Emerald Garden (10 page)

“Yes, sir. And, seeing how busy you are, I’ll make certain you’re not disturbed.”

Totally oblivious to Bentley’s pointed sarcasm, Desmond merely nodded. “Splendid,” he muttered against the rim of his glass. “Just splendid.”

With the barest glint of disgust, Bentley quit the study, contemplating what the next sensible step should be in his search for the missing strongbox. Sanders, he deduced with a surge of insight. If anyone had knowledge of the box’s whereabouts, it would be the late duke’s valet.

The epitome of efficiency, Bentley turned in the direction of the servants’ quarters.

“Bentley?”

Quentin entered the manor, spotting and summoning the butler simultaneously.

An immediate halt. “Yes, Master Quentin?”

“I must see you straightaway.”

“Of course.” Bentley retraced his steps, no questions asked.

“Let’s adjourn to the library; this talk must remain confidential.”

“Very good, sir.”

Once the closed library door afforded them the privacy Quentin sought, he commenced without preliminaries. “Did Desmond inform you of Glovers’s purpose last night?”

“Glovers? Oh, the gentleman from Bow Street. No, I assumed he merely had some final details to relay to you and Master Desmond before he could officially close the file on the carriage accident.”

“I wish that were the case.” Quentin massaged his temples. “Bentley, Glovers came to advise us that Father’s carriage had been tampered with, that one of the axles had been cut.”

All the color drained from Bentley’s face. “No.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Ardsley and my parents were murdered.”

It took a full minute for Bentley to compose himself. “Have the authorities apprehended the culprit responsible for this despicable crime?”

“The authorities aren’t even certain who the intended victim was. They have no suspects, no motives, and no clues.”

“I see.” A vein throbbed in Bentley’s forehead. “I begin to understand your brother’s unusual behavior.”

“What unusual behavior?”

“Master Desmond—His Grace—has spent the past few hours alone in his study, drinking himself into oblivion.”

“I can’t really blame him.” Quentin sighed deeply. “Everyone copes with shock in his own way. Desmond drinks. I brood. Brandi, on the other hand, wants to apprehend the culprits herself.”

“That sounds like Miss Brandi.”

“Bentley, I’ve been abroad for four years. I need you to relay things as if you’d been my eyes and ears.”

“Sir?”

“Did anything transpire these past weeks or months to make you believe that either—or both—my parents’ lives were in danger?”

Bentley shook his head, more in denial than refutation. “A bit of an upheaval took place, yes. You alluded to it the other day. But nothing of the magnitude you’re describing now.”

“Upheaval? What are you talking about? What did I allude to?”

An uncomfortable cough. “You questioned me about Master Desmond and any sudden changes I’d noticed in his alliances. Naturally, I assumed you were referring to …” A tactful cough, as Bentley searched for the most discreet words. “One relationship in particular.”

“I was. I was referring to his relationship with Brandi.”

Bentley’s jaw dropped. “With Miss Brandi, sir?”

“Yes. Desmond led me to believe they were seriously involved. I merely wanted confirmation on that.”

“Do you mean romantically, my lord?”

“That was Desmond’s implication, yes.” Quentin scrutinized Bentley’s astonished expression. “Judging by your reaction, am I to assume you disagree with my brother’s assessment?”

“Thoroughly, my lord. Oh, Master Desmond has been most solicitous of Miss Brandi since the accident. In fact, he’s rarely left her side. But, after all, she has no one else to turn to-—at least not while you’re away. But seriously involved?” A dubious sniff. “I hardly see them as a couple, do you, sir?”

“No, in truth I don’t.” Quentin shook his head, unable to ignore the surge of exquisite relief spawned by Bentley’s appraisal. Temporarily, he suppressed it, nagged by a greater worry. “Bentley, you just expressed the belief that I was referring to a specific association of Desmond’s and the transformation it has undergone. If not his relationship with Brandi, then with whom?”

Silence.

“Bentley, my parents are dead. I’ve just learned they were coldbloodedly murdered. While I normally applaud your loyalty and discretion, I must insist that, in this case, you forsake your principles. If not for my sake, for Father’s.”

“Of course, sir.” Bentley cast a quick glance at the closed door. “I thought perhaps you had learned of Master Desmond’s falling out with the late duke.”

