The Stanforth Secrets (24 page)

Belinda paled again, and almost looked as if she would dash out of the room. She stared down at her hands. “How does any marriage come about?” she retorted in a thin voice.

Justin answered the rhetorical question. “People meet, spend time together, fall in love. The bans are called, the bride gathers her
trousseau.
Was that how it was with you?”

Chloe saw Belinda swallow. “George was in mourning,” she muttered. “The ceremony was a quiet one.” She looked up. “But we had bans. We did have bans.”

Justin pressed her. “The first reading of the bans must have been the week after Stephen’s death. The night before Stephen’s death you were out with Frank. When did George propose to you?”

Belinda raised her chin. Chloe could see she had her nerve back. “The next day. He’d had his eye on me for a while. We’d talked now and then. When he came into the title he decided he should marry, and didn’t want the fuss of looking afield. I think he reckoned I’d be content to stay here when he went back south, and he was right.” It sounded like a rehearsed speech.

Her composure disconcerted Justin. “And what of Frank?”

“What of him?” retorted Belinda, though something flickered in her eyes. Chloe thought it could be loss.

“Didn’t he mind?”

“Well of course he did,” Belinda said, as if talking to a simpleton. “But a girl can’t marry every man who woos her.”

Justin stared at her. “You loved Frank—or that’s what the gossips say. Why marry George?”

Belinda opened her blue eyes wide and stared at him. “Turn down a peer of the realm,” she said, “for Frank Halliwell?”

Justin turned to Chloe helplessly. Chloe tried once more. “And you know nothing of a package? The sailor lost it, you see, and it should be found.”

“No, I don’t,” said Belinda. “What was this package anyway?”

The tone of the question caught Chloe’s attention. Belinda desperately wanted to know. She shared a glance with Justin.

“Very important,” he said briefly, then turned the full force of a charming smile on the young woman. “I’m sorry if we have distressed you, Belinda, but we have to get to the bottom of this. I had hopes you could help. Please don’t be concerned that the matter of you and Frank will be talked of. It is nothing to do with all of this. But if you think of anything later, please let me know.”

“Very well,” said Belinda coolly and stood.

“Before you go,” said Justin. “When I was in London the family solicitor said he had received an anonymous letter claiming George made out a later will, in his own hand, and hid it at Delamere.”

“That’s absurd,” Belinda bristled, obviously wondering if her comfortable jointure was at risk.

“Quite possibly,” said Justin easily. “You know of no such thing?”

“No. It is a piece of nonsense. George had a solicitor from Lancaster come and draw up his will after our marriage, and the man never came back again.”

“But he wouldn’t need a solicitor for a holograph will, Belinda. I just want to reassure you. If by any chance George altered his will to your detriment, I guarantee your current allowance.”

“That’s kind of you,” said Belinda sincerely. The girl hesitated, looking at Justin with a slight frown. Chloe thought she might be overcoming her fear, might even tell the truth of whatever had gone on that night so long ago. But then the mask came back. “There was no reason for George to make any changes. He doted on me.”

Chloe was startled by that word “doted.” It was hardly accurate. George had always seemed uncomfortable about Belinda, and had once referred to her as “that farmer’s daughter.” As Belinda swept out, Chloe shrugged. Deceiving oneself as to the state of a marriage was hardly a crime, or unusual. She should know.

“I don’t think we gained very much from that,” said Justin.

“She’s afraid of something,” said Chloe.

“If she killed Frank, she is afraid of the hangman, and so she should be.”

“I’m sure she could not have killed him,” Chloe said. “She loved him. When the funeral bell tolled she looked so . . . so desolate.”

Justin was unconvinced. “Even if he was threatening her in some way? Perhaps he swore to kill her and her child if she wouldn’t marry him.”

Chloe stared at the fire and tried to imagine the scenario. Even if Belinda was attached to her position as a member of the aristocracy, was killing her lover better than marrying him? She tried to imagine killing Justin because he stood in the way of her marrying the Prince of Wales.

Chloe shook her head. “She wouldn’t. And I don’t think he would have threatened such a thing. He wasn’t insane. He was just very unhappy. What of the package? If Frank stole the package, perhaps Belinda tried to get it back from him.”

