The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (21 page)

Her relief that his heart hadn’t been involved faded at his disgruntled look.

Brows lifted, she said, “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t understand them either.”

“Given my aversion to flirtation and such games,” he went on grimly, “I avoided the Marriage Mart.”

“What changed your mind with me?” She hoped that he’d say it was her character and charm.

“In the past year, marriage has become a necessity for me. From a financial standpoint.”

Be still my beating heart.

“But I… I’m no heiress.” It occurred to her that she knew very little about his monetary situation and the sort of dowry he might require in a bride. Anxiously, she said, “I’m quite certain Ambrose and my brothers-in-law will throw something in the pot, but—”

Carlisle let out a guffaw.

“What’s so amusing?” she said.

“You talk as if you’re a card game.” He chucked her under the chin. “Throw something in the pot, indeed.”

“But the stakes are high for you, are they not?”

His amusement faded. Soberly, he said, “Aye, lass. In the past year, I sold off my personal holdings to keep the estate afloat. I auctioned off my stables, the breeding program I’d been building.”

She heard the thrum of longing in his voice. Although Richard didn’t say it, he had sacrificed his own wants in the name of responsibility. The same way he’d gone beyond duty to rescue his younger brother.

He’s a jolly fine chap. A truly decent man.

“I’m sorry you had to abandon your dreams,” she said gently.

He looked briefly nonplussed. Then he shrugged. “I did what had to be done.”

“Do you plan on rebuilding your stables one day?”

“Mayhap one day. There are more important considerations.”

His reply was curt, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. His dream hadn’t been completely snuffed out, no matter how he tried to discount it.

“What you want
is
important,” she insisted.

He sighed. “It’s not so easy, lass. There’s the estate to think of and the lives of all who depend upon it for their survival.”

“What is the situation of your estate now?”

“It’s stabilized for the time being. I implemented fiscal measures that I’m told are Draconian. My mama has yet to forgive me for them,” he said wryly.

“How could she blame you for doing what needed to be done?”

“She finds a way.”

She didn’t like his matter-of-fact acceptance of the blame. Richard’s burdens were even heavier than she’d realized, and it seemed he got little thanks for all that he’d done. No wonder he had his curmudgeonly moments. Thinking of Wick’s misleading lies about his older brother, she felt a stab of anger at her friend.

“You needn’t worry that you’ll be marrying a pauper.” Apparently mistaking the cause of her silence, he said with determination, “I’ll see to it that you have the necessary comforts.”

“I’m not worried about money,” she assured him. “My family had very little when I was growing up, and the truth is that I like a simple life.”

He gave a gruff nod. “So are we settled or not?”

Romance really wasn’t his forte. Luckily for him, she found his honesty irresistible—far more pleasing than flummery. The fact that he’d shared his past with her and was willing to work together to save Wick gave her hope.

Compromise—it made all the difference, Em had said. And compromise went both ways.

“All right.” Vi prayed she was doing the right thing. “Speak to my brother, Carlisle.”

He exhaled, and when she realized he’d actually been holding his breath, her heart hiccupped.

He brought her hand to his lips. “You won’t regret this. Now I have one more favor to ask.”

“Another one?” Oops. She didn’t mean to sound ungracious.

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I want you to call me Richard.”

“Oh… well, all right, um, Richard.”

Given the physical intimacies they’d shared, it was ridiculous that saying his name could affect her so. Yet his heated gaze made her want to swoon like some silly debutante.

Reminding herself that their privacy would soon be over and there was still much to discuss, she took a breath. “Now about Wick. What are we going to do?”

The sensuality left Richard’s eyes, replaced by sharp focus. “Do you know how the meeting between your brother and the magistrate went?”

It had been a busy morning. Not only had Dr. Abernathy arrived to examine the body, but Billings had been unable to stave off a visit from the local official any longer. Magistrate Jones had descended upon the estate with constables in tow, and Vi had gotten a glimpse of him: his countenance would make the Grim Reaper’s seem cheerful in comparison. Guests—especially those of the cutthroat variety—had scattered like marbles at his arrival.

A panicked Billings had begged Ambrose to meet with Jones in private.

