Notorious Deception (13 page)

“We will be there soon?”

“Yes,” Diana replied.

“Have you missed your home?”

“Yes, I have. It will be good to return.”

“I want to discuss what happened last night.”

Diana whipped her head around. “I think you have already said enough, my lord. I know you doubt my word. The very first thing I shall do when we reach the manor is produce my marriage lines. Will that convince you?”

Derek grimaced slightly, but made no comment.

“It won't convince you,” she responded slowly, correctly reading his expression.

“Forgeries are not uncommon.”

“I see,” she stated in her most haughty tone. “Then I suppose you should next travel to Chippenham so you may read the church register and speak with the vicar. That is, unless you think I have also arranged for the chapel records to be forged and enticed the vicar to lie for me.”

Derek did not respond, his silence increasing the already volatile tension in the carriage. Diana starred stonily out of her window, wanting to weep over the torment his mistrust was causing.

“Do you know how Giles died?”

“I beg your pardon?” The question caught her unawares, as he intended.

“I asked you what you know of Giles's death.”

She gave him a disgruntled glare. “I know only what you have told me. Giles died very suddenly.”

“He was murdered,” Derek explained softly.

“What!”

“Giles was found with his throat slit in a rather unsavory section of London. Despite all my efforts, his killer has not yet been located.”

Diana's eyes widened in fear. “Why did you not tell me this before?”

“I didn't think it was necessary,” Derek answered, his tone deliberately mild.

“Why is it now necessary?”

“You are very adept at deception, madam. Perhaps with the proper encouragement you will provide the missing details that will solve my cousin's death.”

Diana raised her hand and swung at Derek. Her palm hit his cheek with surprising accuracy and the sound of her slap echoed through the closed carriage with a resounding crack. Her eyes were huge in her colorless face, and her trembling hands betrayed her intense agitation as she faced him squarely.

“First you call me a liar, and now you accuse me of murder!”

Derek lifted his hand to his stinging cheek, staring at her in surprise. But she looked so stricken that he felt his own anger evaporate, knowing he had pushed her too far.

“I have been the Earl of Harrowby for over three months, but not until your arrival in London was I shot at,” Derek said, more to himself than to her. “I had to wonder if there was a connection.”

A displeased frown settled over Diana's face. “What have you concluded?” she sneered. “Pray, don't keep me in suspense any longer, my lord. Is there indeed a connection?”

“I sincerely hope not.” His voice was a rough murmur, but his eyes studied her, searching desperately for the truth.

“You don't really expect me to dignify that remark with an answer, do you?” Diana snarled at him. “And what of my situation? I arrive in London to reclaim the property my dead husband tried to steal from me, only to discover he has another wife and a child. When I press my suit to the current earl, I am shot at in a public park. Only three people know of my existence in the city, and the only one who would stand to gain anything by my demise is you, sir. If I were removed, you could recover the deeds of my properties and keep the wealth. There would be no one to stop you.”

“You can't be serious,” Derek roared.

“How does it feel, my lord,” she taunted, “to be accused of such evil intent?”

Derek leaned across the coach. “Believe me, Diana. If I wanted you dead, it would be so,” he said, his voice flat, and cold.

“If your aim is to frighten me, my lord,” she whispered, “you certainly have succeeded.” She closed her eyes.

“Perhaps now you will finally be honest with me.” Derek watched her as she pressed her body against the back of the seat.

“I have been honest with you, but you refuse to believe me. You will simply have to wait until I can prove my case. And then you can take your leave, and I hope to God I never again lay eyes on you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned her head away and stared out the carriage window, attempting to ignore him. After a few minutes she recognized the rough terrain and realized they were only a few short miles from her home. Determined not to address the earl again, Diana instead tapped on the roof of the carriage to gain the driver's attention. When the carriage slowed down, she leaned out the open window and called out to Langston.

“Keep a sharp eye out for the black wrought-iron gate up ahead. It will be on your right, Langston. Those are the gates that mark the drive to Snowshill Manor.”

Langston followed Diana's instructions without mishap, and before long, the coach turned down the appropriate drive. Diana watched the numerous oak trees that lined the drive whirl past her, and her confidence began to renew itself. She was finally home! Her excitement increased with each turn of the wheel as they came closer and closer to the manor house.

There was an eerie quiet as the coach crunched down the gravel drive and pulled up in front of the house. Diana squirmed about impatiently in her corner of the coach, annoyed that Derek was blocking her view. She could not yet see her beloved home.

