Alexandra (33 page)

Her little chuckle was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard. “What happened?”

“Good God, I almost lost you.” He sent a thank-you up above.

“What
happened
, Tris?”

“The gas. The lamp I left burning last night. The flame went out, so gas leaked into the room, and you were breathing it.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I know. You were breathing it, and you could have died.”

She struggled to sit up on his lap. “Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m fine.”

“Thank God that room isn’t airtight. It may have been leaking for hours.”

“I’ve never heard you talk so much of God,” she said with a little smile.

“Hours,” he repeated, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Tris?” She levered off his lap and knelt facing him on the bed, drawing the covers over her shoulders and around her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No.” His heart was pounding again. “I must have extinguished the flame.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I sleepwalked again last night. Woke up this morning in my study. Before I left the room in the night, I must have extinguished the flame in my sleep.”

“That’s ridiculous.” The blanket slipped off a shoulder, and she pulled it back up. “It was stormy last night. A draft blew it out.”

“The glass chimney is there to protect the flame. A draft cannot blow it out. It had to have been put out deliberately.”

“Anything can happen, Tris.”

He wanted to believe her. He didn’t want to believe he was capable of harming his own wife in the middle of the night. What kind of person would that make him?

A dangerous one.

What would that do to their marriage?

“I know what you’re thinking.” She sighed, sounding so much like hale-and-hearty Alexandra he wanted to hug her despite his dread. “Even if you did put out the flame—which I am not at all convinced is the case—surely it wasn’t intentional. For heaven’s sake, you did it in your sleep. You must have meant to turn it off and mistakenly extinguished it instead.”

“Maybe,” he said—because he knew that was what she wanted to hear.

“Absolutely.” Having settled the matter—to her mind, in any case—she scooted to the edge of the high bed and slid off, swaying a bit on her feet.

He landed beside her and caught her by the elbow. “Careful.”

“I’m
fine
.” Hitching the blanket back onto her shoulders again, she peered up at his face. “Better than you are, I’d wager. What are your plans for today?”

He winced. “I need to ride out to the gasworks. I was supposed to be there hours ago. But I cannot leave you—”

“Don’t be a goose. I told you I’m fine. I’m going to make some sweets and take them with me to meet the villagers.” He’d barely opened his mouth when she added, “I know what you’re thinking. I won’t be asking anyone any questions about your uncle’s death.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said you know what I’m thinking.”

She shrugged prettily and smiled. A smug smile.

He kissed that smug smile off her face.

While they were still embracing, Rex plodded in, nudged Tristan with his huge head, and barked. They broke apart.

“He doesn’t like me,” Alexandra said.

“He just wants some attention. Which I cannot give him right now.” He rubbed the dog’s head. “I need to get dressed.” He turned to leave, then turned back and pulled up the blanket that had slipped off her shoulder again. “Make certain to take Peggy with you.”

“Of course I will.”

“And a footman for good measure—and a carriage. I shouldn’t like to see you walking or riding after what happened here this morning. You may not be as fine as you believe.” He gave her one more short, hard kiss, ignoring Rex’s bark, then headed off to find Vincent.

No matter what Alexandra claimed, he was certain she couldn’t read his mind. Because there was no chance she’d let him walk away if she knew what he was thinking at this moment:

If he
had
poisoned her with gas while sleepwalking—intentionally or otherwise—then it was even more likely he had also poisoned his uncle.

SUGAR-CAKES

Take Sugar and half again as much Butter, Beaten together, and add Eggs, as much Flour as sugar, a little Cream, some Sherry, a generous amount of Currants and a spoon of shaved nutmeg. Shape into thin round cakes and Prick all over, then bake in a warm oven. Cover with icing Sugar mixed with white of egg and return to oven until Crisp.

These travel well and are good for visiting.
—Lady Diana Caldwell, 1692

IT TOOK A LOT
of sugar cakes to feed a village.

