Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (60 page)

“Yes, m-m-my lord.”

Edmund did not slow as he stormed through the house. He shot an order to a maid to have coffee brought to his book room. She acknowledged his bidding and curtseyed, but he only stepped around her and kept going.

Did he think he could flee from what had happened on the strand? No, he was not that foolish, but if he slowed, even for a moment, he would have to face the truth of how weak his position was now.

As he entered the book room, Vera came to her feet from where she had been sitting facing the door. He said nothing when he went to the window and pulled the draperies to shut out the view of the bay. Loosening his cravat that suddenly seemed as constricting as a hangman's noose, he looked at Vera.

She was the epitome of the brave, stalwart women who lived in Sanctuary Bay. The women who waited ashore, tending to their households and families, while their men challenged the unforgiving sea and the predators both below the waves and atop them. Yet, in spite of her aura of strength, there was something fragile about her. Something that announced that her unrelenting resilience was partially a pose. Looking closer, he could see how her eyes glittered. With tears or fatigue?

“What happened?” she asked when he remained silent, not wanting to put the burden of pain on her slender shoulders. “Was Stanley there? Did he tell you anything that will help us uncover the identity of the smugglers' leader?”

His composure, strained already, almost cracked when she said
us.
That single word made him feel less alone, less lost because he could not find the man he once had been. He did not want to be lonely and uncertain any longer. He wanted to tug her into his arms, pull out the pins that held her hair in place and bury his face in those lush strands. Holding her close and shutting out the rest of the world was the sweetest balm he could imagine for his torment.

He did not move. She might be appalled if he drew her close. The tremulous connection they shared could be severed. He could not chance losing that. Vera had become an important part of his life.

“Edmund?” She put her hand on his arm. “What happened? Tell me, please.”

He slid his arm out from under her gentle touch and put the desk between them. “Stanley Cadman is dead.”

Vera moaned softly, then sank to the chair. Her fingers clenched the arm as if she held on to the side of a boat in a thrashing sea. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” He spread his fingers across the desk, needing to steady himself when the world seemed unstable. “We discovered him at the base of the cliff below the garden. His neck was broken.”

“Do you think...?” She choked on the words.

“Do I think it was murder? Yes.”

Chapter Ten

V
era looked around the small parlor. Even though Edmund and her brother were also in the room and watching Mr. Brooks as closely as she was, not a sound could be heard beyond the crackle of the fire on the hearth and the clatter of cold rain against the windows. Her gaze shifted to Edmund whose face showed the strain of the night's events. She longed to kneel beside him while she told him how sorry she was that he had been the one to find Stanley Cadman's body on the sand. His gaze had turned inward, and she suspected he was thinking of the other deaths he had seen during the war.

Mr. Brooks had brought two thick volumes with him when he had arrived in less than an hour after Edmund had returned to Meriweather Hall. The justice of the peace turned the page in the slightly thinner book as he murmured to himself. She caught words like
during the reign of Edward III,
but was unsure what he was reading.

Looking up, Mr. Brooks said, “The law is quite clear, my lord. In circumstances such as these, there must be a coroner's inquest. What is discovered in that may lead to the cause of Cadman's death, though I would say it is quite obvious to me what happened.”

“And what is that?” asked Edmund with a calmness that was belied by his fist clenched on the chair's arm. “Someone killed him to keep him from meeting with me tonight? Because that is quite obvious to me.”

“I disagree. I believe it is far more likely that, in the foggy darkness, he misjudged how close he was to the edge of the cliff and stepped over it. However, that is not for us to decide. I must contact Ashland.”

“Ashland is the county's corner?”

Mr. Brooks stood. “Unlike a justice of the peace, a coroner must be of the peerage, my lord. I am surprised you do not know that.”

“It appears I still have more to learn about the peerage and its obligations.” Edmund's sarcasm lashed through his voice, and, for once, he did not apologize for such a sharp tone.

As Edmund and Mr. Brooks glared at each other, Gregory said, “I assume Lord Ashland will want to see the body to assure himself that the man is dead.”

“He has that right for the next fortnight.”

“Fortnight?” Edmund shook his head. “Do you really expect Cadman's family will delay burying him for two weeks?”

Mr. Brooks sighed. “They can bury him whenever they wish, but the coroner can order the body disinterred anytime within a fortnight.”

“That is barbaric,” Vera said, then lowered her eyes when all three men glanced at her.

“It is,” the justice of the peace replied, “but it is also the law. May I impose on you, my lord, to send someone to alert the viscount that he must gather men to assist him in the investigation?”

