Redeeming the Rogue (30 page)

“No, I don’t believe so,” Arianne replied, her mind preoccupied by other matters.

“That should make it easier, then. We’ll need the extra girls for the serving, of course, plus we’ll want to make certain—”

“Is there someone in the employ of the legation named Rosie?” Arianne interrupted.

“Not at present, Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Watson said, surprised by the question. “We had a Rosalie Murray, but she left the legation about three weeks ago.”

Three weeks. That would be about the time of Lord Weston’s murder. Surely, this could not be a coincidence. “Why did she leave?”

“She disappeared. It was the day after Lord Weston’s death. The girl simply left without giving notice. A most inconvenient time to take one’s leave, I might add. Particularly with Mr. Jones’s passing a week later. God bless his soul. Is that all?”

“Mr. Jones?” It certainly seemed a lot of the help had passed on recently.

“He was the old butler. It was a good thing Evans came to us when he did. A proper butler is necessary for a proper residence, especially with all the happenings of late.”

“Hmmm . . .” Arianne thought she should mention this to Rafferty later. “I have one more question.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Who has been in my room?” Arianne asked, watching the housekeeper carefully. No one was above suspect at this point.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. Is something not to your satisfaction?”

“My husband left an envelope for me this morning. It seems to have disappeared.”

“An envelope.” Mrs. Watson’s shoulders relaxed. Arianne supposed she had been concerned that jewelry had gone missing. “I will make inquiries among the chambermaids. One has surely seen the envelope in question.”

 

“SEVEN DAYS?” RAFFERTY REPEATED AS THEY WERE SITTING down to dinner. “Didn’t you think to check with me before committing to such a project? Lord Henderson did not send me here to make the British legation a laughingstock in front of the Americans and foreign ambassadors. In fact, I believe you were engaged to prevent just such an occurrence.”

She hadn’t suspected Rafferty would have such a reaction to a simple garden party. “Mrs. Blaine thought it was wise. I’m hardly in a position to disagree with an authority.” She wasn’t gaining ground with him through this argument, so she tried a different strategy. “You won’t have to do anything. I’ve ample experience to do this on my own.”

“Woman, I’m investigating a murder,” he hissed. “You have no idea of all that I have to do.”

The serving staff’s door opened, and a footman entered with servings of chicken breasts with vegetables. Lady Weston had declined dinner with them that evening, preferring a dinner tray earlier. She wished to have an extended night’s rest in anticipation of her journey to New York the following day. Phineas had been gone since early that morning, leaving the two of them quite alone.

“I promise this won’t interfere with your investigation. I’m going to need to hire some help to get the gardens ready, of course. That will mean a number of strangers with shovels and wheelbarrows and such. I can transplant the lavender and roses that I brought from England. Mrs. Blaine thought I may find some assistance and interesting plants at the United States Botanic Garden on the Mall.” She noticed he seemed to be concentrating overly much on his plate. “I will expect you to make an appearance, of course, but otherwise . . .”

He glanced up with a resigned expression. “This is something you really want to do?”

She bit her lip. “I know we won’t be here very long. Maybe it’s foolish to attempt to meet the ladies of Washington’s society. We most likely won’t be here when they return in the fall.” A weight settled in her stomach. Come fall, she’d be alone once more in remote Sanctuary. “All my life I’ve always been the guest at social affairs, never the hostess. I do. I do want to do this.”

He smiled and lifted his wineglass as for a toast. “Then, my dear Arianne, let us negotiate.”

HAMMERS DROVE NAILS INTO THE LID OF LORD Weston’s coffin. The sound rattled the teacups used at breakfast and pounded the reminder of mortality into the temples of all the legation residents. The men, mindful of low rumbles of distant thunder, loaded the coffin into a waiting hearse for transport to the Baltimore and Potomac rail station as the legation carriage, adorned with black plumes as a mark of mourning, followed close behind. Lord and Lady Weston were bound on the first leg of their journey home.