“After a year?”

“She really wanted to know more about the message it contained, though,” said Chloe.

“I noticed that. I wonder why? I hope you can keep her under your eye, my dear. If she knows anything, I don’t want her to panic and destroy the package. After lunch we will search the house to look for the ‘missing will.’ I think I’ll ask Randal and Matthew to search the ground floor. If she’s willing, Belinda can assist them. You, I, and the upstairs maid can do the bedrooms and servants’ quarters. I’ve spoken to the Duchess and she says she’s able to supervise a search of the lower floor.”

“What of the stables and outhouses?”

Justin shrugged. “We will have to ignore them for now. I confess I think the most hopeful explanation for all this is that George got the package and for some reason hid it instead of passing it on. I’ve checked with the staff, and I’m sure you can verify that he never went into the kitchen region or up to the attic floor. He never went to the stables either. If he wanted his carriage he had it sent to the door, and he hardly ever left Delamere during his period as viscount.”

“That’s true. He hated traveling in less than perfect weather. Belinda bullied him into taking her to a Christmas assembly in Lancaster, and he complained for days. I don’t think he did more than take a turn in the garden his whole time as Lord Stanforth. He wasn’t well, you know. Slight exertion made him wheeze, and brought on a dizzy spell.”

“So if he had it, it is almost certainly still in the house. I hope to God we find it. I don’t relish digging up the county in search of it, and I want to get on with my life.”

Simultaneously, it seemed, they became aware that they were alone again. Chloe felt a stirring of panic, or lust, inside her.

“Don’t, Chloe,” Justin said softly, raising a hand to gently caress her cheek. “Don’t fear me. I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again.”

Absurdly, Chloe wanted to protest that, and perhaps he caught some fleeting expression, for he smiled slightly.

“At least, not until you are more comfortable with the notion.”

“I’m sorry, Justin,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “Can you understand how I feel?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I am paying the price, I think, for that elopement. It was stupidly irresponsible of us to persuade you to it. You were a child. At our instigation, you threw your heart over a fence and came a cropper. Not surprisingly, you hesitate to leap blind a second time, particularly with the same persuader.”

She had to ask him. “Why did
you
not want to marry me?”

He pulled his hand from hers and walked over to the fireplace. “It honestly didn’t occur to me at first. Stephen was simply quicker off the mark. When the idea began to stir, it was too late. I couldn’t imagine you would want to exchange a rich viscount for a commoner with a mere competence.”

“Did I appear so mercenary?” she asked, hurt.

He turned and smiled at her. She felt light-headed and wanton; she longed to throw herself into his arms. “No, of course not, but most women are, it would seem. We were both fresh from our first brush with London Society, where poor Stephen had been fairly hunted down. I think it was your lack of wiles which most attracted him.” He flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

She wanted desperately to smooth the concern from his sun-browned features. “We so lightly move onto dangerous paths, do we not?” she said quietly.

“And you are determined not to do so again,” he said. “I do understand, my dear. But if you wait for total surety, you’ll wait your life away.”

Before she had a chance to comment he said, with a grin, “That gown is dreadful.”

She laughed. “I know.”

Warm brown eyes met sparkling gray. “I see,” he said. Then the smile became heart-stoppingly sweet. “If you were to lose all your beauty tomorrow, Chloe, I would still adore you.”

She longed then to kiss him, a simple kiss of friendship, because he had overcome his passion and understood her needs. It was agony to deny herself, and yet she knew such a gesture was the last thing she should do.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and left.

As soon as she was outside the door, she remembered Belinda, who should be under supervision. Chloe hurried up to the youngest Lady Stanforth’s suite and scratched. The door was promptly opened by the nursery maid.

“Is Lady George here, Rosie?”

“No, ma’am. She’s out in the garden.”

Chloe dashed off for her bonnet and shawl, then hurtled down the back stairs and out into the kitchen garden. It was as well, she thought, she had no desire to be a patterncard of decorum.

The only person around was Budsworth, digging over cleared ground with smooth economical movements. “Morning, ma’am,” he said, leaning on his fork a moment.

