Romancing the Earl (11 page)

Grey nodded and turned her attention to the window.

Cate frowned. She was awfully touchy about Norris. She couldn’t deny that he was attractive or that her heart had sped like a runaway horse when he’d touched her nose. He’d been so close that she could smell his masculine scent, see the faint freckles along his upper cheeks.

Grey was unfortunately correct. Cate could imagine Norris drawing her in, as Iscove had done. But Iscove had been charming and irresistible, where Norris could be quite frustrating.

And maybe that made him even more fascinating.

Chapter Six

O
nce they’d arrived in Bradford, Elijah and Wade had obtained directions to the Mason home from the vicar. During a brief visit with the former valet’s mother, they’d ascertained that Mason was currently employed as a footman at a coaching inn in town and went by his mother’s family name of Swinson.
 

Wade spoke as the coach pulled into the yard of the Brass Pony. “An odd situation, what with him working at an inn under a different name.”

“Indeed,” Elijah said. Why wasn’t he working in a house as a valet? “Hopefully our questions will be answered shortly.”

“I wonder if I ought to hunt him down,” Wade said. “An earl asking around for him might attract attention he doesn’t want. Especially since he’s seen fit to use an alias.”

“I quite agree. I’ll just go into the common room for a pint of ale.” Though it had rained that morning, the air was warm and cloying.

“Very good, my lord.” Wade took himself off, and Elijah went into the dim interior of the inn’s taproom.

He’d just situated himself on a bench with a mug of ale when a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What a coincidence to find you here.” Miss Bowen sat down opposite him while Grey carried two pints of ale toward the table and joined them.

He frowned at Miss Bowen. “I find nothing coincidental about this. You knew I was coming to Bradford.”

She accepted her mug from Grey. “While it’s true I knew you were coming to Bradford, I had no notion you were coming here to this inn. We were on our way to Septon House and fancied a bit of refreshment along the way. Finding you here doing the same is the very definition of coincidental.” She cheerfully held up her ale and took a hearty swallow.

He drank his own ale in silence.

“Where’s Wade?” she asked, glancing around. “I was hoping to meet him.”

“He’ll be along.” Elijah purposefully didn’t elaborate.

“It’s turned into a rather fine afternoon, after this morning’s rain, hasn’t it? Perhaps we’ll take a picnic tomorrow at Septon House if the weather holds.”

He set his mug down. “I don’t plan to participate in the party’s amusements. You agreed to help me question Septon and that is all I wish to do.”

“Actually, we didn’t ever discuss specifics, but yes, I shall help you question him.” She cocked her head to the side. “What specifically do you wish to ask?”

Elijah narrowed his eyes at her. “I think I shall start with querying his opinion on your inquisitive nature and perhaps risqué behavior.”

She straightened. “My behavior is not risqué.”

“Calling on me without an invitation, following me . . . No, you’re quite right. Those are the activities of any well-bred young lady.”

She scowled at him and he nearly smiled. “I’m . . . exuberant,” she said. “You can add that to my list of traits.”

“I shall.” And it suited her perfectly. He wasn’t being particularly gentlemanly, but then he wasn’t accustomed to answering to anyone. Her invasion into his life was like Australia when he’d first arrived—absolutely unknown territory, but exciting and fascinating just the same.

Sunlight streamed inside as the door opened and Elijah turned to see that it was Wade who’d come inside. He raised his hand to draw his valet’s attention.

Wade came to the table, his gaze lingering on Grey before taking in Miss Bowen and then settling on Elijah. “My lord?”

“Miss Bowen, this is my valet. Wade, this is Miss Bowen and her . . . maid, Grey.” Elijah stood. “I’ll come with you to fetch an ale from the barkeep.” Elijah picked up his mug and followed Wade to the small counter where the tap was mounted.
 

As soon as they were out of the ladies’ earshot, Elijah asked, “Success?”

“Found him, but he didn’t have time to talk. He wanted to speak directly to you, in any case.”

Elijah looked at him askance as they arrived at the bar. “When?” He glanced at the barkeep. “An ale, please.”

“Said if we could wait a bit, he’ll come find us.” Wade inclined his head toward the two women who were watching them unabashedly. “What about them?”

“We need to persuade them to go on to Septon House. Any ideas?”

“Leave it to me,” Wade said, somewhat mysteriously. He quaffed a bit of ale, set the mug down on the bar, and strode toward Miss Bowen and Grey. He said something and Grey stood. Then he escorted her over to the corner and spoke to her for a few moments. Miss Bowen, appearing perplexed, glanced between them and Elijah, who merely offered a bland smile. At length, Grey returned to Miss Bowen, said something near her ear, and Miss Bowen stood. With a smile and a raise of her hand toward Elijah, she and Grey left the taproom.

Wade rejoined him at the bar and picked up his mug for another long drink of ale.

“What on earth did you say?” Elijah asked, never more impressed with his manservant.

“I explained to Mrs. Grey that their presence was hindering our investigation, but that if they would continue on to Septon House, I would inform her of what we learned.”

Mrs. Grey? Was she married or a widow? The latter seemed more likely, particularly in the absence of a wedding ring. “That’s it?” If Elijah had tried the same tactic with Miss Bowen, she likely would’ve argued. In fact . . .
 

He crossed to the window and peered outside. They were just climbing into their coach. A moment later, it departed the yard.

Elijah turned. Wade had followed him to the window. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

“Perhaps I’m merely more adept at speaking to the gentler sex.”

Elijah clacked his mug against Wade’s. “I have no doubt.”

