The Houseparty (8 page)

"I'm sure you were," she said grimly.

"He was particularly interested in you, Miss Elizabeth, if you don't mind my saying so. Wanted to know all about that poor drowned
Frenchy
you found and whether it was a habit of yours to go wandering down by the ocean alone. It seems to me,
miss, that
he's fair taken with you. Happen he might have an accidental assignation in mind."

Elizabeth's palms were damp with sudden panic.
The thought of that cool, aloof soldier asking about her failed to fill her with conceit.
He might very well have something outwardly accidental in mind, but she doubted it was a romantic assignation such as Mrs. Kingpin imag
ined. She cleared her dry throat nervously. "Perhaps" was all she vouchsafed. "What did he want to know about the French sailor?"

"Oh, whether anyone else was seen around the body, whether a ship was seen in the vicinity, that sort of thing." Mrs. Kingpin shrugged. "He also asked whether anyone thought the sailor's death might have been something more than an accident." She shook her graying head.
"Such a morbid streak for such a nice young man."

"And what did you tell him?" Elizabeth asked casually, sipping her coffee.

"Why, the truth, of course. That there was nothing the slightest bit suspicious about the entire thing. He was just some poor sailor washed overboard during a storm. Unpleasant for you to have to find him, but you've got plenty of pluck, miss, and so I told him: 'Miss Elizabeth wouldn't be the son to go all faint at the sight of a dead man. If there'd been anyone around, she would have seen him.' That's what I told him. And didn't Sir Adolphus himself hold an inquiry, as is his duty as justice of the peace, and declare that everything was at it seemed?"

"Of course."
Elizabeth agreed faintly, remembering only too well. She remembered
Adolphus's
absolute refusal to hear her observations on the matter, blandly ignoring any conflicting evidence, such as the disparity between the rough seaman's clothing and the white, fine- boned hands that had never known a day's hard labor. It was no ordinary sailor Elizabeth had found washed up on the beach at
Starfield
Cove, his neck at an ominous angle. But no one would listen to her conjectures, and she eventually gave up, missing Jeremy more than ever. He, at least, would have listened to her.
Adolphus's
belated
doubts, confided to her last evening, were too little, too late.

"You don't seem to care for Captain
Fraser,
miss. He seemed like a very charming gentleman to me," Mrs. Kingpin offered hesitantly.

"Are we talking about the same man?" Elizabeth mused. "The Michael
Fraser
I met was cold, grim, and rude. I don't think he even knows how to smile." Except in that odiously disturbing way as she stood in front of him with her dress falling off, she amended silently.

"Maybe you went about it in the wrong way. I can't imagine a gentleman being immune to your charms, Miss Elizabeth. If you'd just smile up at him, I have no doubt he'll respond."

"I've tried it several times, Mrs. Kingpin. For some reason he seems to have taken me in dislike."

"Well, it could be that you remind him of his past. He might well have a broken heart; I've heard of such things." Mrs. Kingpin sighed sentimentally and dabbed at an eye with the corner of her capacious apron. "That can often explain a gentleman's moodiness."

"Who has a broken heart?" Brenna's bright voice broke in. "Not Elizabeth, I trust?" There was a malicious gleam in her large green eyes.

"Not I,
Brenna.
I have a heart of flint; ask anyone. We were discussing the mysterious Captain
Fraser.
Mrs. Kingpin will have it that I might resemble one of his lost loves."

"I doubt it,"
Brenna
said shortly, taking the seat at the scrubbed kitchen table that Mrs. Kingpin had deserted and accepting a cup of tea.

"How very flattering you are," Elizabeth said in dulcet tones when the kitchen helpers were out of hearing.

"I would have thought you'd prefer to know where I stand," she replied in a sharp voice.

"I would love to know where you stand. I'm afraid I haven't quite figured it out yet. If it's my brother's hand and heart you're interested in, I must tell you that you have my blessing."

"You'll have to give me leave to doubt that,"
Brenna
said cynically.

"Why in the world should you? There is nothing I would like better than to be released from my sisterly duties. I've always expected him to marry sooner or later, and you seem as good a candidate as any.
Provided you care just a tiny bit for him."

"I love him!"
Brenna
shot back, and Elizabeth had no reason to doubt the vehemence of the claim.

"But for heaven's sake why?" she questioned curiously. "He's very handsome, of course, but not clever or terribly wealthy. As a matter of fact, he's a charming, pompous bore with the saving grace of having a kind heart. Why should you be in love with him?"

"I happen to consider a kind heart rather a high priority,"
Brenna
said with great dignity. "And you needn't insult him to try and convince me that you aren't monstrously possessive. Sumner has told me how you've determined to devote your life to him. I suppose when a woman fails to find a husband, there's nothing else for her to do but try to smother the only other men in her life with mindless devotion. It's really rather touching, but I will have to
teli
you, Elizabeth, that he doesn't need it. Not with me by his side. You can devote yourself to your brother Jeremy when he returns."

