A Clandestine Courtship (8 page)

“What affair?” she demanded, her face so white he feared she might swoon. She hadn’t reacted that strongly to his accusation of murder. Did she think no one knew?

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Mary. John told me about it ten years ago.”

“My name is Lady Northrup,” she snarled, retreating from his intimidating stance until she had put a table between them. She fingered a pair of scissors as if she considered stabbing him. “You are as despicable as your brother, and far more stupid. I can’t believe you can be that credulous.”

“
Credulous?”
His voice dripped ice.

“Are you blind, my lord?” She slammed the scissors back onto the table and glared at him. “Can you actually believe a word he said? You, of all people, should know how he twisted facts. He was no gentleman. Winning and exercising his power were more important to him than truth or honor. How many falsehoods did he spread about you?”

“But—”

“But nothing. I never believed that you killed your father, though John told everyone that you had fled rather than admit to striking him down. In fact, most of the rumors surrounding your departure originated with him.”

Dear God! “I left because John threatened to evict the Thompsons and abuse Cotter and the other tenants if I stayed.”

“That sounds like him. John was contemptible. He routinely cheated tradesmen. He reveled in making the tenants struggle to meet their rents – which he raised whenever higher corn prices made their lot bearable. He brutalized more than one of his servants. Whoever killed him deserves a reward for outstanding service to the community.”

“Are you claiming that you never had an affair with him?” he demanded, struggling to understand her words. Had that white face been fury rather than fear?

“I’m telling you that your brother would say anything to carry an argument.” She twisted her face into a sneer. “But you are like everyone else. Believing him justifies having designs on me yourself. Well, forget it. I deplore affairs and could never consider one with a man who can only remind me of the neighborhood scourge.”

“No one gets that angry over injustices to others.” He ignored her other charges as well as his own fury whenever he encountered injustice. “What did he do to incite such hatred? Did he ravish you?”

“Of course not! I would have killed him myself if he’d tried. I’ve seen the results too often.”

“Why would a rape victim come to you? Everyone believed you to be his mistress,” he scoffed, again failing to censor his tongue.

“Not everyone – especially before my marriage; the vicarage welcomed those in trouble.” She sighed, turning away. “Calm down and think, my lord. John had no need to steal my virtue. He could inflict far more pain by stealing my reputation.”

Which he had done. James clenched his fists, recalling the snide remarks that had filled the drawing room before dinner. Country memories were long, meaning that malicious rumors would remain forever. What had she suffered? And why?

Stupid!
The why was easy – to hurt him. By befriending Mary, he had drawn John’s wrath onto her head. So he must somehow rescue her reputation.

He should have questioned John’s veracity long ago. Instinct had tried to warn him at the time, but he hadn’t listened – and wasn’t listening now, he realized grimly. She had been describing John’s tactics, most of which he’d missed.

“And he drew my husband into repeated trouble,” she continued, pacing the room. “John was a profligate wastrel – not that it mattered to a man of his means. But Frederick could not afford such a life. The ones who suffered the most were his sisters.”

“Is that why you are throwing them at my head?” he demanded. “Am I supposed to pick one and launch the other to make up for John’s sins?”

“Not at all. I would never approve a match based on guilt. Both parties would be miserable. Nor would I consider a match at all now that I see how unreasonable you have become. Perhaps I discounted the rumors too quickly. I had remembered you as a man who treated people fairly. Unfortunately, maturity has robbed you of your virtues while repairing none of your naïve blindness.”

“That is hardly a fair assessment, my lady. And not typical of someone who used to weigh all the evidence before jumping to conclusions.”

The address was an attempt to regain lost ground. He had badly mishandled this meeting. His biggest error had been believing John. Thus he had hurled unconscionable charges at her face. He would not have treated the lowliest tenant like that, so why had he done it to Mary? Her title might derive through marriage, but even the vicar’s daughter he had once befriended deserved more respect than he had shown.

