Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (6 page)

She cocked her head as if considering his motives, and he
gave her his best grin. “I won’t bite, I promise. Think of what you could
experience for your next painting.”

“I paint people, not dark corridors,” she replied, but she
stepped into the space beside him. He slid the panel shut and motioned her to
follow him.

The corridor was tight; they had to go single file. He was
used to the pale plaster on either side, the dust that piled along the floor,
the feeling of clamminess that came over him even though the passage could not
have been any more humid than the rest of the house. He wondered what she was
feeling, seeing it for the first time. Glancing back at her, he found her
gazing about, almost as awed as when he had showed her the masterpieces. He
grinned and led her on.

The passageway ran along the south wall of her room for a
short distance, ending in a set of narrow stairs.

“Watch your step here,” David advised, balancing the candle
so that he could reach back to help her. “As we go up over the rooms, you have
to walk on the beams.”

“Over the rooms?” she questioned, taking his hand to help
herself up.

“As I said, it’s quite a honeycomb.” As they reached the
top, he pointed to a two-foot-wide beam that ran into the darkness. “Make sure
you walk on that and that only. Stepping off on either side puts you directly
on the plaster. You aren’t very big, so it might not matter, but I’d hate to
see you fall through.”

She swallowed. “Is this dangerous?”

“No, as long as you know what you’re doing. This way.” He
could feel her reluctance growing as they walked the short distance to the
corner of the west wing. There the passage opened up into a cross. She blinked
at the branching corridors before her. David gestured with his free hand.

“There’s one of these at the corner of each wing,” he
explained. “If you go steadily south along that corridor, you’ll find yourself
up near the rotunda. Each wing has a spy hole, I assume for viewing arrivals
without their knowledge. If you go steadily north along this one, you’ll
eventually find yourself connecting with the servant stairs at the end of each
wing. The servants don’t seem to know about this maze, but I can’t afford to
believe that until I’ve recovered all the treasures and perhaps learned why they
were spirited away. Going east or west leads you to the descending stair for
that wing.”

“Amazing,” she murmured, eyes wide in the light of the
candle. Her concern was obviously lost in the excitement of the unexplored. “I
wondered why the ceiling was so low in my bedchamber. The box bed nearly
touches it. It made the room seem out of proportion.”

    He beamed at her. “That’s what made me suspect a hidden
passage as well. This place is immense; it didn’t make sense to have such low
ceilings in so many of the rooms, especially when the rotunda has a three-story
ceiling. And I hope you can see my dilemma. With one hand holding a candle and
being careful to stay on the beam, it’s difficult to search. I literally fell
into that Rembrandt. Luckily it wasn’t damaged. But with you along, I’m less
likely to miss or damage something.”

The longing in her eyes assured him she was weakening.
“Surely Mr. Asheram could help you,” she countered.

“I need Asheram to manage things while I’m off searching.
Besides, this is an adventure.” He paused for a moment, watching her, but he
couldn’t tell if his point had persuaded her. There was another reason he
wanted her beside him, alone with him. Perhaps she should know all. “Let’s be
candid, shall we?”

She hesitated. “About what?”

“About everything.” He stepped closer and gazed down at her.
“I’m not very subtle, Miss Alexander. I don’t bother to hide my feelings, good
or bad. I like you, have done so since I first laid eyes on you yesterday.
Aside from the fact that I need your help to find the last of the treasures,
I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better. That doesn’t seem to be all
that proper according to your British traditions.”

“And you always go by tradition,” she teased.

That she remembered made him smile. “If I don’t, there are
others who do. Her ladyship, for example, uses traditions as a pawn,
remembering them and forgetting them as they serve her. You must have noticed
that she doesn’t like seeing us together. She won’t make it easy for me to
spend time with you. If we met in the passages, we could avoid her censure.”

She lowered her head before answering. “My lord, you must
understand my position,” she murmured. “I am honored you find me interesting. I
admit that I enjoy your company as well. But I cannot afford a scandal. It is
my dream not to spend my life as an art teacher but to earn my way as a
painter. If I make Lady Brentfield my enemy, I could lose everything. Besides,
you and Priscilla have an understanding. I cannot trespass on that.”

David started. “Priscilla and I have a what?”

