Scandalous Lords and Courtship Read online

  William couldn’t contain his relief as he sat in a straight-back chair pulled up close to a large fire in the grate. His relief was so great that he even looked benevolently on the sleeping Georgie and scratched him behind the ears.

  Lady Carlyle sat down with a graceful movement. “How have you been since I last saw you in Edinburgh?”

  As he had been mostly pining for her and trying to get over it, he replied, “I have been well, thank you.”

  She nodded. They then discussed mutual acquaintances, and William came to understand that Lady Carlyle had been moving about with no fixed plan for some time. It took effort to hold his concern in check at the thought of her lonely vagabond existence.

  After twenty minutes of conversation, she finally said, “I will not waste any more of your valuable time. I am afraid that I prevaricated last night. There are some papers that I wish to give you, but they are not a gift from Charles.” She sighed. “Perhaps it would be better to explain matters from the beginning. I have been very troubled by the manner of my husband’s death.”

  William opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “Please, I know I may be a fool, but I cannot think it very likely my husband would have prized his possessions over his life if accosted by highwaymen. You knew him, Lord Brandon. He was not a man to stand upon ceremony nor to begrudge even the most generous gift. And the servants with him were wounded but soon recovered. I do not conceive by what series of events a highwayman would need to shoot him in the heart. For that is what I have learned from Bow Street. My dear husband was shot straight in the heart.”

  “Bow Street?” William said, startled. While he had nurtured his own doubts about the death, he had not heard that the nation’s foremost investigators of crime were involved.

  “Yes. I asked for the magistrate of Bow Street’s assistance, and he assigned Principal Officer Stephens to the case. Stephens performed his investigations over the last year and a half, and I received the report before I came to visit my aunt. In fact, it was with the object of further investigation that I decided upon a London Season, for you must know that my heart has not yet recovered from the blow of Charles’s death. The thought of entering society otherwise would have been repugnant to me. Stephens was unable to identify the shooter but provided me with information I had not known before.”

  She stood and went to a small trunk set on the floor in front of a rather ugly, flowered settee. William stood, transfixed by the sway of her hips as she walked. Truly indecent thoughts filled his head. Focus. He must focus. She needed his full attention.

  “I was so happy to see you at Almack’s last night,” she said over her shoulder. “When I read the Bow Street report, I knew that I would need the assistance of someone connected to my husband’s friends and acquaintances to move the matter forward and thought instantly of you, Lord Brandon.” She opened the chest and extracted a sheaf of papers tied together with a string. “You have always been such a dear friend and, well, I know it is asking too much, but would you be willing to review the report and give me your opinion?”

  He joined her, and their hands touched briefly as she handed him the papers. A shock of recognition shot through his body as if she were specifically made to fill the void within him—his perfect other half. And yet, he was sure she felt nothing of this strange attraction.

  Looking down into her placid countenance, he replied as calmly as he could, “Of course. I will own that I have had my concerns, as well, about the manner of his death and will do anything in my power to assist you, but surely you don’t think one of our friends or acquaintances would stoop to murder?”

  She shook her head slowly. “It seems impossible, I know, and yet there are too many things out of place—too many coincidences. I can think of no one who would hate Charles so much as to wish to kill him, but I am only his wife. You have known him longer than I have and live in the world of men. There are many places I cannot enter. Please, if you valued your friend, please say that you will help me find his killer.”

  William gazed into the blue depths of her large eyes and knew in an instant that there could be nothing he would not do for her. “I will do anything you ask, Lady Carlyle,” he said, “but I fear that I am certain to fail if Bow Street cannot resolve the matter.”

  “I have faith that if we both review the evidence, we may be able to find out who killed my husband. And I have Charles’s correspondence, which might aid us.” She turned back toward the trunk. “I was able to secure most of his papers despite Reginald’s repeated entreaties to leave all matters of the estate to him.”

  William now perceived that the trunk was full of letters and scraps of paper. “Have you read it all?”

  She turned back toward him. “Sadly, no. I was unable to bring myself even to look at his beloved handwriting until very recently, and since I came to stay with my aunt, it has been slow going. There are many things I do not understand.” She smiled wistfully. “A woman’s education in matters of estate management is not always what it should be. I can understand household accounts, but some of the correspondence escapes me.”

  “You did not desire to enlist the help of the new Lord Carlyle?”

  She hesitated just a moment. “I know not what your experience is with Cousin Reginald, but I do not trust his intentions. I could not express my suspicions to the man who had the most to gain from my husband’s death.”

  William nodded. “I am happy to review his papers, but it appears that it may take some time. How do you propose to go about it?”

  “My uncle’s library is little used since his death. Perhaps, if you would be willing to come to the house as if to call, you and I might be able to make relatively quick work of it by laying all the papers out on the desk—imposing order on the chaos, so to speak.”

  William took a deep breath, contemplating the prospect of daily contact with the most bewitching woman he had ever known. It could be done. He wanted it to be done. He would just have to keep his mind and body under rigid control. “Give me a day or two to review the Bow Street report and then I will call upon you. Is that agreeable?”

