An Heir of Uncertainty (13 page)

He gave her his arm, and as he led her out to where the other dancers were taking their places for the set, he whispered, “I deserve a partner like you after doing my duty with that bluestocking Miss Channing.”

He’d been drinking. He wasn’t foxed, exactly, but she could smell alcohol on his breath. Not that she blamed him. With every eye at the assembly on the two of them, she could’ve used a little liquid courage herself.

“She’s not Miss Channing any more,” Lina reminded him. “Now she’s Mrs. Eldridge.”

“I know, but a rose by any other name, eh?” He leaned in confidentially. “I hope I don’t step on your feet. I’ve had a nip or two.”

“Yes, I suspected as much.”

“Did you, by Jove?” His eyes widened in dismay. “I’m not making a fool of myself, am I?”

“No, not at all. It was more a guess than a suspicion, really.”

“Ah.” He relaxed visibly. “Good. Er...you won’t tell my uncle, will you? He’s rather an old stickler.”

“No, I won’t tell Sir John.”

The earl beamed his approval. “Thanks awfully.”

She liked him. There was nothing threatening or insincere about him. He wasn’t some practiced charmer, out to sweep her off her feet like the rakes who’d preyed on her mother. He was just a very green, very amiable young man, not that different from her brother Colin.

The musicians struck up a country dance. Lord Radbourne wasn’t a particularly accomplished dancer, though Lina couldn’t tell if he kept missing the steps because he’d never learned them properly or because of the nip he’d confessed to having. She managed to coax him through the figures without making it too obvious she was doing the leading.

“I was sorry to hear your mother had died,” he said as they came together at the bottom of the set. “She was a jolly handsome woman.”

Too handsome for her own good. “That’s most kind of you.”

“And your father—Lord Horne’s younger son, I believe?”

“Yes. We were never close, but I’m told he was killed at Waterloo.” The Honorable Francis Horne, except that Mr. Horne hadn’t been especially honorable. He’d deserted her mother before she was born, and gone into the army to escape the censure of having ruined a clergyman’s daughter. At the same time, Lord Horne had settled a small sum on Lina’s mother—so small it was gone before her next baby came along, fathered by the next scoundrel to promise her his undying devotion. Lina sometimes contemplated applying to the current Lord Horne, her father’s elder brother, in the hope he might offer some assistance. But there’d been bad blood between the two brothers, and besides, she’d rather starve than sink to actual begging.

She and Lord Radbourne wove through the line of dancers and then, despite the earl’s hopes, he did step on her foot. Hard. He glanced down. “Oh, I’m dashed sor—”

Lina hurried to tuck her foot back under the hem of her gown, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. She glanced down in the same instant he did, and saw what he must have seen—the shabby condition of her slippers, with one toenail poking through the pink kid.

“That was my fault,” he said hastily—which was so patently true, she sensed he wasn’t so much acknowledging his own clumsiness as trying to cover for the pitiable state of her turnout. Even the dress she was wearing, a white muslin she’d spent hours embroidering with twining vines of honeysuckle, was badly outdated.

She wanted to sink, her own self-consciousness compounded by his obvious embarrassment. Everyone else in the assembly room was dressed in something finer. It was one thing to be poor and unfashionable, and another to
feel
poor and unfashionable.

But he made a quick recovery, pretending he’d seen nothing wrong. He glanced about them and said in a voice of determined small talk, “There’s a fine crowd here tonight. I was worried we might have rain.”

She could have kissed him for his kindness. “Oh, I knew the weather would hold.”

He cocked his head. “How’d you know that?”

“The vicar’s horse was facing west this afternoon. ‘Tails pointing west, weather’s the best. Tails pointing east, weather’s the least.’”

“‘Tails pointing west...’” He chuckled. “That’s clever.”

It surprised her he’d never heard the saying before, and surprised her even more that he thought it clever. By the end of the set, she’d divined that though he was cheerful and friendly and good-natured, and though she’d enjoyed partnering him, he wasn’t the quickest-witted gentleman of her acquaintance.

He asked for a second set. By then she’d managed to put the embarrassment of her worn slippers behind her, and she was able to laugh and even tease him a little about his graceless dancing and Sir John’s overzealous guardianship. They ended the set with the earl telling her, blushing faintly, that she had the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

She was pleased when he called at her family’s spartan little cottage the next day, even if she did have to hide the bare patch in the sofa upholstery by throwing her shawl over it.