She glanced up at him. “An understanding. Both Lady
Brentfield and Priscilla have explained it to me. You have agreed to marry
Priscilla Tate.”

David started to laugh, then caught himself. The rumor
wasn’t entirely funny, not when these Brits took such matters so seriously. “I
assure you, Miss Alexander, that Miss Tate and I have no understanding. I’ve
never met the girl before yesterday, and I certainly haven’t talked to her aunt
about marrying. In fact, when I’m with her aunt, I avoid that topic above all
things. I don’t even call her Lady Brentfield; it makes her sound like my wife.
I have never been engaged, to anyone, either in England or in Boston. I’ve
never even been tempted, before now.”

She caught her breath, and he realized that he’d said more
than he should have. “So you’ll do it?” he hurried on. “You’ll help me search?”

“If it won’t interfere with my duties,” she hedged. She
glanced about the dark corridors again and shivered. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Some parts of the house are in poor repair,” he allowed.
“But I’ll show you which areas to avoid. And I’ll be with you when we go
exploring. If you ever need me between our trips, just follow that corridor to
the east. The descending stair ends beside my bedroom.”

“I doubt I’ll need to go that far,” she replied primly. He
grinned at her unconscious pun and, apparently realizing it as well, she
colored. David took her hand.

“Don’t worry, Miss Alexander. I promise no harm will come to
you. Let me show you around my secret world. You never know what you’ll find.”

“That’s what I fear,” she muttered.

Hannah had never thought her chaperone assignment might lead
to anything remotely enjoyable. She was delighted to find herself swept up into
a fantasy world of dark corners and arching passages, led by the most handsome
of princes to find a treasure greater than she could have imagined. Wondrous
masterpieces lay for her to find, if only she had the courage to search for
them. The only sober part of the morning was the thought that she was avoiding
her duty and the girls once again. Still, she consoled herself with the fact
that they would be well chaperoned by the grooms on their ride, and surely Lady
Brentfield would have other activities planned for them by the time they
returned.

After a short way into the passage, she released Lord
Brentfield’s hand and let him go ahead of her, listening with a smile to his
animated description of how he had found the other pieces. She had wondered at
first about his motives for encouraging her to wander about alone with him.
Perhaps in America things were less formal, but even though she would probably
have to relax her code of conduct to be alone with the subjects of her
paintings on occasion, she knew that a lady was not supposed to be alone in an
enclosed space with a man who was not her husband. Of course, those enclosed
spaces were usually defined as bedchambers or remote sitting rooms with
tempting sofas, not dusty, dank passageways where it was safe only to walk single
file.

But she needn’t have worried. His lordship was a perfect
gentleman. More than that, he was a great deal of fun. He joked and whistled as
they poked about uninhabited portions of the house and tiptoed with exaggerated
stealth over sections that did contain a busy servant or two. Once they passed
within inches of Lady Brentfield, who was ringing a peal over poor Clare. The
little blonde was temporarily serving as her maid. From the sound of the
stinging diatribe, Clare had done nothing more heinous than forget to set out a
matching set of earbobs. Hannah was sure she must have misunderstood.

“That’s the third maid she’s had in the month I’ve been
here,” he whispered as they moved over the room. “Her ladyship seems to be
quite particular as to what she expects of her assistants.”

“I would think someone as important as Lady Brentfield could
afford to be particular,” Hannah whispered back, feeling a little guilty for
helping his lordship instead of the lady. “Among the servants it must be an
honor to serve her.”

“So much of an honor that Asheram had to triple Clare’s pay
just for her to consider a temporary assignment,” he replied.

Hannah wondered about this as they pressed onward. Certainly
she had already seen evidence that her ladyship was not the sterling example of
English womanhood she had been led to believe. For one thing, she had lied to
Hannah about Priscilla’s engagement to David. She might even have been
encouraging the girl to lie about it as well, or lying to the girl by assuring
her the engagement was real. Surely her motive was only to see her niece well
settled. Hannah had heard stories from the other teachers about young ladies
who set traps to lure their intended husbands to the altar. Somehow Hannah had
always assumed those traps were laid by women far less alluring and more
desperate than Lady Brentfield, certainly more desperate than Priscilla, who
wasn’t even out yet. It was all very odd, and she could only think that a great
gulf existed between the lives of the aristocracy and the rest of the English
citizenry.