“Good morning, Budsworth. Have you seen Lady George?”

“Ay. She passed through here, then went over to the rose garden. She won’t find much there, though,” he added morosely. “Pretty near cleaned it out yesterday.”

Chloe knew Budsworth complained at people picking in “his” garden, but was not inclined to soothe his feelings now. Matthew came out of the house.

“Tea’s up, Mr. Budsworth,” he called, “and Mrs. Pickering asks if you have any of them Brownell’s Beauty spuds. She says they mash a treat, and there’s none in the stores.” Belatedly, he noticed Chloe and touched his forelock.

“Right,” said the gardener. “I wasn’t going to dig them till next week but I’ll get her a few.”

Chloe was about to leave to track down Belinda when she saw a figure come around from the front of the house. A young woman. She walked forward, stopped when she saw Chloe, and turned and walked away.

Matthew had turned red. He hesitated, then went after the young woman. So that was Sally Kestwick. A pretty girl. Chloe wondered for a moment whether Frank and Matthew could have fought over her, but then reminded herself that whole business was of minor importance at this moment.

She cursed her dilatoriness when she rounded the sea side of the house to find it deserted. She checked down at the cliff edge where Frank had fallen. No Belinda, and no sign of the occurrence. The rain had washed it all away. With little hope, Chloe went toward the stables. She met the stableboy halfway, and he had not seen Belinda that day.

Heavy with a sense of failure, Chloe walked back to the house. She and Justin should not have stayed together to talk for so long, hard though it was to be apart. Oh, what a fool she was to fight this attraction. If she succumbed she could lie in his arms tonight, but that was the way of Stephen’s friends, and she had never surrendered to it. Even if she pledged herself, they would wait. She remembered Justin’s passion with a smile. Even if she agreed to marry him, she thought she would have to leave Delamere for a while if they were to observe the proprieties. Or a special license . . .

Yet, she had set her heart, if she married again, on all due process and formality. But did it matter?

Her head was whirling with sensual longings, and plans of propriety, so the sound did not immediately register.

A scream. Shouting. All coming from the kitchen garden. She raced over there.

“Oh, Milady!” wailed Mrs. Pickering, who was kneeling in the dirt. “Someone’s gone and killed Budsworth. What’s the world coming to?”

A bunch of the staff stood around gawking at the body on the ground.

Heart pounding, Chloe ran forward. Justin and Randal appeared from the house. They all gathered around the body.

Chloe was immensely relieved to see that the man was breathing, though he was very pale. She made a pillow of her shawl and put it under his head. Justin loosened the man’s clothing and instructed someone to fetch a blanket. Budsworth began to groan and his eyelids flickered.

Slowly the gardener came to consciousness, though he looked extremely ill. Glancing around, Chloe saw Belinda emerge from the house through the kitchen door, followed by the Duchess’s maid, sent to find out the cause of the commotion.

Justin inspected the gardener’s wound. There was already blood on Chloe’s shawl, though not a great deal.

“It’s not too bad, I think,” he said after a moment. “But the doctor should be sent for.” He sent Humphrey Macy’s valet to the stables with the message.

“Can you talk, Budsworth?” Justin asked.

“Yes, Your Lordship,” said Budsworth slowly. “But I feel right queer.”

“We’ll get you to your bed in a moment.” Justin took the blanket a maid had brought and laid it over the gardener. “Can you tell us what happened.”

The man tried to shake his head and groaned. “No, My Lord. I can’t. It seems strange, but I don’t remember a thing. I were digging up taties. Then I were in the dirt. . . . I don’t know. . . .”

“It’s often that way,” said Justin in a calm voice. “Don’t worry about it. Just rest quiet. I’m sure you’ll be yourself in a day or two.”

His manner soothed the fretful man. Chloe looked at his strong, lean hand laid on the gardener’s shoulder and thought for the first time that Justin must have been an excellent officer. She had somehow assumed he was a daredevil kind of hero, but now she suspected his commendations might have been for leadership and efficiency as well as bravery. Thus, another barrier in her mind tumbled. Justin Delamere was a man to trust when trouble was on the horizon.