While Arianne and Lady Weston waited in the noisy passenger terminal, Rafferty left to ensure the coffin was loaded onto the freight car with care and respect. Arianne watched him walk away and felt guilty about the lie they had perpetuated to the woman she had once wished had been her own mother. Once their charade was over, what would become of Rafferty? Would he suffer repercussions from his involvement in this pretend marriage? “He’s a good man,” she said, as much to herself as to Lady Weston.

“Annie, I believe you’ve chosen wisely with Mr. Rafferty. There is much that is solid and good about him. Trust him with your heart, my girl. You don’t always need to be the mature woman afraid to be less than perfect. There is no such thing as perfection.”

Startled, she looked into the older woman’s eyes. “How . . . ?”

“Here he comes.” Lady Weston nodded down the platform toward Rafferty striding by a line of passenger cars. Arianne turned to see his determined strides and felt that same primitive resonance that vibrated within her from that first meeting.

“He’ll protect you if you let him, Annie.”

Arianne realized that Lady Weston was far more perceptive than she sometimes pretended to be. Perhaps the lady was as clever at duplicity as Arianne herself. How much did she know?

Lady Weston leaned forward and kissed Arianne’s cheek. Then she kissed Rafferty’s cheek once he rejoined their group. She whispered something in his ear and stepped back. “He would have approved of you.”

Rafferty’s twisted smile tugged at Arianne’s heart. Lady Weston’s endorsement affected him greatly.

“Lady Weston,” he said. “I neglected to ask earlier, was Lord Weston right- or left-handed?”

“Why, left, of course.”

The stationmaster called for the final boarding. Lady Weston glanced quickly at the both of them. “May you have many happy years together.”

She accepted a porter’s strong arm, and she climbed up the steps to the passenger car.

Saying good-bye distressed Arianne more than she anticipated. A heaviness collected in her chest while a sob gathered in her throat. With Lady Weston’s departure and Mrs. Summers’s absence, Arianne was truly alone.

The train strained forward, issuing a cloud of steam. The railcars jerked and slowly followed. Just as she was feeling forlorn and friendless, Rafferty’s hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. That simple gesture lifted her spirits. She wasn’t alone. She had Rafferty.

She shifted her gaze, admiring the sharp line of his cheekbone, the strong plane of his jaw, even the proud tilt of his tall hat. Perhaps Lady Weston was correct. Perhaps she could trust him to know her secrets. Rafferty would surely do a better job of protecting them than the Baron.

Together, they watched the car carrying Lady Weston until it rolled from the station and out of sight. They reentered the noisy terminal to return to their waiting carriage.

“What did she whisper to you?” Arianne asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Rafferty smiled warmly and was about to respond when the shout of her name caught their attention.

The voice, instantly familiar, filled her with dread. She turned to see her brother, William, striding toward her in an imperial fashion, his face as ominous as the gathering storm outside. She took a step backward, but Rafferty’s strong hand stopped her retreat. Rafferty was tense, ready for battle, his eyes narrowed on William.

“It’s my brother,” she said, afraid Rafferty might greet him with a punch to the jaw. “I didn’t think he’d come after me.”

Rafferty barely had time to glance at her when William was upon them.

“William,” she said, schooling her lips into a broad smile, while her heart raced beneath her corset. She loved her brother, she truly did. But his appearance meant one thing. He was furious and she was in trouble. “What a surprise to see you here . . . in America.”

“It is not a pleasant surprise, I assure you.” He glared at Rafferty. “Who is this?”

“William, allow me to present Mr. Michael Rafferty, the British minister,” Arianne quickly intervened. “Michael, this is my brother, the Duke of Bedford.”

Rafferty extended his right arm to shake William’s hand, while his left continued to brace her back. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. Arianne has spoken often of you.”

