A Woman Scorned (50 page)

Her ladyship’s thin brows arched elegantly. “Oh ho! Those are bold words, sir,” she said appreciatively. “Yours will not be an easy life. But I daresay it will never be boring.”

Just then, the door burst inward, and Lord Delacourt strode into the room, looking trim and elegant, and very, very angry. Tucked beneath his elbow, he held his hat, while with the opposite hand, he clenched a black leather crop. Clearly, he had been riding.

Without so much as greeting his mother, Delacourt turned on Cole. His polished arrogance was gone, his skin pinched and white across his mouth and cheeks. “Just what the devil is the meaning of this impertinence, Amherst?” he challenged, brandishing his crop in Cole’s face. “By God, sir, if you have distressed my mother, then I must tell you that my patience with you is at an end.”

In ironic amusement, Cole looked up at Delacourt’s face, then down at his crop. How well he remembered his Uncle James’s plight, cornered just so in Jonet’s drawing room. How could he have failed to note the similarities between them? Not the least of which was that brash, irrepressible arrogance. Calmly, Cole rose from his chair. “Put down your whip, you impudent pup, before one of us gets an eye put out.”

“Go to the devil, Amherst,” retorted Delacourt. “I am not one of your pupils or parishioners. And I am damned sure not your foot soldier.”

“David, please—!” interjected his mother, attempting to rise from her wheelchair unaided. Braced on one arm of the chair, she began to tip perilously. Quickly, Cole rushed to her side, leaving Delacourt standing in the middle of the room, looking rather foolish.

“Oh!” said Lady Delacourt as she was restored to her chair. “I thank you, Captain Amherst. Now, if the two of you would be so kind as to sit down and hush, I believe we may settle this.” Then, jabbing purposefully with her gold-knobbed stick, she pointed them both toward chairs.

Her son scowled, but after a moment’s hesitation, he laid down the crop and hurled himself into his chair, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. Lady Delacourt smiled faintly. “Now, David,” she began imperiously, “you have come too late, and there is nothing else for it. I have told all. Captain Amherst means to marry your sister. He is family now.”

Delacourt half rose from his chair as if he meant to argue the point, but his mother’s steely gaze stayed him at once. “Marriage?” The viscount’s tone was softly incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me that Jonet has agreed to this outrage?”

Cole opened his mouth, but Lady Delacourt cut him off. “
Agreed
—
?
” his mother retorted. “It was undoubtedly her idea. Now! Let us turn our attentions to more pressing matters.” The old woman turned to look at Cole. “I take it, sir, that you did not travel away from, nor back to, London in such haste without a good cause?”

“I left London because I feared for the safety of Lady Mercer and her children,” said Cole quietly.

“As well you might, sir,” interjected Delacourt bitterly. “The risk to the children seems only to have increased since your move to Brook Street. But then, we must recollect at whose behest you came.”

Cole fought down an angry retort as Lady Delacourt made a chiding noise in the back of her throat. “David! You will mind your manners, if you please!” Delacourt jerked from his chair and began to pace the room.

Cole willed himself to remain calm and struggled to remember that the viscount did seem to care deeply for his sister.
His sister
—
!
Cole could still barely grasp that reality, but grasp it he must. “I am not going to bandy words with you, Delacourt,” he said quietly. “There is too much at stake. Tell me, do you truly believe that my uncle James is behind these attempts? Have you any evidence? If so, I would be almost relieved to hear it.”

Lady Delacourt leaned forward in her chair as her son continued to pace. “I do not know,” he finally admitted, halting abruptly. “Certainly Jonet thinks James is behind it. For my part, I cannot see James doing such a thing.”

“Nor I,” agreed Cole dryly. “And I know him for the fool that he is.”

Delacourt offered up a weak smile. “Yes, I think Edmund a more likely candidate, but I have had him followed night and day for weeks, to no avail. He has unsavory habits, and keeps very poor company, it is true. But by all accounts, he hasn’t the nerve to do murder, nor the money to have it done.”

Thoughtfully, Cole steepled together the tips of his fingers. He was almost relieved to realize that Delacourt’s logic had been running parallel to his own. But they were still missing something—something very critical. “
Cui bono,
” he whispered, remembering his discussion with Colonel Lauderwood.

Lady Delacourt leaned forward in her wheelchair to wag a finger at him. “A very good question, Captain Amherst, so far as it goes.”