“I brought you these,” he said, holding up a brace of coneys as he entered. “For your dinner tonight. Shot them myself.”

That won him her biggest, broadest smile yet. It was the sort of gift she could accept in good conscience, and still remain every inch a lady. “Thank you, Lord Radbourne.”

She and her brother and sisters ate their fill that night for the first time in weeks.

The earl rode over nearly every day after that. Despite knowing her mother’s history and having seen that she was as poor as a church mouse, he continued to treat her like a lady. Before the month was out she was calling him plain Radbourne, and by the end of August he was Edward. That was the month Colin and Fiona died, and Edward kissed her for the first time even as he tried to comfort her. When September drew to a close and it was time for him to return to Oxford, he announced that he’d had quite enough dashed schooling and he wasn’t going back.

Sir John Blessingame was furious. He ranted, raved, and cut off Edward’s allowance. He also blamed Lina—rightly enough, in all likelihood, though she nobly swallowed down all considerations of self-interest and urged Edward to finish his degree. She’d got by without his help before, she reminded him, and she could get by that way again.

In the end, Edward was more loyal than scholarly. He stuck by his refusal to go—and he asked Lina to marry him.

Oh, Edward
... Lina’s needlework swam before her. She was supposed to be in mourning for him—her dear, sweet husband, who’d saved her from starvation. What a stupid, selfish thing she’d done, kissing Win. She’d known she would regret it.

But it was too late to take it back now. The best she could hope for was to forget last night had ever happened.

She drew a slow, measured breath and carefully added another stitch to the willow tree she was embroidering. “I’m sorry if I seemed prickly before, Cassie. Please don’t worry. I’m not going to give people any reason to talk.” She spoke with low, determined composure. “I’ll be more careful of the proprieties around Colonel Vaughan from now on.”

“Thank you.” Cassie threw her an approving smile. “I knew you’d understand. I’m only thinking of your reputation.”

Even the scene Lina was stitching felt like a reproach. It was a mourning piece, a needlework memorial featuring a statuesque widow in classical robes, weeping over a stone monument. Lina wagered the needlework widow had never crept into the bedroom of her dead husband’s successor and run her hands over his chest as they kissed. “I saw Dr. Strickland riding away,” she said, mostly to block the unwelcome image from her thoughts.

“Yes, he was checking on Mr. Allison’s bad foot and stopped here to chat. He said I mustn’t worry about your fall in Malton, since there’s little danger for the baby.”

“He told me the same.” Cassie had heard her tell Mr. Channing she’d been pushed—and also heard the coachman insist he hadn’t seen anyone push her. Cassie hadn’t said which version she believed, and Lina wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Either way, it was clear Cassie hadn’t seen what happened. “What else did he have to say?”

“Oh, nothing of any import.” Despite her answer, Cassie’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “He seems to approve of Colonel Vaughan. He asked a good many questions about him—and about the colonel’s brother too, though he’s yet to meet him.”

“I wonder if he’s worried he might have competition for your affections?” Lina said with an attempt at archness.

She expected to win a giggle, but instead Cassie’s blush deepened. “Please don’t tease me about Dr. Strickland.”

Lina perked up. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing at all. But I think you may be right about his feelings, and he’s always so kind to us, it troubles me to think how hurt he’ll be if anything should develop between me and Mr. Vaughan.”

Lina was surprised to hear her speaking of the colonel’s brother as if a match between them was a real possibility. At first, she’d assumed Cassie would prefer Colonel Vaughan, and she’d even thought sparks had flown when they met. But Cassie hadn’t yet encountered Frederick Vaughan at that point, and to a nineteen-year-old, a widower in his thirties must seem old and staid compared to a young man her own age. When she and Cassie had come upon the brothers in Malton, Cassie had had eyes only for Mr. Vaughan.

Still, it wasn’t as if Frederick Vaughan had done anything likely to sweep a young lady off her feet. “Don’t tell me you’re setting your cap for him.”

“No, not at all, but I do like him. At least, I like what I’ve seen so far.” Cassie turned earnest blue eyes Lina’s way. “He’s so very handsome, don’t you think? And he’s amiable, and amusing, and...”