Elizabeth took a deep, calming breath, controlling her temper and saving it for her conceited idiot brother. "Are
you by his side?" she inquired mildly. "Has he made you an offer?"

"He is about to,"
Brenna
shot back.

Elizabeth hesitated for only a moment and then put her hand on Brenna's tightly clenched one. "I mean it,
Brenna.
You have my blessing. And you needn't worry that I'd continue to live with you. If Jeremy doesn't need me, I thought of setting up house on my own with my old governess for a companion. Your marriage would give me the excuse I've always needed."

"Sumner will never let you,"
Brenna
said warily.

"Despite what folderol Sumner might have told you,
I
control my money and my life, not him. I would like us to be friends,
Brenna."
Warm brown eyes looked into angry green ones for a long moment. "And I will be delighted to dance at your wedding."

A hesitant smile curved Brenna's mouth.
"All right.
I wouldn't be minding dancing at my own wedding one bit.
If we can just keep that harridan at bay.
Sumner could barely keep his eyes off the great vulgar creature."

"The
contessa'
Sumner?"
Elizabeth laughed. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. If Sumner is fool enough to prefer her to you, then he wasn't worth the bother in the first place."

"That's easy for you to say."

"I suppose it is. But I know my brother well enough to know that any foolishness on his part will be short-lived. He has a remarkable capacity for self-protection, and he'll know well enough where his
future comfort
will lie. In the meantime I'll do my best to keep them apart, but you'll have to take it from there. I shouldn't doubt you'll be able to bring him up to scratch before we leave here."

"You'd do that for me?"
Brenna
breathed.

"For
you,
and for Sumner.
And for myself, too."

Her hand paused over another cinnamon bun, her mind went back to Michael
Fraser,
and she restrained herself, holding out her hand to
Brenna
instead. After a final moment's hesitation, the Irish girl shook it, smiling up at her future sister-in-law uncertainly.

"And if you ever need any help, Elizabeth . . ."

"I will let you know. And it may be sooner than you think."

 
Tbere
was a stiff breeze blowing that morning, tossing the
newly budded branches wildly overhead and drying the dew-spangled grounds until the flagstones and the beckoning grasses glistened in the bright sunlight. As Elizabeth stared out the library windows, she had little doubt that it would be hours before the others arose from their slothful beds, and glad she was of it. There wasn't a single member of this oddly assorted
houseparty
with whom she cared to spend more time, with the possible exception of the mysterious and charming
contessa.
As for Michael
Fraser,
he could sleep till doomsday for ail she cared. And probably would, she thought impatiently, wrapping the black silk shawl closer around her and opening the French door. The wind tried to snap it shut in her face, but Elizabeth was nothing if not determined. With a tierce word and a yank she opened it again and slipped out into the windy sunshine.

It was not precisely the weather or the circumstances for a casual walk. Ladies usually strolled the afternoon, accompanied by a maid, a footman, or several other
ladies
of similar tastes, with parasols over their heads to shade them from the sun and not a breath of wind in the sky. Elizabeth wrapped the black shawl around her head to
keep the stiff breeze from yanking her chestnut hair out of its loose
pinnings
and strode determinedly onward, head down into the wind, her dark blue skirts swirling around her long legs.

"Contessa!"
a
voice hissed from the underbrush. Elizabeth halted her headlong pace, staring about her. She was at the edge of the second terraced lawn, and at this hour not a soul was in sight. The noise came again, the hissed sibilants sounding not unlike
her own
name.

"Yes?" she replied uncertainly, peering through the boxwood thicket. "Who is it?" She had unconsciously lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper.

"Who the 'ell do you think it is?" the voice came back irritably as a short, crafty-looking man in moleskin trousers and greasy weskit rose up out of the underbrush. "Who else would yer worship be expecting at an hour past daybreak in this 'ere
bleedin
' garden? I thought you weren't coming."

Elizabeth stared, fascinated. "But I'm not who you—" She broke it off, cursing her own ready honesty.

She had nothing to worry about. The small man let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh, you're not, are you? And why else would a lady of the house, dressed in black, be taking a walk at seven-thirty in the morning on such a windy day if not to meet with
Wat
Simpkin
, may I ask?" he snorted. "I don't blame ye for being careful,
Contessa,
but I ain't got time to waste."

Elizabeth did her best to look knowledgeable. "Of course," she murmured, pulling the shawl more closely about her.

"First of all, I've got a message for himself from Mr. Fredericks. He's to come down to
Starfield
Cove this af
ternoon if he doesn't want certain people to find out what happened there last month."

"What did happen?" Elizabeth found herself asking.