Cole’s chin jerked up from his fingertips. “What do you mean?”

“Come, Captain,” she prodded. “Surely as a theologian, you are schooled in logic as well as Latin?
Who benefits
if
what?
”

Delacourt peered at her quizzically. “Yes, Mother? Go on.”

Her ladyship looked at him in mild exasperation. “Do you not see, David? Here is yet another example of why you should not hide things from me! I vow, you men have no understanding of human nature. For example, if we rule out James and Edmund, who benefits if Mercer dies?” She looked back and forth between them, her palms turned up inquiringly. “Is it Stuart? He is the most obvious, but that is ridiculous, of course. He is a boy. Jonet? Again, ridiculous, for despite the gossip, we all know Jonet did not intend to marry David.”

The old woman drew a deep breath and continued. “So was it David?” She gave a tight smile. “Perhaps I show my prejudice, but I fancy that had David wished Mercer dead, he would have been better pleased to call him out and run a sword through his heart, something which was not altogether out of the question. No, men rarely resort to poison when a more honorable means is available.”

Lord Delacourt looked confused. “Well, who else is there, Mother? Are you saying that there is someone we have not yet considered?”

“Certainly there is some
thing
you have not yet considered,” she answered. “I only wish I knew who or what.”

Abruptly, Cole sat forward in his chair. “What if Mercer’s death was an accident?”

Delacourt waved a dismissive hand. “That is ridiculous. Look at what has followed!”

Lady Delacourt drew in her breath sharply. “That assumes all these events are connected. But what if they are not? Or what if we are leaping to conclusions here? Let us begin at the beginning, always a good spot, yes? For example, what if the wine which killed Mercer was left in his bedchamber by mistake?”

“But Mother, that makes no sense,” persisted Delacourt irritably. “Mercer took it there himself. We all know that.”

Lady Delacourt seemed to fluff herself like an irate hen. “I know nothing of the sort!” she retorted. “I know that he drank it, and that it was thought to be poisonous. But I assumed it was brought to him by a servant.”

Suddenly, Cole jerked from his chair and began to pace the floor with Delacourt. “It was Jonet’s,” he said softly. “The decanter of wine—that was why the magistrate suspected her of having done the deed. The decanter was always kept in her sitting room. She drank from it every night—but she did not do so that night. Indeed, she went straight to bed, because the servants had kept her late after dinner.”

Beneath his breath, Delacourt cursed violently. “Good God! Was Jonet the intended victim all along?” he asked sharply. “Could it have been Mrs. Lanier, hoping to marry Mercer? Or perhaps it was that lady’s maid—I own, I never liked the look of her. But that gunshot in Scotland . . .”

“Yes, and the carriage bolt,” murmured Cole. “But anyone might have hired a thug to do such things. Since the war, they run rampant, and can be employed quite cheaply by anyone vicious enough to do so.” Suddenly, from the wheelchair, Lady Delacourt’s walking stick clattered to the floor.

Cole’s attention snapped toward her, taking in her deathly pallor and the tiny, clawlike hand that gripped her chair arm. Delacourt saw, too, and he rushed toward her. “Mother! What is it?” He shot a stricken look at Cole. “Amherst, get brandy! Over there—!”

Cole moved quickly toward the sideboard, dashed out a healthy measure, and took it to her. As Delacourt briskly rubbed his mother’s hands, Cole put the glass to her lips and steadied her as she drank it.

Almost at once, the old woman choked, sputtered, and pushed the glass away. “Power,” she rasped violently. “It is always about power, is it not? Or position or wealth—they are all very much the same. But we did not look! And so, we did not see.”

Cole leaned over her. “Please, ma’am, what position? What power?”

The old woman’s gaze was bleak. “The earldom of Kildermore,” she said quietly. “Mercer may have possessed Jonet, but he could never possess her title. Only an heir of Cameron blood may do so. But remember what I said earlier—a female may inherit, but only
if no legitimate sons live!”

The words, heavy, horrible, and certain, hung in the air for a long moment. “Delacourt,” said Cole quietly, straightening from his position beside the chair, “you will fetch me, if you please, your fastest horse. I believe I have made a most dreadful misjudgement.”

Over his mother’s head, Delacourt returned Cole’s stricken look, an expression of horrified comprehension dawning. “You certainly will not go without me,” he said as he strode across the room and yanked hard on the bell.