Edmund nodded, and Mr. Brooks bid them a good night before taking his leave. Gregory followed without a word. He had his hands clasped behind his back and stared at the floor, a sure sign he was deep in prayer that he would find the right words when he went to the village to inform Stanley's family of the tragedy.

“There is no need for you to remain here,” Edmund said as Vera came to her feet. “Good night.”

“No.”

He faced her, startled. “I am not sure what you mean.”

“I mean there is a need for me to remain here.” She walked to where he stood by the hearth. “Something horrible happened to a man who had the respect of the villagers, for he took a moderate stance in any discussion. He has no enemies I've heard of.”

“He had one.” He went to a side table where a pot of coffee had grown cold.

“Or you do.”

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he held it up to her. She shook her head, and he added cream to the cup. After he had taken a sip, he said, “It would be far easier to deal with this if you were not so blasted insightful.”

“I haven't said anything you were not already thinking.”

“True.” He sighed. “And I think it's true that Cadman may have been less a target than a message to me.” His shoulders sagged, and he groped for a chair. “I had thought no more men would die because of me.”

Vera gave in to her yearning and knelt by where he sat. Putting her hand on his that gripped the arm of the chair, she said, “Stanley did not die because of you, Edmund. He died because the leader of the smugglers ordered his death.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“I am.”

He put his other hand over hers. “I hope you are right, but if you are, then that means someone learned about Cadman's message to me and alerted the smugglers' leader.”

“His qualityship.”

“Yes.” Edmund looked toward the door. “If they were referring to Brooks, why would he call for a coroner's inquest?” He answered his own question. “Because it is the law, and he wants no suspicion to alight on him.”

“But Mr. Brooks may not be the leader.”

“No. One of my neighboring gentlemen could have ordered Cadman's death.”

She flinched, in spite of her resolve to remain serene.

He lifted her hand off his and folded it between his rough palms. “Forgive me, Vera. I should not be speaking of such appalling matters with you.”

“With whom should you speak of them?”

Again she could see that her blunt words discomfited him, but he recovered himself. Squeezing her fingers, he released her hand as he stood. He held out his to assist her to her feet. She took it and stood. Too close to him, but he did not back away. When she shifted slightly, he tightened his grip on her hand. Slowly, he raised it toward him. The warmth of his breath slid along her skin in the moment before he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Her fingers curled over his as her knees shook. Slowly he raised his head until his eyes were even with hers.

“Know one thing,” he said softly. “I appreciate your concern more than words can say, but I will not allow your well-meaning heart to lead you into danger.”

She struggled to form words to reply, but her mind refused to focus. Even when he bid her good-night and left the small parlor, she could not move her still-outstretched hand.

In a few minutes, she would regain her perspective and recall the trouble she courted if she entangled her life with a member of the
ton.
For this special moment when she could believe that anything was possible, even not being made a fool of by another man, she was going to savor the sweetness of the memory of his kiss on her hand.

* * *

On Mothering Sunday, as the parishioners arrived at Meriweather Hall to attend morning services, Edmund had never felt less like playing the genial host. Many members of the congregation were equally grim. Vera had been correct when she had said Stanley Cadman was both well respected and well liked. The whole village was in mourning.

Not the whole village. He had no proof, but he was sure that Cadman had been killed by someone familiar who had been able to sneak up on him in the thick fog. If a stranger had been in the village, that news would have spread through Sanctuary Bay.

For once, he was very grateful for his aunt. Aunt Belinda was enjoying every minute of acting the chatelaine of Meriweather Hall. She stood by the chapel door and greeted the parishioners.

When he saw Lady Meriweather coming along the hallway, he went to meet her and offer his arm to escort her into the chapel. “I am sorry,” he said low enough so nobody else could hear, “that my aunt has usurped your place.”

“You need not apologize, Edmund.” Lady Meriweather smiled. “Your aunt is having such a good time that I could not imagine putting a halt to it.”

“That is kind of you.”

“It is what families do.”

“But she is my aunt on my mother's side. She is not related to your late husband.”

“You are part of our family, Edmund, and she is related to you. That makes her family.” She smiled, and the stress of the past few years of caring for her dying husband fell away to reveal the beautiful woman she was. “As you may have noticed, in Sanctuary Bay, we don't define family strictly. We all are God's children.”

He had noticed that. In good ways, when one family helped one another without expecting anything in return. In bad ways, when the village families closed ranks to keep the identity of the smugglers a secret. Were they hiding the identity of a murderer who might be among them for the Mothering Sunday gathering?