She was innocent, both of murder and of liaisons with John. His heart leaped for joy, swelling until he feared it might burst.

Slow down,
he admonished himself, fighting to steady his breathing. This wasn’t the moment to pursue his desire. His accusations had put her back up – as her vow proved. His second mistake had been his failure to anticipate her reaction. Thus he had inadvertently alienated her. She would likely refuse to see him again.

He must remember this lesson in the future, he noted in an aside. He could not accuse anyone without shackling his hands. They were already tied too well by his kinship with John.

So he had two problems. He still needed her help. And now that he had removed John from the picture, he wanted her in his bed. But she would require wooing – especially after this fiasco.

Yet even wooing wouldn’t work if she refused to see him. So he must convince her to join his investigation. It would provide frequent contact. By the time they discovered John’s killer, they would have reestablished their friendship – and more. It was a clandestine approach, but the only one available.

“We have drifted far from the subject,” he said, injecting as much respect as possible into his voice. “Please accept my apologies for allowing my emotions to control my tongue. John’s insinuations had been eating at me, for I had not expected that from you. But that is no excuse for my unmannerly display.”

She stared stonily at him.

“Please, Mary. Even if you cannot forgive my lapse, I do need help. And you are the best one to provide it. I have to find John’s killer. Who had the worst grievances against him?”

She shrugged. “Take your pick. The only one who did not hate him was Frederick.”

“But hatred does not usually lead to murder. That would take a mixture of fury and fear. Did he do anything worse than usual in the last year or two?”

“Who knows?” She wandered over to the window and gazed into the darkness for several minutes. He had nearly decided she would say no more when she turned back to face him. “Mourning prevented me from hearing gossip. In fact, I did not even know John had come to Ridgeway at Christmas until after his body was found. And I know of nothing that might keep someone’s anger hot for months. But even if I did, I would not tell you. John was evil.”

“Perhaps. But he was also my brother. I cannot condone murder.”

“Nor I as a rule, but every rule has an exception. Instead of wasting your time looking for his killer, why don’t you repair some of the damage he caused?”

He raised his brows in a silent question, hoping to learn more. He had already taken steps to address the problems revealed in the estate records, but he doubted they represented all of John’s crimes.

“Your tenants pay twice the rent they should, and John authorized no repairs. Not even to Lane’s barn, which has all but collapsed. The mill has stood empty since Tate died, forcing people to travel many miles to grind their grain. And you should talk to Barnes at the Lusty Maiden. John held a house party at Ridgeway last year. The guests gathered at the inn one night for a boisterous party that burned down one wing. John refused to pay for the damages, so Barnes could not rebuild. The next day, the same group trampled most of Wilson’s crops, breaking fences and killing livestock for sport. I forgave Wilson’s rents last year to keep him out of debtors prison, but he is still suffering. I lacked the resources to do more.”

“
You
did?” But his surprise waned when he remembered that her husband had died shortly afterward. He didn’t know he had said the words aloud until she answered.

“Frederick’s death made no difference. I have run Northfield for years. Even before John corrupted him, Frederick preferred that I do so.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “I must return to my guests. Forget John’s killer. No one will thank you for persecuting a man who did us all a favor. Redress his crimes, then turn your attention to the future.”

She was gone before he could respond.

James paced the sitting room for several minutes. He could sympathize with her thinking, but he could not drop the subject until he understood what had happened, and why. Guilt would not allow it.

Yes, John’s behavior had been despicable. But it was worse than it might have been without his twin’s provocation. Left to his own devices, John would have lived out his life in London, wallowing in dissipation and debauchery – very like Devereaux was doing. The estate would have drifted into disrepair, but the tenants and staff would have survived.

But John had not been given that option. James had inherited the money that should have supported that London life. Disappointment and fury had erupted in a tantrum aimed at anything James loved.