All was still when Derek stepped down from the coach. He stepped back, preventing her exit. She shoved Derek hard, and when he did not budge, she pressed herself indecently close to him and lowered herself to the ground, sliding against his rigid form.

This intimate contact, the first since last night, left her breathless and a bit shaken. It took a few moments before she regained her composure.

Diana's senses were immediately assaulted by a strange, pungent odor. Charred, burned wood and the acrid smell of smoke attacked her nostrils. She lifted her head slowly and gazed in shock at the crumbled and gutted building before her. Her stomach clenched tightly in agony. It had been such a lovely house.

Diana observed with almost detached emotion that amazingly the east facade of the house, with its mullioned windows and five alternating gables, still possessed a look of solid serenity despite the charred and blackened stones.

Her eyes drifted to the great window on the left side of the entrance porch, its more than 500 panes of glass broken and shattered. She leaned against the carriage for support, her mind whirling, her brain refusing to credit what her eyes told her.

She felt light-headed, and her breathing was rapid. She sensed, rather than saw, Derek move closer to her and she was grateful. Her knees were starting to buckle, and she allowed herself to succumb to the darkness that was threatening to overtake her. Her mind was filled with the images of her ravaged home and her final conscious thought was of her house. Snowshill Manor, her beautiful Tudor home, her safe haven from the cruelties of the world, had been gutted and burned beyond recognition.

As Diana swooned, Derek caught her by reaching out a strong arm to support her back and prevent her from hitting the hard ground. He felt conflicting emotions while cradling her still form close to his heart.

“Lady Diana! Lady Diana!” Derek turned his head and saw an elderly man hurrying toward them. The man was dressed entirely in black, except for his white cravat, and his undignified run contrasted sharply with his formal attire. Derek deduced he was Diana's butler.

“Is she hurt?” the man asked without any preliminaries.

“No, she has just fainted,” Derek responded.

Diana came awake suddenly and blinked several times.

“Simpson, is it really you?”

“Oh, Lady Diana,” the old man cried. “Thank God, you have finally come home!”

Diana demanded that Derek put her down, and when he did, she took a step away from him, accepting the older man's arm with gratitude.

“What has happened, Simpson?” she whispered in horror, her eyes sweeping over the charred ruins of the manor house.

“It was positively dreadful, milady,” Simpson said. “The fire started four days ago and it took us nearly two full days to extinguish it.”

“Two days!”

“It was horrible,” Simpson said. “Almost all the men from the village came to help. They said the smoke could be seen for miles. Despite everyone's valiant efforts, we were unable to save anything.” The man lowered his gaze to the ground.

Diana patted Simpson soothingly on the shoulder. “It's all right, Simpson. I am sure you did everything humanly possible. Was anyone injured?”

“There were a few minor burns and lung pains from the smoke. Nothing serious.”

“Thank God for that,” Diana muttered.

“How did the fire start?” Derek asked.

Both Diana and Simpson turned to look at him, clearly annoyed at his interrupting their conversation.

“Simpson, the new Earl of Harrowby. My lord, my butler, Simpson,” Diana said by way of introductions.

“Milord.” Simpson made a stiff formal bow to Derek.

“How did the fire start?” Derek repeated.

“We don't know,” Simpson said, eyeing him distrustfully.

Derek scowled at the butler. Simpson met his gaze steadily, giving no outward sign of being intimidated. Derek grunted, unwillingly admiring the butler's loyalty to Diana and his protectiveness of her. The earl thought of his own London household staff and realized, with regret, they would never show him the same devotion.

“It's all right, Simpson,” Diana said. “You have my leave to speak freely in front of his lordship.”

Simpson gave Derek a final distrustful glance before saying, “We believe the fires were deliberately set, Lady Diana. As best we can determine there were three separate fires set simultaneously in different sections of the house. Whoever decided to burn the house knew what they were doing. It was a most thorough job.”

“It's a miracle no one was killed,” Derek mused, surveying the burnt remains.

“The entire staff was having supper in the kitchen at the back of the house,” Simpson said. “By the time the flames were discovered, the blaze was already beyond our control.”

Diana walked slowly toward the front entrance. The once beautiful oak doors were gone, two charred hunks of wood hanging precariously in their place. The stunning brass fixtures, blackened from smoke and heat, were barely distinguishable. Even the elaborate stone carvings over the entrance arch, so painstakingly cleaned and restored by a craftsman from Devon, were damaged. Diana felt like weeping.