At half-past noon, barely an hour after Tris left, Mrs. Pawley took the fourth pan out of the oven and brought it over to where Alexandra was spreading glaze on top. “Might I pour you more sherry?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Pawley.” The small glass Alexandra had finished was quite enough—just enough, in fact, to take the edge off her disappointment. Just enough so she could smile and laugh and pretend that everything was all right.

Although, of course, it wasn’t.

Now that her investigation had failed, it would never be all right.

More than half a glass of anything alcoholic made her very giggly or put her to sleep. When the cook had suggested they have a wee taste of the sherry before adding it to the recipe, she hadn’t expected to finish the bottle. But Mrs. Pawley was making a good dent in it.

“I’ll just have another myself, if you don’t mind.” The cook filled her glass for the third time and sipped, watching Alexandra swirl the sugary mixture onto the cakes with a knife. “You do that very prettily, my dear.”

“Thank you. My mother taught me how to do this. And my father’s mother taught her, I expect, considering the age of the recipe.”

Mrs. Pawley smiled and sipped again, one eye on all the activity in the kitchen. While Alexandra wouldn’t normally approve of her cook drinking wine while working, Mrs. Pawley seemed unaffected, and she couldn’t argue with the woman’s results. Her meals were exquisite, and her kitchen was spotless.

The woman did, however, have a smudge of flour on her little button nose that Alexandra itched to wipe away. “I know your father was Hawkridge’s last cook,” she said to distract herself, “but did your mother work here as well?”

“Bless her, she did. Started as a scullery maid before she caught m’father’s eye.” The cook’s blue eyes danced. “’Course she became his assistant in short order.”

Alexandra smiled. “I imagine she did like that better than scrubbing dishes.”

“No one aspires to stay a scullery maid long. If a girl cannot expect advancement—”

At the sudden silence, Alexandra looked up from the pan of cakes. “What is it, Mrs. Pawley?”

“I just remembered. We had a scullery maid—Beth, she was called—who went to Armstrong House for a better position. She was here that night—the night his lordship’s uncle died. Will you be wanting to ask questions of her as well?”

“Goodness, yes.” The news lifted Alexandra’s spirits more than an entire bottle of sherry could have done. “How far is Armstrong House?”

“An hour or less on horseback. You’ll just need to follow the river.”

“Lord Hawkridge would prefer I take a carriage.” There was no reason to ignore his wishes completely. He’d doubtless be angry she’d gone at all, but she couldn’t very well ignore an opportunity to solve their problems, could she?

“May I prevail on you to finish these?” She shoved the pan toward the cook. “I have to change my dress, and have a carriage brought round, and find a footman to accompany Peggy and myself.” She was already headed toward the door. “They need only a few more minutes in the oven; when the icing has hardened, they’re done.”

Half an hour later, plans for her journey in place, she returned to fetch a few sugar cakes to bring along with her to Armstrong House. She couldn’t very well arrive empty-handed.

After yesterday’s rain, the day was beautiful. She opened the carriage windows to let in the sunshine and fresh air. Ernest, the footman she’d recruited to accompany her, rode up on the box with the coachman, and Peggy sat with her inside. No sooner had they started rolling than Peggy pulled a basket out from under the seat and began filling plates for them both.

“What’s this?” Alexandra asked.

“Luncheon. You missed breakfast. I won’t have you wasting away from starvation.”

Alexandra laughed, suddenly realizing she’d forgotten to eat. She supposed she’d been too upset to really care. But now that her investigation was open again, she felt famished.

Peggy truly was a dear for taking care of her so well. She piled cold meats, cheese, pickles, and fruits on two plates. “No strawberries for me,” Alexandra told her. “I cannot eat them.”

Peggy handed her a plate before adding a few strawberries to her own. “Why is that?”

“They make my tongue swell and my throat feel tight. It’s really quite dreadful. The last time it happened, I thought I might perish from a lack of air.”