“Another one?” Quentin arched a sardonic brow. “I would hardly call that a change. Father and Desmond have been arguing all my life. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “today Brandi mentioned they’d been getting along better these past months. Evidently, she was wrong.”

“At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, Master Quentin, this was no customary spat.”

Something in the butler’s tone gave Quentin pause. “What made this falling out different than the dozens that have preceded it?”

Bentley clasped his hands tightly behind his back, readying himself to do what he must—no matter how painful. “The falling out was much as its predecessors, sir: loud, angry words, exchanged behind Master Desmond’s closed bedchamber door. ’Twas what occurred immediately thereafter which alerted me to the seriousness of the dispute.”

“Which was?”

“Your brother stormed from the room, obviously greatly upset. A moment later, the late duke emerged and demanded that I summon Mr. Hendrick to Colverton for the explicit purpose of altering his will.”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “Father used that exact phrase?”

“Yes, sir. Precisely that phrase. He was distraught and agitated.”

“Clearly. Perhaps he calmed down and changed his mind.”

“No. The missive was delivered as per your father’s request; I myself sent it off. Mr. Hendrick arrived promptly the following day. He and your father were closeted in the library for long hours.”

“What did they discuss?”

“I haven’t a clue, sir. I wasn’t privy to their conversation and His Grace confided nothing further in me.”

“Damn it.” Quentin raked his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t make sense. If Father revised his will, why wasn’t it reflected in yesterday’s reading? No mention was made of either a codicil or a recently amended clause to the existing will.”

“Why indeed, sir.”

“The only logical explanation is that between the time Ellard was summoned and the time he left Colverton, Father experienced a change of heart. But why? What—or who—convinced Father to alter his decision?”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Roughly, Quentin cleared his throat. “From your description of the fierce argument between Desmond and Father, we can safely assume that whatever modifications Father intended were not in Desmond’s favor. Nothing short of his own interests would enrage my brother so vehemently.”

“I agree, sir. In fact, Master Desmond spouted something of the kind when he exploded from his bedchamber. I didn’t place much credence in it at the time.”

“Probably because he’s raved the same nonsensical doubts over Father’s allegiance a hundred times in the past. Nevertheless, that preoccupation is all the more reason why our first logical assumption must be that it was Desmond who persuaded Father to leave his will intact.”

“Only your brother can confirm or deny that premise. Will you probe the matter with him?”

“No.” Quentin shook his head adamantly. “He’ll only become defensive—just as he always has when faced with an issue concerning either of us and Father. He’s bloody irrational, intent on believing Father favored me over him—even though both you and I know that was never the case. No, Bentley, talking to Desmond would yield naught but trouble.

Moreover,” Quentin continued, exploring the situation aloud, “I’m certain Desmond never considered any ramifications other than those that would directly affect him. But you and I must. For example, we both know that Father and Desmond argued constantly over Desmond’s irresponsible business practices. Suppose Father’s contemplated will revision was triggered by something Desmond did—something that negatively impacted one or more of Father’s business associates or their employees.”

“I see where you’re headed, my lord. You’re supposing that a disgruntled—and unbalanced—colleague might have retaliated by tampering with the late duke’s carriage.”

“Indeed. After all, even if Desmond committed the indiscretion, it was Father who was the head of the Steel family, and thus the target.” Quentin rubbed his neck wearily. “I’m groping; I realize that. But someone killed my parents. And until I know who, I have to delve into every possibility—no matter how obscure.”

“Of course, sir. How, may I ask, do you plan to proceed? And in what manner can I be of assistance?”

“You can keep this discussion confidential—at least for the time being.”

“That goes without saying, my lord.”

“As for me, I think my ideal starting point would be to meet with Hendrick. He, better than anyone, will know what modifications Father contemplated making to his will, and whether, in fact, they were implemented. I’ll ride to London at daybreak.”

“A wise decision. Shall I have Wythe pack for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll only be staying the day.” Quentin frowned, his own words prompting a new concern—one spawned by tomorrow’s unanticipated trip to London.

Brandi.

