Emerald Garden (11 page)

“My reaction?” Hendrick blinked. “I was horrified.”

Quentin shook his head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Of course you were horrified. What I meant was, did you—can you—think of anyone who would want to hurt either of my parents or Ardsley Townsend?”

Hendrick tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “No one,” he said at length. “Pamela, Kenton, and Ardsley were three of the most well-liked and well-respected members of the
ton.
Who, in the name of heaven, would intentionally harm any one of them is beyond my comprehension.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Quentin frowned at an imaginary speck of dust on his trousers. “I’ve racked my brain trying to conjure up an answer. Thus far, I’ve been totally unsuccessful. It occurred to me that I should take your suggestion and glance over my parents’ wills.”

“Their wills?” Hendrick inclined his head. “Why would a Last Will and Testament provide any clues to the murderer’s identity?”

“I don’t know that they would.” Quentin leaned forward. “Ellard, when were my parents’ wills drawn up?”

“When? Why, about a decade ago, I believe. I’ll have Peters fetch them so I can give you the exact dates. After which you can peruse them as thoroughly as you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that. And while Peters is collecting the wills, are any of my father’s other papers on file—business documents, perchance?”

“Of course. I’ll have Peters bring Kenton’s entire file.” He stood, exiting the office only to issue the brief instructions before returning. “Quentin, may I ask what it is you’re searching for?”

“I have no answer for you, Ellard—not because I’m being vague, but because I simply don’t know. All I’m certain of is that the authorities are stymied and I must do what I can to unearth the bastard who killed my mother and father.”

“I understand.” Hendrick glanced up as Peters entered, carrying a thick file.

“This is everything, sir,” the clerk advised, setting the file on Hendrick’s desk. “The papers are organized chronologically.”

“Thank you, Peters. That will be all.” Hendrick opened the file, removing the first document. “Your father’s will,” he pronounced, handing it to Quentin.

The instant the will was in his hands, Quentin sought and found the date. “Hendrick, this will is dated the twentieth of May, 1804.”

“As I said, a decade ago.”

“Are there any codicils? Any amended clauses whatsoever?”

“No, none.”

“Then explain to me why Father summoned you to Colverton last week for the express purpose of revising his will.”

Hendrick sighed, but didn’t avert his gaze. “I was hoping you wouldn’t learn of that meeting.”

“Then it did occur?”

“Yes, it occurred. Kenton was determined to alter one particular paragraph of his will. Fortunately, I was able to dissuade him before it was an accomplished fact. And, since the change was never made, I saw no reason to broach the subject and risk upsetting you greatly.”

“Why? What part of Father’s will did he wish to modify, and why would the modification upset me?”

Hendrick drew a slow inward breath, rubbing a quill between his fingers. “Emerald Manor,” he said at last. “Kenton wished to alter the provisions he’d made for its future.”

“Emerald Manor?” Whatever Quentin had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

An uncomfortable nod. “Yes. Your father cared very deeply for you, Quentin,” Hendrick assured him—a prelude to the oncoming explanation.

“You needn’t mollify me like a child, Ellard. I know my father’s feelings for both Desmond and me. Get to the point.”

“Very well.” Hendrick folded his hands on his desk. “The original will—the one I read aloud two days past—bequeathed Emerald Manor to you. Kenton and Pamela both agreed that the cottage should be part of your legacy. However, as the years passed, Kenton’s concern intensified. You’d shown no interest in choosing a wife, and no inclination of relinquishing your military career, or even of placing it second to marriage and a family. In other words, you were a single man, without heirs, immersed in a life involving daily confrontations with death. What would become of Emerald Manor if you were to die with no heir apparent?”

“I assume that Desmond, as successor to my inheritance, would then acquire Emerald Manor.”

“Indeed.” Hendrick cocked a brow. “And do you think your brother would cherish that gift? Nurture it as Pamela would wish him to?”

“I see your point,” Quentin replied quietly. “So what provisions did Father wish to make for the cottage?”

“He planned to will it directly to Brandice, thereby keeping it from your brother’s less-than-eager grasp.”

“Had Father done that, I would have understood. Brandi loves Emerald Manor as much as I do, and Mother could rest easy that the estate was in the most caring of hands.”

