Emerald Garden (13 page)

“Did Mr. Hendrick mention the specific modification your father wished to make?”

“Yes. Evidently, the clause in question pertained to Emerald Manor.”

“Emerald Manor, sir?” Surprise laced Bentley’s tone.

“Yes. The whole issue is rather complex. To sum it up, Father was apparently distraught over the future of Emerald Manor, or, more specifically, over my inability to safeguard it—given that I’d made no overtures toward marrying and siring an heir. Therefore, while he truly wished for me to inherit the cottage, Father felt he had no choice but to consider willing it to Brandi, who, he knew, would not only cherish it but one day pass it on to her children.”

“I recognize the late duke’s reasoning, sir. What I fail to recognize is how his decision would affect Master Desmond. Certainly your brother didn’t hope that
he
would be named the cottage’s recipient, not with his resentment toward the duchess and the cottage your father built for her. The late duke would never consider bequeathing Emerald Manor to a man who …” Discreetly, Bentley broke off.

“Who coldly rejected my mother from the day she and Father wed,” Quentin finished. “You’re right; he wouldn’t.”

“Then there was no reason for Master Desmond to pressure your father about the clause in his will involving Emerald Manor.”

“You’re wrong, Bentley. There was every reason.”

Bentley frowned. “I see only one other possible motivation and, if I’m to be frank, sir, I highly doubt its validity.”

“And what is that?”

“That Master Desmond was arguing with your father on your behalf, that he rushed forward to convince the late duke
not
to bequeath Emerald Manor to Miss Brandi.”

A harsh laugh erupted from Quentin’s chest. “Not bloody likely. Not when Desmond resents me nearly as much as he did Mother.” Quentin shook his head adamantly. “No, Bentley, I’m convinced that Desmond desperately wanted Father to alter that clause.”

“But why? Simply for the smug sense of satisfaction he’d attain by depriving you of your heritage?”

“No,” Quentin refuted. “For the smug sense of satisfaction he’d attain by acquiring Emerald Manor in my stead.”

“I thought we just agreed, sir, that the late duke would never bequeath the cottage to your brother.”

“We did. But if Desmond’s personal plans came to fruition, Father’s willing Emerald Manor to Brandi would be just as effective. It would become Desmond’s the day he and Brandi wed.”

Bentley stared. “Wed?”

A terse nod. “I told you Desmond claimed he and Brandi had grown close during my absence. What I didn’t mention was that he informed me they were on the verge of becoming betrothed, that, had it not been for the accident, he’d have asked Ardsley for her hand—and received it.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I suddenly need to sit down.” Bentley sank into an armchair, drawing a slow inward breath. “Either I’ve been residing elsewhere these past years, or your brother is blatantly lying to you.”

“Is he? I’m not altogether sure,” was Quentin’s quiet reply. “My instincts scream out that you’re right, that the thought of Brandi and Desmond together is inconceivable. But Ardsley did entrust her into Desmond’s care. And Brandi does seem far more tolerant of my brother’s overbearing manner than she was in years gone by. Maybe there is a grain of truth to Desmond’s claim.”

Bentley gave an indignant sniff. “That is rubbish, sir. Tolerance and gratitude, perhaps, but nothing more.”

“Ardsley might have thought otherwise. For whatever reason, he trusted Desmond. And trust, with what he doubtless perceived as a growing companionability between his daughter and Desmond … perhaps that was enough.”

“Enough for the viscount, possibly, but what about for Miss Brandi?”

A muscle flexed in Quentin’s jaw. “She accepts Desmond for who he is. And, to an extent, she relies upon him—hell, she should rely upon him.” Quentin scowled. “He’s always here for her.”

“Is he?”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means, my lord, that trust can be earned, or it can be falsely elicited. Companionability, too, can be an illusion. And even when genuine, it does not in itself constitute devotion, any more than gratitude necessarily leads to love.” Bentley held Quentin’s gaze. “And love, Master Quentin, is still quite important—at least to those who seek it.”

“When did you become a philosopher, Bentley?”

“Not a philosopher, sir—just a vigilant friend. A friend who, I’m told, ofttimes understands you better than you understand yourself.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. I have it on the highest authority.”

“Brandi?”

“Brandi, my lord.”