“That
is
dreadful,” Peggy said, her eyes wide.

Throughout the drive, Peggy kept up a running conversation that required little more than nods and murmurs from Alexandra. Sooner than she expected, they arrived at Armstrong House. Although smaller than Hawkridge, it was obviously the home of a wealthy man. It looked to have been extended many times over the years and was now a sprawling mishmash of styles—medieval, Tudor, Stuart, and more modern.

“Wait here,” she told Peggy. “I shouldn’t think this will take long.”

“Oh, but I haven’t seen Beth in more than a year,” Peggy said in a pleading tone.

“Very well, then. Come along.”

Alexandra put a smile on her face as she approached the door with her sweets. “Lady Hawkridge,” she told the green-liveried manservant who answered, her new name sounding strange on her tongue. “Here to visit with the lady of the house, if you please.”

“Pardon me, but there is no lady. Lady Armstrong breathed her last in the spring.”

Only then did she notice his black armband. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is there no one to whom I may pay my respects?”

“Lord Armstrong has gone up to London. Only Miss Leticia is at home.”

Miss Leticia Armstrong.
Good heavens, wasn’t that the girl who had once been engaged to Tris? Alexandra hadn’t put two and two together when Mrs. Pawley mentioned Armstrong House, but now she was dying of curiosity.

She reached into her basket. “Would you care for a sugar cake?” The footman looked startled but took it, having little choice if he wasn’t to be rude. “Could you please tell Miss Armstrong that I’d appreciate a few moments of her time?”

The man walked off, cake in hand, looking dazed. Behind her, Alexandra heard Peggy try—and fail—to suppress a snort of laughter. Glancing back, she gave her a small smile. She knew it was a bit odd to offer sweets to all and sundry, but the Chase ladies had always done so and been well loved for it, so she wasn’t about to stop now.

“He should have invited us in,” Peggy said disapprovingly.

“You’re right, of course, but I believe he was a bit flustered.”

Leticia appeared a minute later, wearing a fashionable black dress—as befitted a daughter in mourning—and approaching with small, graceful steps that A Lady of Distinction would surely approve. Tall and willowy, she had clear green eyes and beautiful flaxen hair swept up in a sophisticated style.

Try as she might, Alexandra couldn’t bring herself to hate her. She knew what it felt like to lose a mother, and Leticia looked like a perfectly lovely young lady.

Until she opened her mouth.

“John told me you are Lady Hawkridge?”

“Yes.” Alexandra wondered why Leticia’s voice should sound so cold. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Armstrong. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your mother.” Curious whether all the footmen here were called John, too, she reached into her basket. “May I offer you a—”

“You’re not welcome here.”

The sugar cake dropped from Alexandra’s fingers. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. The Hawkridge name has been disgraced. Please leave.” Leticia began closing the door.

“Wait.” Alexandra shoved a hand against the wood. She was reeling with shock, but she’d come here for a purpose. “Have you a maid here by the name of Beth?”

Leticia stared right through her.

“Beth is a dear friend of mine,” Peggy said, stepping out from behind Alexandra. “My mistress brought me here to see her.” She lowered her voice, sounding pained. “I…have news concerning her family.”

Peggy, Alexandra thought, was a consummate actress. She almost had
her
convinced the invented news was dire.

Apparently Leticia did have something approximating a heart, since she nodded at Peggy. “Come inside. I’ll fetch Beth.”

She pulled Peggy in by the arm and closed the door in Alexandra’s face.

Alexandra stood there for a stunned moment, then walked slowly back to the carriage. There was nothing else to do. She climbed inside and waited, fighting the nausea rising in her throat.

Although she’d known she would face difficulties as the wife of a pariah, she hadn’t realized how it would feel to be an object of scorn. She’d expected to be whispered about or ignored, of course, but Leticia had really seemed to
despise
her. No one had ever despised her before, not in her entire life!