Of course, she found many things about Brentfield puzzling,
foremost this business with the art treasures. Why would anyone hide such
precious items away? If the previous Earl of Brentfield was the hunter David
had indicated, it seemed unlikely he had had the foresight to take precautions
from some unknown thief. Yet if he hadn’t removed the treasures, wouldn’t he
have noticed that someone else had? Like the russet painting in the Blue Salon,
the changes were noticeable. Then she remembered the story of a murder and felt
a chill run through her.

“Are you all right?” David asked, turning from his place
ahead of her in the passage. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

She smiled, far too brightly she was sure. “I’m fine. Just
wondering why the previous earl might have wanted the treasures hidden.” There
had been no reason for the deaths to be considered murder, Priscilla had said.
For that reason alone, the story should be dismissed. But the art treasures
would be worth a considerable fortune. Could the thief have attempted murder so
as to have an easier way to steal the art?

“As I told you, I can only think of two reasons,” David
replied ahead of her. “Either he was hiding them to protect them, or he was
hiding them to sell them.”

Hannah frowned. “Why would he have to hide them to sell
them? They were his to begin with.”

He shook his head. “Apparently not. All the art work is part
of a trust, and the estate itself is entailed. Do you know what that means?”

“I’ve heard the term,” Hannah told him. “Doesn’t it mean
that the entailed item has to go intact to the nearest male relative in direct
line descent from the previous title holder?”

“Exactly. From what the solicitor and Asheram told me, the
condition generally applies to large tracts of land. The thought was to prevent
the division of great estates into successively smaller and smaller parcels
with each generation. That makes sense for Brentfield. But the collector of all
these lovely pieces of art, the previous earl’s father, couldn’t stand the
thought of seeing all his treasures go should his son turn profligate or start
gambling. So he set up a trust to prevent anyone from selling a single piece.
So, I’m land-, and art-rich, and money poor.”

Another puzzling thing about Brentfield
, Hannah
thought. Why would a father want to force his son to live frugally in the midst
of such wealth? “So, the previous earl may have wanted to sell things without
anyone knowing about it?” she summarized.

She could see him nod. “Asheram has an inventory that came
with the house, claiming to be a full representation of every item. As you can
imagine, it’s a long list.” He glanced back to grin at her, the candlelight
throwing his face into profile and highlighting his lean nose. “We’ve been
checking off the pieces as we find them, but there are still a goodly number
missing.”

“And you think they’re all up here?” She looked around her
at the widely spaced beams and plaster in between. Something caught her eye,
and she stopped. He stopped too.

“There,” she said, pointing toward the supporting beam
across from her. “Something’s shining in the passing candlelight.”

He leaned carefully over the space between them and the
wall. Handing Hannah the candle, he braced one hand on the beam while he
reached behind it with the other. Hannah held her breath as he drew a small
gold statue into the light.

It was a woman with the head of a cat, holding a flail and a
crook and dressed in clothes that spoke to Hannah of the Nile. The statue was
no longer than her hand, but the eyes were of ruby and the ends of the flail
glittered with what were surely diamonds. Hannah let her breath out in a soft
puff of wonder.

“Well done, Miss Alexander,” he murmured. “I’ve already
passed that spot twice and never saw this. You’ve earned your keep this day.”

His praise warmed her. She glanced up at him and saw that he
was once more smiling at her over the candle. As their gazes met, the smile
slowly faded, to be replaced by an intensity in his sapphire eyes that made her
catch her breath once more.

“Such hard work deserves a reward,” he murmured, leaning
toward her. Hannah swallowed, sure that she must have mistaken him. But he bent
his head and pressed his lips to hers.

She closed her eyes as the sweetest of sensations rippled
through her. His lips were warm and gentle. They brushed against hers like
silk. For so soft a touch, they seemed to ignite a fire deep inside her that
left her trembling. As he withdrew, she opened her eyes and found him regarding
her with the most tender of smiles.

“Let’s see what else we can find, shall we?” he murmured.
Hannah’s mind didn’t seem to be functioning correctly so she simply nodded. He
retrieved the candle and started forward, the statue held in one hand. It
seemed to her that his walk was less steady than it had been. She knew her own
knees were shaking.

It seemed his lordship had been wrong. The passages were
dangerous, perhaps as dangerous as the singing of her heart.