A wistful smile curved Quentin’s lips. “My insightful Sunbeam,” he murmured, half to himself. “So you don’t believe she’d be well off with Desmond? That his constancy would make her feel settled? Secure?”

“I believe you know the answer to that, my lord. Miss Brandi would be inundated with the wrong things and severely lacking the right ones.”

“He’d crush her spirit,” Quentin agreed in a low troubled tone. “He’d break her will in order to control her. And he’d strip all the simple joys from her life.”

“I would say that’s accurate, sir.”

Again a flash of memory accosted Quentin: the pond, Brandi’s lips parting sweetly under his …

“Bentley,” he blurted out. “Would you deem me insane if I told you that since my return to the Cotswolds I’ve been feeling … wanting—” Abruptly, he broke off.

“Yes, sir?”

“Never mind.” Wearily, Quentin rubbed his eyes. “Pay no attention to my rambling. I’m so tired I’m not even sure what I’m saying.”

“Of course, sir.” Bentley came to his feet. “You are tired. You’re also baffled and frustrated—which you doubtless will remain until you uncover the truth.” A pregnant pause.
“All
of it.”

Quentin’s gaze narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re implying far more than you’re actually stating?”

“I repeat, you’re tired, my lord.” Bentley opened the library door and gestured for Quentin to precede him. “Get some sleep. Perhaps the essential answers will find you.”

Chapter 7

“A
LL RIGHT, HENDRICK, I’M
here.”

Desmond closed the door behind him, leaning back against its solid veneer. “What do you want?”

“Sit down, Desmond,” Hendrick advised calmly, shuffling some papers around on his desk. “Or shall I say, ‘Your Grace’?”

Paling, Desmond crossed the room and dropped into a chair. “I’m listening.”

Hendrick closed the file he’d been perusing and folded his hands on his desk. “You’re not looking at all well, Colverton. Have you, by chance, been drinking?”

“Don’t toy with me, Ellard. I don’t like it. Now, why did you send for me?”

“Your brother was here yesterday. He had numerous questions to ask.”

Desmond went rigid. “Like what?”

“It seems he’s taken it upon himself to investigate your father’s death. In the process, he discovered the circumstances surrounding my final visit to Colverton, presumably from your attentive butler.”

“We surmised that might happen.”

“Indeed we did. Quentin’s appearance in my office came as no surprise. Nevertheless, I thought you should know he asked to see your father’s will—which he scrutinized, together with all the other documents in Kenton’s file.”

“Damn it!” Desmond slammed his fist on the desk. “I knew he’d ask questions, but I didn’t think he’d actually examine Father’s papers. Did he detect anything that aroused his suspicions?”

“He detected only that which I intended him to,” Hendrick responded with a triumphant air. “As I said, I’ve been expecting Quentin’s visit. Hence, I made certain to place the appropriate document in an equally appropriate—and visible—spot. Which reminds me, you have yet to execute my retainer. You do recall the terms we agreed upon, do you not?”

“Yes, of course I recall them. What the hell does your retainer have to do with Quentin?”

“Ah, Your Grace, you’re not using your gift of perception. My retainer has everything to do with Quentin. After thoroughly examining the will, your brother was especially curious to scrutinize the contents of the document you and I were allegedly reviewing the afternoon of the will readings.”

Desmond’s pupils dilated. “You didn’t show him …”

“Of course not. I’m not stupid. I told him we were finalizing my retainer—the one Kenton insisted I draw up to protect my own interests. Then I showed Quentin the agreement. He approved; in fact, he suggested that it be executed at once.” Hendrick leaned back in his chair with a self-righteous smile. “Which eliminated his questions, and your dilemma.”

“Don’t look so damned smug,” Desmond returned, vaulting to his feet. “ ’Tis not just my dilemma; ’tis yours as well—so long as you wish to continue receiving the lavish payments I’m currently providing. Moreover, this is only the first step. I know Quentin—and he doesn’t give up that easily.” Desmond’s gaze swept the office. “Where the hell is your brandy?”

“It’s not even noon.”

“I’m thirsty,” Desmond snapped.

“Open the sideboard. You’ll find what you need there.”

Desmond’s hands shook as he tossed off two glasses in rapid succession. “What else?”

“Quentin asked me to go through Denerley’s file as well. My instructions are to search for any possible clue and to alert you, as the appointed overseer of Denerley’s businesses, to my findings.”

“And have you searched Ardsley’s file?”