“True. But it would also be wrested from your family forever. Suppose one day you
do
marry, have a family. Wouldn’t you want your children to revel in the beauty that your parents and you held dear?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but, yes, I suppose I would.”

“Therefore, what I recommended to Kenton accomplished both purposes: retained Emerald Manor as your legacy and simultaneously ensured its future.”

“How?”

“I convinced him to leave his will intact, in exchange for my solemn promise to speak with you upon your return to the Cotswolds—which I thoroughly intended to do, after the trauma of the accident subsided.”

“And what was it you intended to speak with me about?” Quentin asked with a touch of dry humor. “The virtues of matrimony? Or did you simply intend to drag me to the altar, some unsuspecting young lady in tow?”

“Certainly not. I merely meant to explain the situation to you—as I am now doing—and to suggest that you make provisions for Emerald Manor in the event of your death.”

“Father could have accomplished that directly by bequeathing the cottage to Brandi, should I die without an heir apparent.”

“Yes, that was Kenton’s next suggestion, too. But, as I explained to him, that would be hasty and unfair to you. He and Pamela fervently wished for Emerald Manor to be yours; therefore, the arrangements for its future should, by all rights, belong to you as well. And, while I would strongly urge you to bequeath the cottage, first and foremost, to your heirs, I also believe it should be you who ultimately determines Emerald Manor’s fate.”

“And Father agreed?”

“Yes. In my opinion, Kenton never truly doubted you’d make the appropriate provisions. In truth, I think his worry over your safety temporarily eclipsed his reason, else he never would have considered altering his plans for the cottage. In any case, once he and I had spoken—at length—Kenton realized that, given the war was ended and you’d soon be home, it was both unjust and unnecessary to revise his will. He agreed to wait, trusting that you would faithfully see to the manor’s future. All he asked is that you do so in writing, quickly and expediently, before the military has reason to recall you.”

“I see.” Quentin contemplated Hendrick’s words. “In other words, I’m to resolve Emerald Manor’s fate by deciding whether or not I intend to marry and ultimately sire children. And, in the event that I don’t, by bequeathing the cottage to Brandi.”

“That would be my recommendation, yes.” Hendrick gave a self-conscious cough. “Of course, I reiterate, the decision is ultimately yours. And it goes without saying that, even if you agree, my drawing up the pertinent document should wait until this heinous crime is resolved.”

“Definitely.” Quentin came to his feet, placing Kenton’s will atop the desk. “Moreover, until my parents’ murderer is exposed, the problem is nonexistent. Because, until that time, I have no intention of returning to the army. So, there is no danger of my life being snuffed out by gunfire, and Emerald Manor is, thus, quite safely and legally mine.”

“Of course.” Hendrick pointed to the file. “Didn’t you wish to peruse Kenton’s remaining documents?”

“Yes, I did.” Reseating himself, Quentin tugged the file toward him, flipping through the pages in the hopes of finding even the smallest of clues. But all he found were numerous business contracts, all straightforward and innocuous, with no foreboding overtones or detrimental terms for either party.

“Is that everything?” he asked, glancing down at the final document.

“It is. The agreement you’re holding has yet to be executed. Kenton and I had just negotiated it when …” Hendrick’s voice trailed off.

The solicitor’s words triggered a memory, and Quentin lifted the draft for closer inspection. “Is this what you and Desmond were reviewing two days past when I arrived at your office?”

“Pardon me?”

“When I walked in that day, Desmond mentioned that you and he were finalizing a business contract. Is this that contract?”

“Actually, yes.” Hendrick shifted forward in his chair. “ ’Tis the draft of a retainer agreement between your father and myself.”

“So I see.” Quentin skimmed the document, quickly assessing it as a standard retainer which provided that Hendrick continue as the Steel family solicitor for a period of five years, during which he would receive the sizable but not outlandish sum of ten thousand pounds per annum. “This seems in order,” Quentin said, returning the document to Kenton’s file. “Which clause was it that Desmond needed to review?”