Yet John’s anger had run deeper than pique over the fortune, James admitted, sinking into a chair. The will had merely been the last straw on a mountain of grievances, not all of them minor. There was the time twelve-year-old John had spooked Cotter’s team, spilling a load of grain into the river and ruining it. James had chided him for carelessly harming a tenant, not only proving that he alone genuinely cared for their dependents – and betraying the vulnerability John had later exploited – but inadvertently revealing the deed to their father, who had arrived in time to overhear the details. John’s punishment had been severe.

There had been the incident in the stable when they were sixteen. John’s rough handling had sent a stallion into a frenzy. It might have sustained fatal injuries, but James had calmed the horse, earning his father’s gratitude and demonstrating the contrast between the brothers. Again John had been punished.

But that had not been the worst insult. By the time they were three-and-twenty, their father had been fretting over John’s activities, even while excusing most of the London gossip as wild oats. James had suggested placing John’s inheritance in a trust so that youthful profligacy would not damage the estate in the event that John got the title before he settled down. The earl had dismissed the idea, but someone had overheard the conversation and sent word to John. That was what had sent him hurtling back to Ridgeway, where he found that James had convinced the earl to adopt agricultural reform. Meg Price had been ravished the next day. So, in a way, he
had
been responsible.

He shuddered.

Only now did he admit that a trust would never have worked. John had not been sowing wild oats. He had not been misguided or immature. Time had not made him more responsible. Even their father’s mollycoddling and eagerness to overlook John’s failings had not ruined his character.

John’s problem had been far more basic. He had needed to be the best, the most powerful, the most successful. Facing a mirror image of himself every day of his life had eaten at him. James’s existence had proved that John was not unique. There was another man who shared his looks, his talents, his breeding. A man who had earned widespread respect and genuine affection – two things John had never experienced.

He shuddered.

John had been more depraved than James had ever suspected. His problems had arisen from his own character; his actions had been taken by his own choice.

James ran frustrated fingers through his hair.

But even John’s willfulness could not excuse murder. And so he had to find the killer. Justice was more important than the victim’s character. A man who could kill once would find it easier to kill a second time, and for less cause. James had called enough tragedy down on his dependents. He could not be responsible for more.

He returned to the drawing room and joined a whist table.

“Lady Northrup hosts delightful parties,” said Lady Carworth while dealing the first hand.

“For one of her reputation,” said Mrs. Bridwell with a snort.

“Martha—” began Lady Carworth.

“You know very well she is no better than she should be,” interrupted Mrs. Bridwell. “I have heard revolting tales of her escapades. Estimates make her familiar with half the men in this shire.”

“I doubt it,” protested Sir Richard stoutly. “I’ve seen no evidence to support those tales, and I know for a fact that many of them are false.”

“Ha!” Mrs. Bridwell pursed her lips as she arranged her cards.

“Be honest, ma’am,” he urged her. “Every one of the stories you so gleefully cite predates your arrival in Ridgefield. There has not been a single new tale in eight years.”

“That doesn’t make them false.”

“Where did you hear them?” asked James.

“Here and there.”

“Discounting anything my brother might have said, for he delighted in prevarication, who else claims knowledge of misbehavior? I know of no tales before I left.”

“There were a few,” claimed Lady Carworth. “Though only in town. I doubt they would have reached Ridgeway. I believe the first surfaced in 1800.”

“She would have been barely sixteen then,” he protested.

“Old enough,” insisted Mrs. Bridwell. “And why else would her husband all but abandon her?” Her triumphant smile made him long to wring her neck.

“Spade lead,” said Sir Richard, determinedly turning the topic. “I find it distasteful to disparage one’s hostess in her own drawing room.”

James followed suit, but his mind was not on the game. If the stories had started in 1800, then he was not responsible, for he had paid her little heed until two years later. So why had John turned on her? He had to be behind them. She had sworn that he was responsible for stealing her reputation. Which meant John had been making her life miserable for more years than James cared to contemplate.