Emerald Garden (34 page)

“No harm done, my lady.” Bentley brushed a blade of grass from his uniform.

Brandi turned to Quentin. “Desmond is here.”

“So Bentley tells me.” Assessing her disheveled state—the tousled mass of cinnamon curls, the grass-stained gown, the dirt-smudged cheeks—Quentin grinned, wondering if this could truly be the same woman he’d burned to take to bed not eight hours past.

“Incidentally—” Brandi smiled and, abruptly, Quentin’s wondering vanished. “As we haven’t seen each other yet today—good morning.” She walked toward him, her chin tilted up to meet his gaze.

“Good morning.” Quentin tugged one shining curl. “How do you feel, or need I ask? ’Tis nine o’clock and already you’ve eaten breakfast, romped in the garden, and are now, I hear tell, holding a banquet in honor of your squirrel.”

Her brow furrowed. “Did I disturb you when I took my stroll? It was rather early.”

“Not at all. I’m delighted at the rate of your recovery. All I ask is that you don’t overtax yourself.” Quentin averted his head to the sound of horses’ hooves, which rounded the drive, then stopped. “Are you up for this, Sunbeam?”

“Yes. I have dozens of questions to ask Desmond. I’m also anxious to learn if Mr. Hendrick has yet received any responses to the missives he sent.”

“Don’t expect miracles, Brandi,” Quentin cautioned. “It’s been less than two days.”

“I know. And I won’t.”

“I’ll see them to the sitting room, sir.” Bentley pivoted and returned to his post.

Brandi reached the door in two racing steps. “Let’s go to the sitting room,” she urged Quentin.

He followed, pausing to take her arm once they’d reached their destination. “I mean it, Brandi. I don’t intend to allow you to overtax yourself. Physically or emotionally.”

Her lips curved. “I didn’t think you would.”

Not three minutes later, Bentley appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Desmond and Hendrick. “Master Desmond,” he announced. “Oh, pardon me—His Grace—and Mr. Hendrick.”

Desmond scowled, clearly piqued by the butler’s intentional slip. Hendrick seemed not to notice, strolling past Desmond and into the room.

“Quentin,” he acknowledged graciously. His anxious gaze flickered to Brandi. “Are you all right, my dear? Desmond told me of your horrible accident yesterday.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Hendrick. Very much myself.”

Brandi’s words appeared to penetrate Desmond’s silent, seething rage. “Brandice …” He hastened to her side, seizing her hands in his. “How are you?” His glance went to her bandaged temple. “How in God’s name could such a thing have happened?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Quentin inserted curtly. “Why don’t you both have a seat. Mrs. Collins made enough breakfast for an army. Would either of you care for something to eat?” A pause, Quentin’s censuring gaze flickering to Desmond. “Or to drink?”

“Neither, thank you,” Hendrick forestalled Desmond by answering. “We had a large meal at Colverton not an hour ago.”

“So you arrived in the Cotswolds last night?”

“Late last night, yes.” Hendrick lowered himself into an armchair. “We went directly to bed in order to get an early start this morning.” He inclined his head quizzically at Quentin. “It’s not too early, is it? Desmond assured me you were early risers.”

“We are.” Quentin crossed over and sat down on the settee. “And I’m relieved you came as quickly as you did. I have a great deal of unresolved questions—and concerns. The sooner we address them, the better.”

Desmond remained standing, his gaze on Brandi. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Brandice, if you have no objections, I’d like to speak with you in private. I realize you’re a woman grown, but your father did appoint me your legal guardian. And, as such, I’m dreadfully disturbed by what happened to you yesterday. I want to hear the precise details and explore ways in which we can ensure your safety. Would that be acceptable?”

Brandi’s brows rose in surprise, unaccustomed as she was to Desmond actually seeking her approval or, for that matter, treating her in so reasonable a manner. Slowly, she nodded. “That would be fine, as I, too, have a matter I’d like to pursue with you.”

“Good. Then, shall we adjourn to the library?”

“Fine.” Brandi glanced at Quentin, giving him a reassuring nod. “We’ll be back shortly, gentlemen.” She smiled at Bentley as she passed through the doorway, fighting the urge to laugh aloud as Desmond sidestepped the butler, inching his way around him with a look of utter distaste.