“From what Emma told me, Jones barked a few questions but stood down due to Ambrose’s sterling reputation,” Vi said with pride. “Jones was willing to let Ambrose continue the investigation on the condition that he receive regular updates.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

She gnawed on her lip. “The thing of it is, we
can’t
tell Ambrose about Wick’s ring now. If we did, we’d be putting my brother in a terrible position. He’d either have to withhold evidence from the magistrate, which could land him in heaps of trouble… or he’d have to tell Jones and then Wick might be thrown in prison or worse.”

From Carlisle’s strained expression, she knew he saw her point.

“It isn’t right that you have to lie to protect Wick,” he said heavily. “But the evidence against him is so bloody damning. Not only was he intimately involved with Monique, but the affair ended recently and not on good terms. And he has no witness who can vouch for his whereabouts during the time of her death. Then there’s the ring: how the hell did it end up in Monique’s hand?”

Vi had been pondering that question, too. “Maybe she had it on her person? The ring is clearly a man’s signet. The murderer would have known that planting it in Monique’s hand would throw others off his or her scent.”

“A logical deduction.” Carlisle’s approval warmed her. “And we have a fresh lead to follow. Mrs. Sumner mentioned that Wormleigh was also Monique’s lover.”

“We could tell Ambrose we overheard some guest gossiping about it. He doesn’t have to know the, um, specifics of how we obtained the information.”

“If it can be avoided, I’d rather not meet him at dawn,” Carlisle agreed.

Violet saw Strathaven enter the courtyard and go to Emma. From the way Em bounced up, Violet knew there was news. Sure enough, Em and His Grace headed her way.

“There goes our privacy,” Carlisle sighed.

“I’m sure we can arrange some time alone in the not too distant future,” she said.

His eyes lightened. “But your reputation—”

“
Now
you’re worried about my reputation?”

“I’m always concerned on that front,” he said, his manner lordly, “and take the necessary precautions. You’ll note we’ve yet to be caught.”

“That is because, Lord High and Mighty,
I
am a modern miss with more than a little ingenuity at her fingertips.” To emphasize the point, she held up her hands, wiggling her fingers. “You’ll recall that
I
was the one who found the hidden lever in the wardrobe.”

“Yes, well, I’ll grant you have a talent for manipulating hard objects.” Although his mouth remained stern, crinkles fanned from his eyes, which were smiling wickedly at her.

She could actually feel the blush rising up her face. He laughed just as Emma and His Grace arrived. Both of them looked surprised, no doubt because seeing Carlisle with anything but a scowl was rare.

The men exchanged bows.

“Is there news?” Violet asked.

Emma nodded. “Dr. Abernathy is ready to share his results. And I spoke to Ambrose: he’s agreed to let you be a part of this—as long as you’re careful and supervised by me.”

Vi threw her arms around her big sister. “Thank you, Em!”

“No thanks needed, dear.” Emma’s glance slid to Carlisle. “I’ve been in your shoes, after all.”

Chapter Twenty

The meeting with Dr. Abernathy took place in Billings’ study. Footmen were posted outside the door and ushered in Violet, Richard, Emma, and the duke, locking the door behind them. Clearly, Billings wanted no interruption and no gossip leaked out to the other guests.

Their host was at his usual position at the desk. Behind him, the painting of the dead game fowl formed a rather apropos backdrop, given the grisly topic of the meeting. Ambrose and Marianne were already present, and Dr. Abernathy, the beetle-browed Scottish physician, was talking with Thea and her husband, the Marquess of Tremont.

Violet brought Richard over to introduce him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, my lord.” Thea’s hazel eyes twinkled. “My little sister has said so much about you.”

“
Thea
,” Vi said in mortification.

Richard’s jaw turned ruddy. “Good things, I hope.”

“Exceedingly good things,” Thea said cheerfully.

Tremont, a handsome man with gilded hair and grave eyes, put his two cents in. “Anyone who can keep up with Violet is an intrepid fellow in my books.”

More than once, her brothers-in-law had been placed on chaperone duty.

“Crumpets, I only lost you that once,” Violet muttered. “Now I never hear the end of it.”