Edmund scanned the chapel as they entered, not surprised to see it filled to capacity. Some of the youngsters had climbed to the gallery to find a place to sit. Not only was it a special Sunday, but the parishioners must hope—as he did—that the vicar's sermon would help them make sense of a senseless death.

Fingertips waved slightly to catch his eye, and he saw Lillian sitting by her great-uncle. On the other side, Ashland had a whole bench to himself. Maybe no one felt comfortable asking to sit next to the viscount. Brooks, his equally chubby wife and their dozen children had filled two benches closer to the back.

All the men who fit the description
his qualityship
were in the chapel and studiously ignoring each other. Did they suspect one of their fellows was the leader of the smugglers? Or did they care? Brooks seemed interested in not rocking the boat. Ashland acted as if being in their presence was an odious duty he had to perform, and Sir Nigel... Well, Edmund never guessed what the baronet might do or why.

As he escorted the widowed baroness to the front bench set aside for the lord and his family, he passed Vera who stood near the door instead of sitting in her usual spot across from the Meriweather family. He guessed she had offered her seat to someone else. She nodded politely to Lady Meriweather. A hint of color dusted her soft cheeks when her gaze met his.

“Do come and sit with us,” Lady Meriweather said.

“Mrs. Uppington wants to share your bench,” Vera answered. “But thank you.”

He wished he could think of something to say, but words seemed mired in his mind. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked in her simple gown that matched her blue eyes. Allowing even one of those words to pass his lips might free the rest as he spoke of how glad he was that she had come to stay at Meriweather Hall so he could get to know her better. Before he could find a way to control his own mouth, he and Lady Meriweather had walked past Vera.

The opportunity was lost. As many other opportunities had been because he could not trust himself to make the right choice after making too many disastrous ones.

Moments after he seated Lady Meriweather, his aunt hurried to join them. Aunt Belinda was as happy as a cat with a bowl of cream. She meant well, and he appreciated that. He simply wished he could interest her in something other than his future marital plans.

Mr. Fenwick stepped into the chapel, and the few whispers silenced. As the vicar led them through the service, Edmund heard some sniffling. Someone, maybe more than one person, was trying to keep from crying when Mr. Fenwick spoke of the sad events of the past week.

Wishing he had an excuse to stand and move where he had a good view of the whole chapel, Edmund sighed. Such a vantage point might give him a solid clue to who was involved in Cadman's death. He might as well have wished that the vicar would announce that the new church building was complete and the rest of the service would be held there.

Edmund forced down his frustration as the vicar began his sermon. He had expected a verse about honoring mothers, but the passage for the day's lesson was Proverbs 3:5-6.
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.”
Had the vicar selected it to give hope to the parishioners toiling to rebuild the church? Or was it a warning for the villagers not to exact retribution for Cadman's death?

His gaze slipped to where Vera stood. His curiosity about what she thought of the verse her brother had chosen was replaced by astonishment. She had shifted so most of the chapel would not be able to see her face, but he had an excellent view of her lips forming each word the moment before Mr. Fenwick spoke it. His forehead furrowed. Even if she had listened to her brother practice his sermon, how would she know each word in advance of him saying it aloud? He could think of only one reason, but he could not confirm it until the service was over.

Sitting back, he listened to Mr. Fenwick and stole occasional glances at Vera whose face displayed every emotion in the sermon. He fought his yearning to put his arms around her when sadness filled her eyes as her brother reminded the congregation that while they might never know why Stanley Cadman died, God did, and even tragedy was part of His plan for all of them.

As soon as the service was over, Edmund stood. His hope of speaking with Vera vanished when she slipped out of the chapel ahead of even her brother. He guessed she had offered to help with the Mothering Sunday feast being held in the great hall. Once he bid the vicar a good morning, he intended to give chase.

That did not happen because his aunt looped her arm around his and kept him by the front bench until Sir Nigel and Lillian reached them. She took a half step into the aisle as if waiting for a break in the line of parishioners. She took Lillian's hand in her other one and drew her around the front of the benches.

She made sure that Sir Nigel stopped as well when she gushed, “My dear Sir Nigel, how kind of you to come to Meriweather Hall to join our Mothering Sunday celebration. It is always a pleasure to see your pretty face, Miss Kightly.”

Somehow, she managed to jab her elbow into Edmund's side without letting go of his arm. A scowl at him was an unspoken order, and she was smiling again when she faced their guests.

“Good morning, Sir Nigel.” Edmund nodded toward the baronet. “Lillian, I hope you enjoyed the service.”

His aunt's eyes widened along with her smile. “It is wonderful to see that you two young people have journeyed along the path to friendship and beyond, far enough that you are enjoying the intimacy of using each other's given names.”