“Don't get too close, Lady Diana,” Simpson said. “The interior beams were badly damaged. The entire structure is most unsound.”

Obediently, Diana backed away. “I shall rebuild,” she said with determination, swallowing her unshed tears. “We can organize a work crew to begin the cleanup tomorrow morning. Who should we put in charge, Simpson?”

The butler gave her question a good deal of thought before he said, “Colins, the groundskeeper, is best suited for the job. His family has lived in these parts for generations, and he is familiar with the people. Our local men are too busy on their farms this time of year to spend the daylight hours working away from their fields. I have heard, however, of a tin mine at Land's End that shut down last year. Colins will have his pick of good men who will be grateful for the work.”

“Fine,” Diana said approvingly. “I shall speak to Colins myself. Is he about the property?”

“Tomorrow,” Derek said, interrupting her. “It is fast becoming dark, Diana. We had best ride out to the village and secure lodgings for the night.” He turned to the butler. “Where have you been sleeping, Simpson?”

“In the old caretaker's cottage,” Simpson answered.

“Oh, Simpson,” Diana cried with dismay, “that old place hasn't been used for decades.”

“It isn't all that bad, Lady Diana,” Simpson hastily assured her. “With some major housecleaning and minor roof repairs, the dwelling was made livable. Fortunately, the remainder of the staff are local folks with family living in the community. I sent them all home. I hope that meets with your approval, milady?”

“Of course,” Diana said instantly. She felt riddled with guilt for not being there when she was most needed. “I'm so very sorry this has all fallen to you, Simpson. You have done an admirable job as always. I. cannot begin to express my gratitude.”

“I am very glad you are home,” Simpson whispered. “I have been beside myself with worry.”

Diana fixed her stare on the butler's gray hair, afraid if she looked into his eyes her tears would give way. They had been through a lot together these past few years, and it felt good to know someone truly cared about her well-being.

“Thank you, my friend,” Diana whispered back to Simpson. “I will ride out at first light tomorrow. Are you certain you will be all right out here?”

“I shall be perfectly fine,” Simpson said.

With one last look at the blackened shell that had once been her beloved home, Diana climbed up into the carriage. She gave a deep sigh as Derek followed her inside. She had hoped he would ride his gray stallion to the village and leave her in peace.

They spoke not a word until the carriage entered the village. Derek glanced curiously out the window, impressed with the remoteness and rugged grandeur of the land. The village was made up of scattered granite cottages and farmsteads, with the church and inn standing side by side as the focal points at the end of the main street. As his eyes scanned the horizon, Derek could just distinguish the small fields marked out by stone hedges and, in the background, the pounding sea.

“Do you wish to stay here at the Rose and Crown?” Derek asked when the carriage stopped in front of the inn.

“'Tis the only establishment within twenty miles,” Diana said dully. “It is small, but I am sure we can obtain two rooms.”

The pain in her voice touched his heart. “Diana,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“Don't!” she screeched, moving farther back into her corner of the coach. “For God's sake, can't you just leave me alone?”

“I only want to help, Diana,” Derek said soothingly.

“Help. You want to help me?” She laughed, her voice rising with hysteria. Then she shook her head, the mocking laughter rising in her throat. “That's rich.”

Derek clenched his jaw, keeping his growing anger in check. Diana was perilously close to losing all control. If he shouted at her, she would probably crack.

“I will see to our accommodations,” Derek grumbled, jerking open the door.

His statement stopped Diana's laughter. “I can see to my own accommodations, my lord,” she yelled. “Our agreement was for you to escort me to Cornwall and you have done just that. There is absolutely no need for you to concern yourself about me any longer.”

“You are spouting nonsense, Diana,” Derek said patiently, turning to face her. “We shall discuss this later, after you have had a chance to rest.”

“We most certainly will not discuss this later,” Diana retorted. She scrambled down from the carriage after him when he ignored her outburst and began walking away from her. “In case you have forgotten, my house is now in cinders. There are countless things I must attend to at once. I do not have any time for you, my lord.”

Derek continued walking toward the inn, acting as though he hadn't heard her, which was impossible because she was shouting. Picking up her skirts, Diana trudged after him, but she was waylaid by several townsfolk who recognized her and were anxious to speak of the fire. By the time she joined Derek, he was already eating a second serving of the delectable roast lamb, buttery new potatoes, and fresh greens he had ordered for dinner.