He’d intended to travel to Emerald Manor at dawn to assure himself of her well-being. Between the horrifying news he’d dropped on her, and the raw confusion hovering in the wake of their unexpected kiss, her emotional state was bound to be precarious.

Doubtless, he was being overprotective. Brandi was a survivor. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to leave her alone. And Desmond couldn’t be counted on as a reliable substitute—not if he were as foxed as Bentley described.

So who could be trusted to call on her, to subtly, yet effectively, divert her thoughts until his return?

The answer was but three feet away.

“Bentley.” Soberly, Quentin met his friend’s gaze. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything, sir. You needn’t ask twice.”

“I’ll be away from the Cotswolds all day. This might sound foolish, but I’d like you to ride to Emerald Manor and check on Brandi. She didn’t take the Bow Street revelation well. I’m worried about her. And Desmond, well …”

“I understand. Consider it done.”

“Thank you, Bentley. You’re an exceptional friend.”

“ ’Tis no favor, my lord. I worry about Miss Brandi as much …” A delicate pause.
“Nearly
as much as you do.”

Quentin blinked, trying to discern if there were any hidden message behind the butler’s statement. But Bentley’s expression was nondescript; his stance unchanged.

Whatever he suspected was concealed carefully beneath his dignified veneer.

And how could he suspect anything when Quentin himself didn’t know exactly what had occurred during those precious moments when Brandi was in his arms?

“Will that be all, my lord?” he vaguely heard Bentley inquire. “Because, if so, I’ll return to the search I was in the midst of when you summoned me.”

“Hmm?” Quentin nodded absently, his mind four miles away on the grassy bank of a stream. “Of course, Bentley. Go on as you were.”

“You didn’t happen to see your father’s strongbox, did you, sir?”

“Father’s strongbox?” He had to forget the taste of her mouth, the perfect fit of her body curving into his. He had to—but how? How could he forget the breathless wonder he’d scarcely tasted, grazing his senses like a tantalizing shimmer of sensation, beckoning him back to drown in its exquisite flavor?

Brandi—his miraculous Sunbeam.

How had he been up so close, yet been so blind?

Abruptly, Quentin realized Bentley was regarding him with an expectant look on his face, presumably awaiting a reply—to what, he hadn’t a clue. “I’m sorry, Bentley. What did you ask me?”

The barest flicker of amusement. “Your father’s strongbox, sir. It appears to have been misplaced. I merely wondered if you’d spied it anywhere.”

“No, I can’t say that I have,” Quentin responded, trying to think of some helpful advice to offer. “Possibly, since the strongbox was willed to Desmond, he’s moved it to his chambers.”

“You could very well be right, sir. When I questioned His Grace, he was too deep in his cups to recall what might or might not be in his possession. I’ll approach him again tomorrow.” With a purposeful nod, Bentley moved to the door and gripped its handle. “Good night, sir. I hope Mr. Hendrick provides you with the answers you’re seeking.”

The reminder of what lay ahead acted as a douse of cold water on Quentin’s meandering senses. “As do I, Bentley,” he concurred. “As do I.”

“Peters, I’m here to see Mr. Hendrick. Is he available?”

The clerk bolted to his feet, staring at Quentin in dismay. He snatched up his calendar, nervously scanning its pages and shaking his head at the same time. “Forgive me, my lord; either Mr. Hendrick neglected to advise me of your appointment or I neglected to write it down.”

“Neither. I have no appointment. But I’m confident Ellard will see me, given the urgency of the situation—a situation I believe Desmond advised him of yesterday. Suffice it to say, dire circumstances have ensued since our last meeting. I must see Ellard at once.”

“Quentin, come in.” Hendrick opened his office door and beckoned, simultaneously nodding to his clerk. “Thank you for your diligence, Peters. But Lord Quentin is quite right. Given the gravity of the situation, no appointment is necessary.”

“Of course, sir.” The wiry man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, clearly weak with relief.

“Can I offer you anything, Quentin?” Ellard asked, closing the door behind them. “Or shall we get right to the appalling issue at hand.”

“The latter.” Quentin dropped into a seat. “Ellard, I know Desmond met with you yesterday. But he and I didn’t cross paths last night, so I hadn’t the opportunity to ask him what your reaction was to the authorities’ discovery.”