Halfway through their second helpings of ale, a footman—who had to be Mason—approached their table. Elijah motioned for him to sit down. “Join us, Swinson. Please.”

Mason was perhaps five or so years Elijah’s senior, but his timid expression made him seem far younger. “I only have a few minutes before I need to get back to work.”

“I shan’t take up much of your time.” Elijah smiled at him. “May I ask why you’re working here and not as a valet?” He purposely kept his tone low and even, hoping to put the man at ease.

Mason looked down at the table. “I didn’t have a reference, my lord. His lordship—your brother—was my first post as a valet.”

“I see.” Elijah chose his words carefully. It wouldn’t do to scare the man off, not when he likely possessed valuable information. “You traveled with my brother to Bath to visit our mother just before he died. Why did you leave before him and go to Worcester?”

Mason’s head snapped up, his dark brown eyes widening. “It was an errand for his lordship. I . . . hid something for him.”

Elijah’s pulse quickened. “A tapestry? Yes, I know all about it.”

Some of the tension left Mason’s rigid frame. “I figured I could trust you, my lord. His lordship—your brother—spoke very highly of you.”

Elijah’s heart squeezed, surprising him. He wasn’t a man of strong emotions. Indeed, he hadn’t even wept when he’d heard of Matthew’s death. However, since he’d returned to England, he’d missed his brother. Being home was strange and somewhat unfamiliar, and he realized it was because Matthew wasn’t here. “Thank you for saying so, Swinson. Where did you hide the tapestry?”

“In a small cave—a hole really—near a folly that he said you played at as children.”

Elijah knew precisely of where he spoke. It was on an estate near their childhood home outside Worcester. Discovering the location of the tapestry loosened something inside of him, made him feel . . . hopeful. Miss Bowen would be inordinately pleased.

“Why did Matthew ask you to hide it there?”

Mason shrugged. “After the footman—Dalby—tried to steal it, his lordship wanted to get it away from Cosgrove. He considered stashing it at your mother’s, but decided someone might try to steal it from there. So he sent me off on my own to hide it. He thought no one would pay notice to what I was doing, whereas he might’ve been followed.”

“You said a footman tried to steal it?” Elijah exchanged glances with Wade. “What happened to him?”

“His lordship let him go without a reference.”

“His lordship didn’t report him to the authorities?” Wade asked.

Mason shook his head. “Dalby was a blubbering mess. Pathetic, really. Said he’d been taken in by villains and tempted with coin. His lordship felt sorry for him.”

Elijah wasn’t surprised to hear this. Matthew had always been easily taken in. It was what made him a terrible gambler. “Did he say who these villains were?”

“No, though his lordship did ask. We suspected it was either the baron who’d written and asked to purchase the tapestry or the pair of men who’d visited and done the same.”

Septon and the mystery men. “Yes, Garber told us of these men,” Elijah said. “Do you remember who they were?”

Mason thought for a moment but ultimately shook his head again. “I’m afraid I don’t, my lord. But I think Dalby was lying.”

Elijah splayed his palm atop the table and pressed his fingers into the wood. He glanced at Wade. “I’d like to find this footman.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, my lord,” Mason said, drawing Elijah’s interested gaze. “He’s employed at Stratton Hall near Hereford. He told one of the maids where he went. I think he tried to persuade her to join him, but she didn’t want to leave.” Mason glanced anxiously toward the windows. “I need to return to my post.”

Elijah nodded. “Of course. I’m nearly finished. Do you know anything about the accident that caused Matthew’s death?”

Mason had seemed nervous throughout the duration of the short interview, but now he crackled with tension. When he finally spoke, it was with hesitation. “When . . . When I returned to Cosgrove and learned what had happened, I immediately went to the site of the accident. The wreckage was still there, so I had a look.” He swallowed and looked about, then lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “There was a box beneath one of the seats. It had a lock and was meant to hold valuables. It had been smashed open, but I could tell it had been done with a tool and wasn’t a result of the accident.”

Elijah forgot to breathe for a moment. “You think someone was looking for something.”

“I do. And I’m sure you know what that was.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I returned to Cosgrove directly, packed my belongings, and went home.” His dark gaze connected with Elijah’s. “I adopted my mother’s name in case someone decided to come looking for me.”

He was afraid. Elijah hated that. “You think someone killed my brother, that it wasn’t an accident.”

“Since Dalby had been lured to steal the tapestry, I figured the coachman could’ve been corrupted too. They didn’t find him. What if he caused the accident and leapt from the box before it went off the road?”

Elijah’s entire body went cold. “Mas—Swinson, you’ve been more helpful than you can possibly imagine. I should be happy to provide a reference for you as a valet—under whatever name you choose.”

Mason blinked at him, looking surprised and . . . pleased. “I would appreciate that very much, my lord.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Mason stood. “I really am sorry about your brother. I say a prayer for him every night and wish that I would’ve been with him. Mayhap I could’ve prevented it.” His voice broke at the end, evidencing his affection for Matthew.

“Let us keep in touch,” Elijah said, standing and offering his hand.

Mason shyly took it and gave him a quick shake. “Be careful, my lord.”

“You do the same, Swinson.”

Elijah watched the man leave the taproom and felt a surge of rage. As soon as he finished with Septon, he’d go directly to Stratton Hall to interrogate this would-be thief. But what if Septon was involved? What if he was the one behind Matthew’s death? Elijah didn’t know if he could keep himself from cornering the man and asking—and potentially making an utter fool of himself. He grimaced. Entering a baron’s home and accusing him of murder was perhaps the wrong way to enter Society.