“You are very popular,” Derek said dryly, popping a warm roll into his mouth.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Diana said, taking the chair opposite him. “They are merely being polite.”

As Diana began to launch into a lengthy discourse about why Derek had to leave Cornwall the next morning, she was interrupted by a steady stream of individuals offering her their condolences and showing their support.

Derek watched these exchanges with interest and eventually decided it was not merely politeness that motivated the people of this village to speak to her. Most of them seemed genuinely fond of her and distressed over her tragedy.

Diana greeted the people with deference, calling most by name and accepting their sympathy with genuine warmth. She refused to allow pity to enter into the conversation and again reiterated her determination to rebuild her ruined home.

By meal's end, Derek was forced to admit he had been guilty of misjudging Diana. She must have told him the truth about Giles and her life in Cornwall. A woman so well respected, so admired, by so many people, could not be guilty of the deceit he had accused her of.

Derek wanted to tell her just that, but it seemed unlikely he would get the chance to be alone with her. As the hour grew late, Mrs. Potter, the innkeeper's wife, descended on the table. Waving a beefy arm, she shooed away the three men clustered around Diana.

“Be off with you, lads,” Mrs. Potter clucked. “Can't you see Lady Diana's weary to the bone? She needs to be resting now, not listening to the likes of you three carry on.”

After much shuffling of feet and lazy nods, the three men took their leave. Mrs. Potter grumbled her approval and then turned her attention to Diana.

“I've had the boys fill up the copper tub for your bath, milady,” she said. “'Tis a good thing your old traveling coach broke down again just outside of town. The Sutters were only too happy to take in your maid, Amy, and her poor husband, Richards. Thank God they were still at the farm when the fire broke out at the manor house. My Joe's gone down to the Sutters to pick up your traveling trunk. At least you'll have a few fresh changes of clothes.”

“You are a wonder, Mrs. Potter!” Diana exclaimed. “How can I ever thank you?”

“No thanks are needed,” Mrs. Potter said, blushing at Diana's gratitude. “We both know I owe you far more than I can ever repay.”

Derek, watching the exchange with pure fascination, was startled to see Diana leap to her feet and give Mrs. Potter a small hug. “I shall find my own way upstairs, Mrs. Potter,” Diana said. “With Joe gone, you are quite shorthanded. Best see to your customers. I can manage by myself.”

Then Diana turned to Derek, and the warmth and tenderness left her eyes. “I think it would be best if I bid you farewell tonight, my lord,” she said in a cool voice. “I doubt I will be seeing you in the morning since I will be gone very early. I presume any future correspondence between us will be done through our solicitors. Thank you for accompanying me home. I wish you Godspeed on your return journey to London.”

Dismissing him with a curt nod of her head, Diana turned and bolted from the room before giving Derek a chance to reply. Derek reluctantly allowed Diana to leave, knowing he could not very well have a scene with her in a public taproom—especially a taproom where she was surrounded by dozens of loyal villagers. They would probably lynch him if they thought he was upsetting her.

A burly man carrying a sizable traveling trunk entered the inn and spoke with Mrs. Potter. Derek decided he must be Joe, who had been sent to fetch Diana's clothes. He watched the man climb the short staircase with the trunk and waited expectantly for his return.

When Joe came back down the stairs, Derek signaled him, requesting a bottle of brandy with two glasses. After Joe placed them on the table Derek filled both glasses and pushed one toward the other man.

“Would you care to join me, Mr.—”

“Potter, Joe Potter,” he said, hesitating briefly before picking up the glass.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. You must be the owner of this fine establishment,” Derek said in his most charming voice. He quickly refilled Joe's glass and indicated that he should sit down.

“Just for a moment,” Joe said reluctantly after determining Mrs. Potter had the rest of the taproom well supplied with food and drink.

“I am Derek Rutledge,” the earl stated.

“I know who you are, milord,” Joe said with barely concealed distaste. “Word travels fast in a small village.”

Derek could not help but compare Joe's attitude with that of the fawning innkeeper, Harry. Joe, it appeared, was not so easily impressed with money and a title.

“Is Lady Diana all right?” Derek asked.

The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I didn't see her,” he answered. “She told me to leave her trunk outside her door. Guess she was taking her bath.”