  Lady Carlyle smiled, a smile that actually reached her eyes. “I would love that above all things.”

  The door to the drawing room opened. The butler said in sonorous tones, “Mr. Northcutt to call, Lady Carlyle. Should I show him in?”

  Lady Carlyle stepped away from William and closed the lid of the trunk. “Yes, of course.”

  William tucked the papers under his arm as casually as possible, trying to rein in his irritation.

  Chapter Three

  Mr. Northcutt, a slight man with agreeable rather than handsome features, had attained his exalted position in the heights of London society through the charming nature of his personality and the exquisiteness of his tailoring. He knew everyone there was to know, and everyone knew him. He had established himself as an arbiter of taste in all matters of etiquette and dress, and one cutting word from him could blight the prospects of even the most determined social climber, man or woman. As he entered the room, his attention paused on William and he frowned slightly. William kept his face impassive.

  He was now greeted warmly by Lady Carlyle, as befitted an acquaintance of long standing. After the normal pleasantries, she said, “How do you like my aunt’s drawing room, Mr. Northcutt? I feel certain that you will have some droll comment to make and, as my poor aunt is not here to bear your strictures, you may feel free to tell me the worst.”

  In the spirit of the challenge, Northcutt put up his quizzing glass and scanned the room, staying just a moment too long on the person of Lady Carlyle. “Why, I declare it is a disaster of epic proportions. And what, pray tell, is that thing by the fire?”

  “Do you mean Georgie? He is one of my aunt’s pug dogs, if you must know, and very indolent. He spends most of his time sleeping anywhere he can find a fire burning.”

  “That is not a dog, Lady Carlyle, it is a monstrosity.”

  Lady Carlyle chuckled, and Willi
am resolved to stay and enjoy Mr. Northcutt’s company until he could have the pleasure of seeing the man out. Unfortunately, Northcutt seemed to have the same idea, and Lady Carlyle eventually hinted that it might be time for their departure when Lady Pendleton, one of her aunt’s oldest friends, arrived with her two daughters.

  William, who had not formed any fixed plans for the day, went back to his lodgings and read through the Bow Street report twice. In summation, Lord Carlyle had been returning from London along the Great North Road. He traveled in a closed carriage with his valet, coachman and tiger. The coachman was the first person to see the highwaymen approach from a hilly outcropping to the right. He handed the reins to the tiger and raised the rifle he always carried. But the highwaymen, who numbered three, had the element of surprise and the sound of them thundering down the hill spooked the carriage horses so that the poor animals became tangled in their traces. The tiger had a time of it pulling the carriage to the side of the road while the coachman struggled in vain to find his shot.

  Once the carriage came to a stop, the highwaymen quickly surrounded it. One man fired at the box, hitting the coachman in the arm. He then caused the tiger to jump down and held him fixed with a rifle. The tiger sustained a broken ankle as he leapt from the box. Another man dismounted and pulled the carriage door open. Apparently, Lord Carlyle had the presence of mind to carry a pistol, because a shot rang out from the inside of the carriage but missed the highwaymen. Lord Carlyle and his valet were dragged out onto the road and the valet shot in the leg. Before any demand for money could be made, the third man, who the tiger swore seemed “more the gentleman” than the rest, removed a small silver pistol from the folds of his coat and shot Lord Carlyle in the chest.

  As Carlyle lay dead in the road, the men searched the body, and removed a signet ring from his finger and a gold pocket watch from his vest. Then, as if upon a signal, they mounted their horses once again and galloped back up the hill. It was some twenty minutes more until another carriage came upon the scene and was able to send word to the local authorities. Facts of interest for Principal Officer Stephens included: the boldness of the strike upon a road as well traveled as the Great North Road; the fact that the highwaymen failed to search the coach, for Lord Carlyle had carried a strongbox filled with notes from his London bankers that might have been discovered upon a cursory review of the carriage; the brutal treatment of Carlyle as compared to his servants, who seemed to have been wounded merely to prevent their freedom of movement; and the fact that no other such attacks have been noted on this or any section of the road within the last several years.

  William threw down the papers. It was clear that some fiend had sought to kill his friend and make it look like a robbery. It was equally clear that Lady Carlyle had come to the same conclusion and had turned to him in her time of need. Even had he felt indifference toward her, William would not have hesitated to offer her all the assistance within his power. His dear friend Carlyle was practically calling for help from the grave. And his widow, well, perhaps if William solved the case for her, she might be inclined to look favorably upon a proposal of marriage.

  There, he had admitted it to himself. He was as much in love with the beautiful Helena as he had ever been.

  William felt too agitated to stay indoors. He tugged the bell pull, and when his manservant appeared, announced his intention to go to his club. At least there he could lose himself in idle conversation and bide his time until the morrow, when he would call upon Lady Carlyle and begin the task of solving the mystery.

  * * *

  Lady Carlyle spent the afternoon in an outwardly tranquil manner—going with her aunt to the shops and reading a book when her aunt went upstairs to rest before supper—but inwardly, she remained perplexed by the morning’s events. Specifically, she could not rid her mind of the strange sensation she felt when Lord Brandon’s hand brushed hers as she handed him the Bow Street report. Then when he gazed down upon her, it was as if he could see into her mind and understood the terrible loneliness that made her feel as if she were a hollow shell of her former self. But how could that be?