“The clause pertaining to my wages.” Sorrow clouded Hendrick’s gaze. “If you’ll notice, that unsigned agreement is the only contract between Kenton and myself in his entire file. The reason for that is because, in my opinion, the whole idea of requiring your father’s signature on a written retainer was absurd and unnecessary. Kenton was a fine and ethical gentleman, and I’d represented his business interests for years. Also, to be blunt, he was already far too generous with my wages. So, every time he broached the subject of a contract, I dismissed it. But Kenton was not to be dissuaded. He insisted that, just as I protected his interests, I should protect my own. At last, I relented. Hence, the agreement. Evidently, Desmond—who was present in my office when Kenton outlined the terms—wanted to be certain your father’s wishes were carried out as initially discussed. But, if you feel otherwise, I’d be happy to renegotiate the particulars or tear up the whole bloody retainer.”

“Absolutely not.” Quentin closed the file and placed it on Hendrick’s desk. “As I said, the retainer seems in perfect order, and I concur with Desmond’s resolution to execute it just as Father would have, had he been alive. With regard to your wages—you’re right. Father was an inordinately generous man. He was also a superb businessman. Therefore, if he deemed your services deserving of that sum, then they are obviously worth no less.” With that, Quentin rose. “Thank you for your patience, Ellard, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Nonsense.” Hendrick stood, waving away Quentin’s contention. “My time is inconsequential. What’s crucial here is learning who murdered your parents. I only wish I could have been of greater help.”

“As do I. But at least we’ve ruled out the majority of Father’s business associates as potential culprits.” Quentin paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“What is it? Have you perceived something we might have missed?”

“No, not really. It just occurred to me that we’ve only explored Father’s file.”

Hendrick’s brows arched in surprise. “I kept no separate file for Pamela, if that’s what you mean.”

“I wasn’t referring to Mother. I was referring to Ardsley.” Quentin held up his hand, anticipating Hendrick’s ethical dilemma. “Ellard, I’m aware I have no legal rights to view Ardsley’s file. Nor am I asking to do so. But I’d deem it a great favor if you would examine the contents—immediately, if possible—and advise Desmond, in his newly appointed role as administrator of the Townsend businesses, should you discover anything even remotely suspicious.”

“Consider it done,” Hendrick replied soberly. “I’ll peruse Ardsley’s papers at once and discuss my findings with Desmond. You have my word.”

“And you have my gratitude,” Quentin returned. “Good day, Ellard.”

“Good day. And please, keep me apprised of any developments that occur—any at all.”

“Of course.”

Hendrick stared after Quentin’s retreating figure, his thoughts consumed by the immediacy of the task ahead. Vaguely, he heard Peters bid their guest good day, after which the quiet click of the outer office door signified Quentin’s departure.

Rousing himself from his reverie, Hendrick stood, crossing the room in five long strides and walking out to Peters’s desk.

“Can I do something for you, sir?”

“Yes, Peters, you can. First, get me the entire file on Ardsley Townsend. Then send a missive off to the new Duke of Colverton. Tell him I need to meet with him posthaste. Tomorrow. At eleven o’clock. In my office.”

“And if that’s inconvenient for him, sir?”

Hendrick was already halfway back to his desk. “It won’t be.”

Chapter 6

B
RANDI TRAILED HER FOREFINGER
through the stream, watching the gentle ripples her motion left behind.

Stretched out full-length on the damp bank where yesterday Poseidon had tossed her, Brandi propped her chin on her opposite hand, oblivious to the heat of the sun’s late afternoon rays. She’d been here since noon, pelted by conflicting emotions, inundated and empty all at once, thoroughly, incomprehensibly overwhelmed.

Murder.

She couldn’t fathom it. Some faceless, nameless assailant had brutally, premeditatedly taken the lives of three people she loved. The truth was beyond bearing; the part that remained unknown, worse.

Who in God’s name had killed them? Why? Who was the intended target? Or was it targets?

Brandi squeezed her eyes shut, two tears seeping from beneath her lids, sliding down her cheeks. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, each doleful chime of Emerald Manor’s grandfather clock reminding her of the passing hours, each one as futile as the last. She’d arisen at dawn, hoping a morning of digging alongside Herbert would alleviate some of her anguish. But the noon hour had come and gone, and she’d abandoned her gardening, still as tormented and muddled as she’d been at first light.