“Yes. Ostensibly, nothing is amiss.”

“Thank God.” Desmond poured another brandy and leaned heavily against the sideboard. “The last thing I need is for Father’s or Ardsley’s business dealings to be connected with the murders. Still, we’re far from safe. Quentin won’t stop until he uncovers something. Heaven only knows what my wretched butler has divulged, and where his revelations will lead my brother.”

“If Bentley offends you so, why not dismiss him?”

“Are you insane? I’m trying to elude suspicion, not arouse it. I might loathe the meddlesome pest, but Quentin sings his praises. So did Father. Further, Bentley has been with my family for ages. No, Hendrick, I have to keep Colverton running precisely as Father did, making absolutely no major changes that might give Quentin pause. Firing Bentley would be the most foolhardy step I could take.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Hendrick frowned thoughtfully. “And I do see your point about Quentin; his prying is a bit disconcerting.”

“His entire presence is a bit disconcerting,” Desmond retorted, staring darkly into his drink. “I was making fine progress with Brandice before her bloody hero returned to the Cotswolds—damn him to hell.” With a sharp snap of the wrist, Desmond tossed off half his brandy.

“Oh?” Hendrick’s brows rose. “Is Quentin interfering in your betrothal plans?”

“You know bloody well how Brandice worships my brother. We could erect a blasted statue in his honor on the grounds of Emerald Manor.” A bitter laugh. “So far as Brandice is concerned, when Quentin is home, no one else exists.”

“Then maybe it’s best for Quentin not to be home.”

Desmond’s head whipped around. “What does that mean?”

“You’re the Duke of Colverton, my friend. Have you any idea how much power that position yields?”

“So?”

“So you know people in the highest of places; you have influence in areas others can’t even approach—such as the War Department, for example.”

A glint of understanding flickered in Desmond’s eyes. “Go on.”

“ ‘Tis the simplest of plans. Merely use your ducal power to have Quentin recalled by the army. After all, General Wellington holds him in such high regard. Surely, he could utilize Quentin’s brilliant tactical abilities in Paris? Let’s say, to intercede in our very delicate controversy with King Louis over his slave trade? I needn’t provide you with fabrications. You’re quite good at inventing them yourself. The point is that if Quentin leaves England, he can neither pry into our business nor occupy Brandice’s time and thoughts. Now am I making myself clear?”

“Clear as a bell.” Desmond downed the remainder of his drink. With a flourish, he set his empty glass on the sideboard. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hendrick, I have an unexpected meeting with the War Department.”

“Of course.” The solicitor took up his quill. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor. Oh, Desmond?” He held up his retainer. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

Desmond crossed the room in three strides, snatched the quill and document from Hendrick’s hands, and dashed off his signature. “There.”

“Excellent.” Hendrick nodded his satisfaction. “I’m pleased we’ll be continuing our association … Your Grace.” Methodically, he slipped the retainer back into the file. “By the way, when you return to Colverton tonight, tell Quentin I summoned you for the express purpose of reporting that, after an exhaustive review, I discovered nothing amiss in Viscount Denerley’s papers.”

“I shall indeed.” Halfway to the door, Desmond paused, giving Hendrick a mock salute. “Good day, Ellard. Soon this nagging complication will be eliminated.”

Calmly, Hendrick resumed his paperwork. “I never doubted it for a minute.”

“Hello, Sunbeam.”

Quentin approached the quiet gazebo, unsurprised to find Brandi here at dawn, staring off into the dimly lit woods. “Are you all right?”

Slowly, Brandi turned, her wide dark eyes filled with painful questions. “I don’t know.”

Of their own accord, Quentin’s feet climbed the stairs to reach her. “You look exhausted.” His forefinger traced the circles beneath her eyes. “Have you slept at all?”

“A bit.” She inclined her head, her unbound hair tumbling in a burnished waterfall down her back. “What did you learn from Mr. Hendrick?”

“Nothing.”

“Quentin, please. I know you insist on viewing me as a child. But I’m not. And I need to know. What did you find out?”

Quentin’s chest tightened. “First of all, I don’t view you as a child. Second, I’m not keeping anything from you. I learned nothing. If you’ll permit me, I’ll elaborate.”

“Very well.” Brandi sank down on the bench, tucking the skirts of her midnight-blue gown beneath her. “I’m listening.”