Jonet was in the belvedere sewing and enjoying the afternoon sun when Stuart and Robert came in search of her. She was not surprised. Ellen and Nanna were still resting, and Cole was away, while Mr. Moseby had ridden to Huntingdon on estate business. That left Jonet as the last resort for bored young gentlemen, and these two looked particularly peevish.

“Mama,” began Robert irritably, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, “have you seen Mr. Moseby’s cat? We have looked and looked and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“We are a bit worried,” confessed Stuart. “Nanna says she’s to have kittens soon. Do you think she is all right?”

Jonet set aside her sewing, patiently smiling. “I am sure that she’s just fine,” she said reassuringly, patting the seat beside her. “Mother cats like to hide when the time comes for their kittens to arrive. It is only natural. We’ll find them soon enough.”

As Stuart plopped down beside his mother, Robert scuffed one toe in the grass stubbornly. “Well, I don’t have anything to do,” he said plaintively. “When is Cousin Cole coming back? Will it be today? It seems as if he’s been gone forever.”

“Yes, it does seem as if he’s been gone forever,” Jonet agreed, wrapping one arm around Robert’s waist and settling him onto her knee. And it did, she inwardly admitted, resting her chin atop his head. Oh, it had been good to see Ellen and Nanna. And Charlie too. But she missed Cole dreadfully, and greatly regretted her part in the argument that had led to his swift departure. Now, absent the comforting influence of his presence, she was beginning to feel frightened again. And for no good reason. They were perfectly safe at Elmwood.

Stuart let his head fall limply back against the wooden bench. “I do wish he would come back,” the boy sighed. “Really, I wish we could just stay here forever. Do you think we could do that, Mama?” He cut a suspicious glance at his brother. “Robin says that Cousin Cole is going to be our new father. Is that true? Will we get to stay here if he is?”

Jonet squeezed shut her eyes for a moment. Good Lord! She should have expected this. Undoubtedly, the few servants they had at Elmwood were gossiping madly. Perhaps the boys had even seen them kissing yesterday afternoon beneath the willow trees. And what was she to say?
Was
Cole going to be their new father? She all but stopped breathing as she considered it. Certainly, she hoped so. She prayed that her demands regarding David—or worse, something David himself might say or do—would not ruin her one chance for happiness.

To soothe herself, Jonet slid her hand back through Robert’s dark hair. “Well, we have talked about it,” she quietly admitted. “And of course, it would mean that Cousin Cole and I would have to get married. And live here at Elmwood. But your father has not been . . . gone long enough for me to speak of such things. It would be rather like dishonoring his memory.” She looked at the boys in turn, taking in their small, solemn faces. “Do you understand?”

As the boys’ faces fell, Jonet caught sight of Ellen darting out the door and into the gardens. “Look!” said Jonet, relieved at the interruption and glad to see Ellen finally perking up. “I see someone who is eager to play with you!”

Girlishly, Ellen lifted her green muslin skirts and came tripping through the grass, rapidly closing the distance. “Now,” she said breathlessly as she reached them, “what have you boys done about finding that mischievous mama cat? Must we organize a search party?”

As Cole had instructed, Delacourt’s groom had swiftly brought forth a pair of edgy Arab geldings, perfect for the sort of journey Cole intended to make. With Lady Delacourt’s assistance, it had taken but a few minutes to prepare. Cole sent word of his intentions around to the magistrate, Mr. Lyons, while Delacourt shoved bread, cheese, and a pistol into a saddlebag.

“What I do not understand,” persisted Delacourt as they made their way out of London, “is why you came to town when Jonet and the children are in Cambridgeshire?”

Cole reined his horse to the right and spurred it past the last dray lumbering up the Shoreditch Road. “I came looking for you,” he said grimly as they started the uphill grade. “I needed to know what you were about, Delacourt, and Jonet refused to explain. I had no alternative but to call upon you myself.”

Across the width of the road, Delacourt eyed him narrowly. “You thought I’d killed Mercer, did you not? Well, if a man can be convicted for his intentions, then you were not far wrong, Amherst. I meant to kill him—but on the field of honor. Fate spared me the chore.”

“You speak rather indifferently of life and death,” responded Cole, staring blindly over his horse’s head. “Tell me, have you ever watched a man die?”