“As everyone has arrived, we can begin.” Ambrose, standing by the side of the desk, called the meeting to order. “Dr. Abernathy has graciously come from London to conduct an examination of the deceased, Monique de Brouet. If you would share your results, Doctor?”

Dr. Abernathy inclined his head. “Let me say at the outset that Mr. Kent charged me with discovering the cause of Madame de Brouet’s death. Given that this is a science yet in its infancy,” he said in his thick brogue, “I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my conclusions, only give you my best estimation of the truth.”

“You’re all we have,”—Billings gave a dismissive wave—“and that’s better than nothing.”

Bristling, the good doctor drew himself up. “What I have to share is based on careful observation and consideration of the facts. It is most assuredly better than nothing.”

“Go on, Doctor.” Ambrose shot a warning glance at their host.

“Verra well. I found a laceration on the victim’s right temple, approximately an eighth of an inch deep, one inch wide and three inches long. Those dimensions match those of the mantelpiece ledge in the library. The blood on the mantelpiece corroborates its connection to the injury.”

“We already know she hit her head,” Billings said. “Was it an accident?”

“That I cannot conclude from the physical evidence.”

“Then we’re no better off than where we started,” the banker said in disgust. “In that light, I don’t want to drag this matter out any further. Kent, you will close the investigation and tell Magistrate Jones it was an accident—”

“On the contrary, Madame de Brouet’s death was no accident,” Dr. Abernathy said.

“You said so yourself: you don’t know whether she fell or was pushed into the mantel,” Billings retorted.

“That is true. But I do know what killed her. And it was no accident.”

Vi worked it out first. “You mean… it wasn’t the blow to the temple that killed her?”

“Precisely, Miss Kent.” The physician gave her an approving nod.

“Then what caused her death?” Richard said.

“Asphyxiation.” At the silence that greeted his pronouncement, the physician added, “I believe she was smothered.”

~~~

Monique de Brouet was murdered… and Wick’s ring was in her hand?

A deep chill pervaded Richard’s gut.

Kent’s brows drew together. “Will you elaborate upon how you arrived at that conclusion, Dr. Abernathy?”

“Of course.” Dr. Abernathy’s pedantic tones reminded Richard of his old professors at Eton and Oxford. “To begin, I do not believe that the wound at the temple was sufficient to cause a fatality. There would have been some bleeding, yes, and the victim might have lost consciousness for a brief time, but I do not think she died from the blow. This led me to look for other clues as to the cause of death, and I found several. For one, the deceased had bloodshot eyes, a common sign of asphyxiation. Second, there was bruising around her mouth and nose, again consistent with smothering. Given that, I examined the victim’s oral cavity and discovered several distinct fibers.”

“Fibers of what?” Kent said.

“A yellow fabric of some sort.”

The investigator stroked his chin. “From, say, a pillow?”

“The most common weapon,” Abernathy agreed. “I found one yellow pillow on the sofa in the library that could be a match for the fibers. But the lack of blood on this particular pillow makes it an unlikely culprit given the victim’s profuse bleeding. This leads me to believe that the murderer used a similar pillow—and took it with him because of the telltale stains on it.”

“From a decorating standpoint, the presence of a second yellow pillow makes sense,” Mrs. Kent said. “Pillows oft come in matching pairs; it would be odd to have just one of a design.”

“Billings,” Kent said, “will you alert your staff to look for the mate to the yellow pillow?”

Their host’s nod was reluctant.

“So one hypothesis would be that Monique hit her head, loss consciousness, and came to… only to be smothered by a pillow?” the duchess said meditatively.

“That would be a logical possibility, yes. And there’s one more thing.” The physician removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and placed it on Billings’ desk. Unwrapping the linen, he removed a thin gold chain, letting it dangle for all to see.

“This was caught inside the bodice of the victim’s gown. The chain is broken. It might have happened during the attack, but I can’t be sure.”

Richard had a sudden hunch.
Had Monique been wearing Wick’s ring on that chain? If so, the killer might have seen it and recognized the golden opportunity…

Billings rose, his face set in determined lines. “We can’t let any of this leak out.”

“For the safety of the guests—” Kent began.