how you’re feeling.”
“I’m well, thank you.” Annabelle frowned at the notes spread on her desk, unwilling to face the inevitable upset on Caroline’s face. “I’m trying to discover the motivation for the murderer in my next book.”
Thank heavens she had her writing to throw herself into. Anything was better than pondering the solemn look in Thomas’s green eyes the previous day when he’d asked her father for her hand. She missed his dimples.
“Annabelle.” Caroline moved to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you.” A lump formed in Annabelle’s throat at her older sister’s quiet words of comfort. She reached up to cover Caroline’s hand with her own but still couldn’t meet her gaze. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“I know. This is one thing I didn’t want us to have in common.”
“Nor I.” Annabelle drew a trembling breath. In the dark of the night, fear choked her, making it impossible to sleep. If her freedom and independence were about to come to an end, she intended to complete as much writing as possible beforehand. Would she be able to finish the book she was plotting? She hoped so but already doubts assailed her. Certainty of anything had vanished with her betrothal.
“I realize his terrible reputation as a rogue is of concern, but do you care for Mr. Raybourne in any way?”
“Yes.” Annabelle’s heart fluttered at the question. Or perhaps at her confident answer. There was so much more to their relationship than mere affection. He was handsome, caring, and his enthusiasm for her work brought her such joy. Did that mean he might not mind if she continued writing? The hints of vulnerability she saw in him tugged at her heart. Then there was the physical attraction to consider. The thought of a wedding night shared with him made her breathless and tingly, all at once. Even thinking about it made her warm, her body pulsing in unmentionable areas. “It’s just...”
“What?”
“I never intended to marry.” She met her sister’s gaze at last. “I don’t think I’ll make a good wife. How can I when I’d rather be with my characters than with a husband?”
“Your imagination is part of who you are.” Caroline tilted her head as she studied Annabelle. “Mr. Raybourne will be lucky to have you. Surely he’ll encourage you to continue writing since he’s now in charge of Artemis Press.”
Annabelle raised a brow. “I don’t think any man wants his wife to be preoccupied with something other than him, do you? Look at Father or our uncle.”
“Times are different now.” But Caroline’s protest sounded far from positive. She frowned as if realizing it. “Richard is a perfect example. He would never ask me to give up the things I enjoy.”
Annabelle rose and paced the length of the room to curb the restlessness that filled her. “With luck, all the fervor about this will fade. A long betrothal will allow for that, and we can eventually break it off without much harm. Then we can continue with our separate lives and forget all of this.”
“Richard told me Mr. Raybourne wants to marry as soon as possible.”
Annabelle gasped. “He never mentioned anything of the sort to me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, realizing she couldn’t catch her breath. Becoming accustomed to a betrothal was one thing, but an impending marriage was another thing entirely. “This is a disaster.” Her entire being trembled at the idea of marrying so quickly.
“
Or a clever twist of fate.” Caroline smiled. “You just said you liked him. Friendship is a nice way to begin. Who knows what might grow from there?”
“I don’t want to begin anything.” She bit her lip as the memory of their kiss washed through her. The idea of exploring that sensation further, in-depth, caused her pulse to thrum. As tempting as it was, she wasn’t willing to give up writing for it. Was she? She spun away, angry at herself for allowing the question to enter her mind. They’d only been betrothed a matter of days and already he was changing everything in her world. “My life was fine as it was.”
“I don’t know if you remember,” Caroline said, “but when I expressed doubt about my betrothal, Margaret made an excellent observation.”
“What was that?”
“That ship has sailed.” The sympathetic smile Caroline offered was less than comforting.
Annabelle stared at Caroline as a wave of nerves nearly took her under. Could it be true? Was she truly going to marry Thomas soon?
~*~
Thomas settled into his chair at the dining room table for breakfast, the familiar scent of the steaming coffee at his elbow oddly reassuring. The normalcy of the moment was much appreciated. This was the first day he’d woke with some semblance of peace and purpose since he’d called on Sir Reginald three days ago. He couldn’t say that he’d adjusted to the idea of being a betrothed man, but it didn’t feel as peculiar as it had initially.
He opened the broadsheet to read then reached for his coffee, wondering if Annabelle enjoyed breakfast. Would this be a meal they shared when they began their married life? The idea had him smiling as he glanced at the first page, only to immediately set down the cup.
Another murder victim had been discovered, the body found not far from the first one. Though he told himself the limited information given didn’t mean it was related to the first murder, his instincts suggested otherwise.
He needed to pay another visit to McConnelly, and he had a feeling Annabelle would want to join him.
After finishing his breakfast, he took a hackney to the publishing office, unsurprised to find Annabelle and her maid waiting. If only she were there because she wished to see him, but he knew better.
“Good day, Miss Gold.” He removed his top hat and nodded at Bing.
“Mr. Raybourne.” She rose from the chair and followed him into his office, leaving her maid behind. “I assume you read the news this morning.”
He turned to face her, surprised at how annoyed he was that the statement was the only greeting she offered. “I hope the day finds you well.” He raised a brow, wondering if she understood.
She blinked. “Yes. Quite well. And you?” Her brow puckered as if she considered the exchange of pleasantries ridiculous when they had more important things to discuss.
How ironic that he of all people was soon to marry a woman who held so little regard for polite conversation, let alone flirtation. His skills at charming and seduction were lost on Annabelle.
“The same. Thank you.” He gestured toward the chair before his desk, deciding it best if they proceeded with the reason for her visit. Anything else would only frustrate them both. “The news was concerning, needless to say.”