“I’ll be at my post, should you need me, my lord,” Bentley apprised Quentin, his expression unchanged. “And fear not. The cottage entranceway is twice this width.” He indicated the expanse that defined the sitting-room doorway. “Therefore, arriving guests run no risk of grazing my person as they enter. However, should I perceive that I’ve offended even one other visitor, I’ll set aside my morning break for bathing purposes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir …”

Stiff as a board, he exited the room, veered away from Desmond and Brandi, and headed toward the front door.

Quentin shook his head, his shoulders quaking with laughter.

Hendrick blinked in astonishment. “Your Bentley never ceases to amaze me,” he noted diplomatically. “Although, I must say I don’t recall his being so … forthright when your father was alive.”

“He liked Father,” Quentin responded with a shrug. “He doesn’t like Desmond.”

“So I see.” Hendrick cleared his throat, aware that he was entering volatile territory and, as such, ensuring that he trod carefully. “Desmond is an erratic and complex man. Further, his title is new, his responsibilities oppressive. I’m certain he’ll settle down in time.”

“Settle down, yes. Change, no.”

Hendrick gave an uneasy cough. “Yes, well, as to Desmond’s concern for Brandice, I do believe it is genuine. And, for that matter, justified. Why, even I was dreadfully unnerved by the news of yesterday’s shooting.”

“We all were.” Quentin leaned forward, his fingers tightly gripping his knees. “I’ll be blunt, Ellard. I want to establish if the shooting was really an accident, or a very real attempt on Brandi’s life.”

Hendrick nodded. “My worry exactly.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Brandi told me everything: about her father’s ledger, her visit to your office, the meeting you’re helping her arrange.”

“Of course. I assumed she would.”

“The missives you dispatched—did you send them as promised? Directly after Brandi left?”

“Within an hour after her departure, yes. First I perused the files of all the gentlemen listed in Denerley’s ledger.”

“And did they reveal anything?”

“No. So far as my records revealed, all their losses were consistent with Ardsley’s. However, you must recognize that my role in these business transactions is merely setting up the initial partnerships and providing periodic statements of profits and losses as they are reported to me.”

“Meaning that if any one of the parties were dishonest in their business dealings, you would have no way of knowing it.”

“Precisely.”

“Did you explain that to Brandi?”

“To be blunt, Quentin, Brandice was determined to forge ahead with plans for that meeting. Nothing I said would have swayed her.”

“That’s my single-minded Brandi,” Quentin concurred with grim exasperation. “Very well. So you searched your files and found nothing incriminating. Then you sent out the missives?”

“I did. Based upon the whereabouts of the parties in question, the majority of missives reached their destinations that night.”

“The majority of missives?”

“Three of the gentlemen are abroad and, as such, are probably first receiving their missives today.”

“True.” Quentin waved a dismissive hand. “And even if your timing was impeccable and a ship brought the messages to Europe yesterday, it wouldn’t give any one of those men ample time to sail for England, ride to the Cotswolds, and take a shot at Brandi.”

“Which eliminates three people as suspects,” Hendrick declared thoughtfully. “Nevertheless, of the twelve men listed in Denerley’s ledger, nine of them had opportunity to strike. And that’s without even considering the dozens of businessmen funded by my clients.”

“It sounds like you and I are thinking along the same lines.”

“I believe we are. If any one of those men is a murderer, then Brandice is putting herself in grave danger by insisting upon this meeting.”

“You think we should call it off.” Quentin’s assessment was a statement, not a question.

Hendrick answered it anyway. “Absolutely. If one of those men really did kill Ardsley—and your parents in the process—then it’s very likely he was shooting to kill when his bullet grazed Brandice yesterday. In which case, I’d recommend keeping her as far from this investigation as possible.”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed pensively. “Maybe the best thing would be to go ahead with the meeting—only with me in attendance rather than Brandi.”

“I’d say that was ill-advised, Quentin,” Hendrick dissuaded. “Remember, this arranged meeting would only include the dozen gentlemen who are my clients, omitting the external parties involved and thereby alerting them to your suspicions. Trying to corner a dangerous criminal in this brazen and uncontrolled fashion is just as foolish a step for you to take as it would be for Brandice.”

“Have you an alternative?”

“I hadn’t considered this before, but I believe I have.” Hendrick tapped his chin. “What if I were to conduct my own subtle but thorough investigation? I’m better connected—at least with regard to members of the
ton
—than Bow Street or its local magistrate. My clients’ files are rife with family skeletons—more than you could possibly imagine. I’m well-received at White’s, Brooks’s, and at least three other St. James’s Street clubs. In short, I could mingle, probe, and most likely glean and assemble a vast array of information without arousing the suspicions of either my clients or the scores of businessmen with whom they deal.”