And peculiar
, Lina added in her head, then suffered a stab of remorse for the uncharitable thought. Win had looked fiercely protective when he’d said
Freddie is the gentlest soul I know.
His reaction had reminded her of the many times she’d leaped to defend one of her own siblings when they’d been bullied or slighted—the time the innkeeper’s son had called Colin a bastard, for instance, or the time two bigger girls had held Fiona down and rubbed dirt and leaves in her hair. Lina had charged to their rescue like an avenging angel.

And there was no denying that Frederick Vaughan was good-looking—in some respects, even better looking than his brother. Where Win was handsome in a rugged, virile way, his brother possessed the pale, perfect features of a poet, with long dark lashes, high cheekbones, and a narrow, classically straight nose—exactly the kind of looks calculated to attract a dreamy romantic like Cassie. Besides, how could she disapprove of Cassie’s interest in Mr. Vaughan when she was every bit as susceptible to his brother’s good looks? She ought to be happy Cassie was taking note of a marriageable young gentleman.

Even so, Lina couldn’t quite get it out of her head that Mr. Vaughan had more reason than most to wish harm to her and her baby—and that he’d been standing somewhere behind her when an attacker had pushed her into the path of the Royal Mail.

* * *

“What’s happened?” Win said as Freddie led the way north over the park. “And how did you get so dirty? You’re covered in grit and dust.”

“I was at the dovecote.”

“Yes, but how—”

“You told me to keep my wits about me, in case I saw anything odd or unfamiliar,” Freddie interrupted. He pointed ahead. “They’re over there.”

A man stood beneath an oak, staring down at something on the ground. He was dressed simply, in a loose coat, leather breeches and battered boots. Win found it hard to judge his age, which might have been anywhere from fifty to seventy. He had a weather-beaten face, and the hair peeping out from beneath his hat was grizzled.

They drew closer. Win’s eyes dropped to the shape on the ground. It was a dead dog, a fawn-colored bullmastiff.

“This is Sam Dalkin,” Freddie said. “He’s head gamekeeper here.”

The man raised his eyes, as blue as agate, from the lifeless animal at his feet. “Your lordship,” he said in a lilting Yorkshire accent. He had the stoic air of the outdoorsman, but there was still something sorrowful in his manner.

“I’m not a lordship—not yet, at least. I’m Colonel Vaughan.”

Pale and agitated, Freddie gestured down at the dog. “Sam discovered Beauty like this. She’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Win regarded the gamekeeper in surprise. “How can you be sure?”

Dalkin reached into his pocket and pulled out a large piece of loosely wrapped brown paper. “This were just outside her kennel. Somebody left it for her.” He spread the paper open to reveal remnants of raw meat. “There’s naught but bits left now, but there was more when Beauty found it, all stuffed with rat poison.”

“Arsenic,” Freddie said, blinking rapidly in the way he did when he was upset. “Sam found the empty tin not far from where the meat was placed, with Ball’s Rat Killer on the label.”

Dalkin nodded. “I fed Beauty first thing today, and that meat weren’t there this morning.”

Win studied Beauty’s lifeless body. She was a big, sleek, heavily muscled dog, an impressive creature bred for guarding property and running down trespassers in the night. He looked a question at the gamekeeper. “Poachers?”

“Aye, sir, I reckon so. But in broad daylight? I’ve never known ought so bold.”

He was right—it seemed unnecessarily risky for a poacher to commit such a crime without cover of darkness. Might there be some link between the dog’s death and the attacks on Lina? Her tea had been poisoned, too, and the culprit every bit as stealthy.

Whether the two incidents were connected or not, the dog’s death added fresh urgency to his search for answers. Freddie wandered the abbey grounds alone and unarmed, and Julia slept only a stone’s throw away—all while someone had been trespassing freely here, and with lethal intentions.

If he made inquiries in Malton, could he learn who’d bought arsenic? It might narrow down the possible suspects, but there was no guarantee the poison had been a recent purchase—or, for that matter, that it had been bought locally.

“Who would do such a thing?” Freddie asked.

“I don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Win turned to the gamekeeper. “Rest assured that when I do, the guilty party will be made to answer for this. I’m sorry for the loss of your dog.”