  She had known Lord William Brandon ever since her first Season, when he was the polite, dependable Lord Brandon, part of the large group of amiable men who could be counted upon to fill her dance card if she ever had a need for it. She had never before felt anything out of the ordinary toward him. And yet, there was something comforting about him. She had been conscious of it ever since Charles’s death. Whenever she had the pleasure of meeting Lord Brandon, his mere presence made her feel infinitely better able to confront the abyss of her loss.

  She thought of their time in Edinburgh before her husband’s death. Those had been days filled with joy and laughter. Lord Brandon was always about the house, dropping in whenever the fancy took him, to play cards with Carlyle or to chat about Oxford days while seated by the fire. They had been such a merry party, the three of them. And now that pleasant, easy world was gone forever. Helena sighed. She wanted to weep, but after a year and a half of insatiable grief, her tears seemed to have dried up.

  * * *

  The next morning, William arrived as early as was remotely polite. Lady Carlyle was still upstairs, so he gave his card to the elderly butler and waited in the hall. The butler came back and instructed him to wait in the library. William entered a cluttered room with walls of books on two sides, a fireplace with an anemic fire in the grate, and a desk at the rear, set under the only window the room boasted. The trunk containing Lord Carlyle’s papers had been pushed against the desk.

  A quick perusal of the books indicated that the Wickersham family had once been connoisseurs but had likely not purchased anything new in the last half century. Out of curiosity, Lord Brandon extracted a book of sermons and coughed as a cloud of dust rose into the air. Clearly, the house staff had not seen fit to clean this room in the last half century either.

  After twenty minutes in idle wait, light footsteps approached. William steeled himself for the sight of Lady Carlyle and hoped that this daily exposure might hasten a general insensitivity to her infinite charms. She opened the door quickly and shut it quietly behind her, then advanced into the room, her hand extended. “Lord Brandon, I hope that this visit implies that you have had a chance to read the Bow Street report?”

  She was dressed fashionably in a muslin gown, with a shawl thrown round her shoulders and her hair pulled up on her head and secured with a small piece of lace. The simple clothes merely highlighted her natural beauty. He was struck once again by the grace of her movements. He had danced with her at Almack's, before her engagement to Carlyle, and the memory of how she felt in his arms still haunted him. He wondered when she would dance again now that she was officially out of mourning. He had been told that she had declined to do so at Almack’s.

  William brushed her hand with his lips, afraid to linger too long and break his composure. “I did, and what I found there profoundly shocked me. It is plain that poor Carlyle was killed on purpose. Could Bow Street do nothing further to find the murderer?”

  She shook her head. “Officer Stephens was most apologetic, but the ruffians were very skilled at covering their tracks. Bow Street was unable to locate his ring and watch. Come, help me take the papers out of the trunk. We can sort them on the desk.”

  They organized the papers into piles of receipts and correspondence and other papers that defied category. Then they spent several hours reading. Lord Brandon applied himself to the estate papers. Everything seemed to be in order, as far as he could tell. Carlyle had always been a cautious businessman, and his accounts showed a slow growth in revenues under his steward’s management. The Carlyle estates were respectable but not extensive, and it was widely known that Helena Dunham had brought to the marriage a large dowry, as befitted the only child of a wealthy Scottish baron.

  William then sorted through a stack of notebooks that Carlyle had filled with a miscellany of ideas and observations. He opened one and realized that it must h
ave dated from their time together in Oxford, because it contained notes of Carlyle’s expenses for food and lodging and various pieces of commentary, including a rather pithy joke about a professor. William chuckled.

  “You have found something to amuse you?” Helena said with a smile.

  He showed her the notebook. “Carlyle was a great wit. I’m afraid I had forgotten how often we used to laugh together.”

  Helena nodded. “He could be quite amusing when he chose to be. You know, in looking back upon events, I think something troubled him before his death. There was a feeling of tension when he spoke of the trip to London. When I asked, he said it was a routine visit, but I sensed it was more. Do you think there was something amiss with the estate accounts, perhaps a theft or something else that would have forced him to go to London and sort it out?”

  “I can see nothing amiss from the accounts we have here. Did you ask the solicitors? They would know what took him to London to meet with them.”

  Helena threw up her hands. “The solicitors were not well pleased to have to deal with a woman. It was only through the use of bald threats that I was able to access Charles’s papers at all. As to their conversations with him, they would only tell me that it had to do with estate business and, if I wished to know more, I should seek the guidance of the new Lord Carlyle.”

  “Lawyers are a plague, to be sure,” William replied. “So, if it wasn't estate business that caused him to worry, what could it have been?”

  “I do not know.” Helena sighed. “I wish that Charles had taken me more into his confidence. He was so intent on protecting me from any annoyance or worry that he left me ignorant of many things. I was supposed to be his helpmate in life, and yet, here I am, unable to understand why he went to London in the first place. When you marry, Lord Brandon, do not make the same mistake.”