She sat, placing the reticule she clutched tightly in her gloved hands on her lap. “It has to be connected.”
“I must admit that I had the same impression as well, if only because of the location where the body was found. Few other details were noted in the article. I intend to send a message to McConnelly to inquire as to whether he’s willing to share any details.”
“Or we could go to the police station now and see if he’s there.” The expectant look on her face made her request impossible to refuse. What on earth was wrong with him?
“Do you have the proper attire for such an outing?” he asked, taking in the primrose gown she wore beneath a paisley shawl and the straw bonnet decorated with matching ribbons twisted around the flowers. She looked lovely as always, a breath of sunshine in the pale-yellow gown, and his heartbeat quickened the longer he was in her presence.
“I wouldn’t think a disguise is necessary now that we’re...betrothed.” A hint of color graced her cheeks at the term. Apparently he wasn’t the only one still growing accustomed to their new relationship.
“I disagree. The fewer people who learn of your involvement in the investigation, the better.” He’d already proposed in order to protect her, but his efforts didn’t end there.
Her crestfallen expression nearly made him smile. If he allowed her to know that he wanted to give her anything she wanted if it was in his reach, their relationship would take a turn he’d soon regret. Annabelle was strong-willed enough to march right over the top of him.
“Oh, very well.” Her shoulders lowered. “I could go to Caroline’s now,” she added with a hopeful tone.
“I’ll send a message to McConnelly first. I have the feeling he’d be more inclined to share details if we avoid surprising him.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“The murder might be unrelated.” He wanted to warn her, given that the article hadn’t even mentioned the previous murder. “If the reporter didn’t note the connection, perhaps there’s a reason.”
“The timing of the death and the location of the body are enough to make me want to know more, don’t you agree?” Concern lit her dark brown eyes. There was no possible way he could refuse her.
“Agreed.” The faint hope that his own feeling had been wrong vanished. Obviously, Annabelle had the same worry as him—that a murderer remained on the loose and was somehow connected to her.
~*~
“McConnelly was far from cooperative and seemed less than happy to see us.” Annabelle shook her head as she settled beside Thomas in the hackney several hours later, frustration simmering inside her. “He acts as if we’re under suspicion when we’re only trying to help.”
“It’s his job to question everyone who has knowledge of the murders.”
“True. But what motivation would we have to commit the crime?” Annabelle waited until the hackney rolled forward, and they were well away from the police station before lifting the black veil from her face.
“Money.” At her questioning look, Thomas added, “Think of how many books we could sell if rumors spread about a possible tie between A Murder Most Unusual and an actual series of murders.”
Shock rendered her silent for a moment. “I would never seek profit in that manner.”
“You and I know that, but McConnelly can’t be certain.”
“Surely the fact that we’re the ones telling him about the possible association between them suggests our innocence.” It had been bad enough to be caught in a compromising position. She couldn’t imagine what her family would think if she were being investigated for murder.
“Let us hope so. Though your mention of whether a cameo broach had been found in the deceased’s pocket nearly caused the man to have an apoplexy.”
“He wasn’t taking our questions seriously. I wanted to know if the second murder was related to the first one and that seemed like the simplest way to find out.”
“Based on his reaction, I would say it is. I’m pleased he still had the copy of the book we gave him.”
A shiver of unease coursed over Annabelle. “I wonder if any of the other details proved true. I wish he would’ve told us, though he seemed quite interested in reading the entire scene once I showed him where the cameo was mentioned.”
“Unfortunately, the police seem to be no closer to finding the murderer.”
The thought was sobering, making Annabelle pleased Thomas was with her. His presence reminded her that she wasn’t dealing with this alone. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that there is one final murder in the book. It occurs nine days after the second one. That doesn’t give us much time to stop it.”
His eyes held on hers. He seemed to have something more to say but instead turned his head to look out the window. “No, it doesn’
t.”
“I still don’t understand why someone would copy what’s in my book.” Guilt crept over her, regardless of the fact that she knew she wasn’t to blame. At least Thomas hadn’t known the second victim and neither did she. But someone had lost a loved one in a terrible way.
“Perhaps we need to take another look at all that we know thus far and see if we can uncover a link.”
Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief. She’d feared Thomas would insist they stay out of the situation. How could she when her ideas were being used to commit murder? Creating unusual methods for a murder had been an entertaining challenge at the time. But now she felt as if she were to blame for these two deaths. “Do you think whoever is doing this wants me to know?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Me or A. Golden?” The idea that someone knew her identity was concerning enough. That they wanted to cause her worry or worse was even more alarming.
He reached to take her hand in his and held it tight, his gaze holding on hers. “I don’t know. What if the East India Company’s interest in the docks has nothing to do with the murders? Perhaps Pickford didn’t kill anyone, and his only purpose was to stir up trouble at your father’s dock to drive down the price. There are so many uncertainties that I don’t think we should draw any conclusions. That way, we remain open to possibilities and won’t be blind-sided.”
Annabelle squeezed his hand, appreciating his truthfulness but appreciating his presence even more. “I am very grateful to have you at my side during this. I’m not certain what I’d do without you.”
To her surprise, he eased back though he continued to hold her hand. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I have no experience or knowledge of how to investigate a crime. But I will do all I can to protect you and the interests of Artemis Press.”
His cool tone along with what he’d said had her studying him more closely. She realized she viewed Thomas much like the hero in her book who worked for the greater good. Who represented all that was right in the world.
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