“That’s very generous of you, Ellard. But I won’t allow you to endanger yourself. Would you consider providing me access to your files so I could pursue the matter through your channels?”

Hendrick shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Quentin. It would be an unforgivable breach of ethics, even in dire circumstances such as these. Moreover, it’s far less dangerous for me to conduct this investigation than it would be for you. Kenton and Pamela were your parents; thus, your intentions would be obvious with the advent of your first question. I, on the other hand, am an objective party, with no emotional connection to any of the murder victims. No one will suspect that my carefully worded inquiries are anything but innocent small talk. I’ll be perfectly safe, I assure you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Quentin replied. “You have my deepest gratitude.” He extended his hand. “It goes without saying that you’ll be handsomely compensated.”

Hendrick waved away the suggestion. “I’m doing this out of friendship—not only for you and Desmond, but for Ardsley, Kenton, and Pamela, as well. If I succeed in helping to unearth the bastard who killed them, it will be compensation enough.” He shook Quentin’s hand—and winced.

“Is something wrong?” Quentin asked, frowning.

“Rheumatism,” Hendrick said with a rueful smile. “I fear I’m growing old.”

“Nonsense.” Quentin came to his feet. “You’re too vital to grow old.” Pursing his lips, he glanced at the door.

“Let them talk, Quentin,” Hendrick advised quietly. “Perhaps Desmond can find a way to convince Brandice that she must abandon the idea of this meeting.”

“Perhaps,” Quentin murmured without conviction. “But knowing how Brandi resents Desmond’s tyranny, I rather doubt it. Although, believe me, Ellard, this is one time I hope I’m wrong.”

Down the hall in the library, Desmond was hoping much the same thing.

He paced restlessly about the room, gazing longingly at the bottle of brandy that beckoned him from the side table.

“Don’t, Desmond,” Brandi said, rising from the settee. “You’ve been drinking far too much.”

He pivoted to face her. “I had no idea you were concerned.”

“Of course, I’m concerned. You’re my friend, and you’re in pain. But liquor won’t bring Kenton back.”

“No,” he agreed. “It won’t.” Slowly, he crossed the room to stand before her. “Brandice, Hendrick told me about Ardsley’s ledger. And about the meeting you’re planning. I want you to call it off.”

“I can’t. I must know if one of those men killed Papa.” Questioningly, she gazed up at him. “Desmond, did you know about the ledger? After all, you worked so closely with Papa—closely enough for him to appoint you overseer of all his businesses. He must have entrusted you with the knowledge of that ledger’s existence.”

Desmond lowered his eyes, more than prepared for this very question. “Brandice, I’m going to attempt some of the honesty you so extol. Yes, Ardsley told me of the ledger, as well as all the other papers he kept in that file. He even showed me the hidden drawer in his desk. But my mind hasn’t been clear since Father’s carriage went off the road. So, to be frank, I forgot all about both the drawer and the ledger.”

Brandi’s nod was sympathetic. “I appreciate your candor. Did Mr. Hendrick tell you what the ledger revealed?”

“He did.”

“And that didn’t surprise you?”

With an uncomfortable sigh, Desmond averted his head, seemingly grappling with his conscience. “No, Brandice, it didn’t.”

Brandi seized his arm. “If you know something, tell me. Please, Desmond, this is my father we’re discussing.”

“Very well.” He turned back, soberly meeting her gaze. “This is very difficult for me. I vowed to Ardsley that I would honor his request to keep you from learning the truth. He was a proud man, adamant in his beliefs. He never wanted to give you cause for shame.”

“Shame? I could never be ashamed of him.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Because, given the current circumstances, ’tis necessary for you to hear the truth.” Desmond inhaled sharply, then exhaled in a rush. “To my knowledge, every deficit listed in that ledger was accurate.” Seeing doubt veil Brandi’s eyes, he pressed on with his rehearsed explanation. “As Hendrick told you, Ardsley’s investments took a plunge downward these past months. ’Twas a matter of luck, not skill, as Hendrick also apprised you—and as I tried to convince Ardsley. I reminded him that every businessman encounters occasional periods where providence appears to shine down on everyone but him. Unfortunately, your father refused to accept that fact. He began poring over possible investments, determined to choose ones that would reap large profits.