For a moment, she thought William was not going to accept Rafferty’s hand, but Rafferty continued to hold it out in defiance of William’s implied snub. William took Rafferty’s hand and held tight. “Who are you to my sister?”

Rafferty hesitated. She could tell he didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t very well tell the truth either.

“He’s my husband, William.” She straightened her spine. “We were married by the captain of the
Irish Rose
on the crossing.” Both men turned to stare at her. William’s jaw dropped a moment before he searched her ring finger. Rafferty’s eyes crinkled with approval. “Now perhaps we can continue this conversation in a less public venue?” she bristled. “Our carriage is just outside. You’ll know it by the funeral plumes.”

Arianne turned smartly to lead the way, but deep inside she wanted to scream. This wasn’t how everything was to work. William wasn’t to know about this Washington experience. No one in England beyond Lady Weston was to know about it. Now, once their work was complete here in America, she would return to England in total disgrace. Even her own family would have little to do with her, once they learned the truth. With her handkerchief in hand, she brushed the corners of her eyes. The people she passed nodded their heads in sympathy to the woman in black. They assumed she’d lost a family member. Perhaps she had. She’d lost herself, her honor and dignity.

Suddenly Rafferty was there, striding beside her, his reassuring hand gently on her back. “Thank you,” he said, so low that only she could hear. Those two words lightened the heavy weight in her stomach.
Trust him
, Lady Weston had said, and Arianne had. There was no going back now.

William’s considerable luggage was loaded onto the coach. Rafferty helped Arianne into the carriage, then waited for the Duke to enter before he followed. William’s valet climbed alongside the legation driver with an umbrella at the ready.

“How is my sister-in-law, William? Am I an aunt yet again?” Arianne asked once all were settled.

“Franny sends her love, and yes, I have a healthy son.” He beamed, his pride cutting through the gloom in the carriage. However, as quickly as it arrived, the lightness faded. “Which is why I was not pleased to leave my wife and child behind to chase my little sister across the Atlantic. And you,” he said to Rafferty. “British minister or not, you should have sought my permission and married my sister properly before God and family in a church.”

“I agree.” A twinkle crept into Rafferty’s eye, and Arianne had a premonition that he was up to no good. “I fell in love with Arianne the first moment I saw her. I begged her to take me as her husband, but she’d have none of it.” He reached for her hand and interlocked her fingers with his. “It wasn’t until we sailed on the
Irish Rose
that we knew our love could no longer be denied. She honored me with her vow.”

Arianne noted that he hadn’t mentioned that the vow was to assist him to catch a murderer and certainly not to marry him. Her brother simply stared at Rafferty, unconvinced.

“Why are you here, William?” she asked, trying to ignore Rafferty’s thumb as it played along the sensitive skin of her palm. “I’m surprised you knew how to find me.”

“I received a letter from Mrs. Summers. She was concerned about some baron who may have taken advantage of you.”

Rafferty’s thumb stilled. She tried to free her hand, but at the slightest retreat, he tightened his hold.

“Just as I was packing my pistols,” the Duke continued, “I received another letter from Mrs. Summers that expressed concern about a trip to America with some Irish ruffian.” He glowered again at Rafferty. “She wouldn’t have been referring to you, would she?”

“No, Your Grace,” Rafferty replied. “I’m quite certain she was referring to my associate, Mr. Phineas Connor.” Arianne again tried to tug her hand away, but Rafferty wouldn’t let go. “However, Lady Arianne was not swayed by Phineas’s considerable charms. Her eyes were for me alone, isn’t that right, darlin’?”

She smiled tightly, fuming.

“You see, your sister would never give her heart to a ruffian, or even an honest man of the streets, or a man of little or no property.” His voice strained, he let go of her hand. “Your sister was more interested in someone in dandified clothes who knows their way around an oyster fork and a bouillon spoon, and who has a suitable title.” He glanced at her, his eyes hardened and cold. “Isn’t that right, Lady Arianne?”