Emerald Garden (26 page)

A flash of comprehension crossed Hendrick’s face. “I understand.” He reexamined the list. “There are a dozen names here, Brandice. You can’t ride to the estates of twelve prominent gentlemen and, based on obscure speculation, politely inquire of each of them if he is perchance a thief and a murderer.” Hendrick shook his head in exasperation. “If it would ease your mind, I can peruse all their files, see if their profits contradict with your father’s, but I don’t see what else I can—”

“All their files?” Brandi nearly leaped from her chair. “Are you saying that every man on that list is a client of yours?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, yes.”

“That’s it!” Brandi leaned over Hendrick’s desk, her eyes aglow. “We can establish the merit of my theory in one fell swoop.” She thought for a minute. “Mr. Hendrick, I want you to organize a meeting for this week—or, at the very latest, next—in your office. Those in attendance will be you, myself, and every gentleman on that list. The Season is over—they should all be available. If not, they should make themselves available, which is precisely what they’ll do if you stress the serious nature of our gathering—without being explicit, of course; we wouldn’t want to inadvertently alert the murderer, should he be among them.”

“A meeting,” Hendrick repeated slowly. “And what, pray tell, have you in mind for this meeting?”

“By the time it takes place, you’ll have scrutinized the files of all the gentlemen in question. I’ll confront them as a group—explaining my plight and apologizing for any distress I might be causing them. I’ll take full responsibility for arranging the meeting, therefore none of your business alliances will be hurt. In truth, I believe the gentlemen will understand my dilemma. The innocent will empathize, while the guilty one will, hopefully, give himself away. And no one can cast aspersion elsewhere, for they will all be in the same room at the same time, making lying a virtual impossibility. What a perfect solution!”

“And what about Desmond?” Hendrick asked in a tone of stern disapproval.

“Ah, Desmond.” Brandi frowned. “I hadn’t considered inviting him—although, of course, I planned to apprise him of the meeting,” she added quickly, seeing Hendrick’s censuring scowl. “My purpose is not to exclude him,” she hastened to explain. “But he’s excessively protective of me, and the last thing I want is to worry him, especially when he’s still so … distraught.” She rushed on, eager to finish before she ran out of euphemisms for the word
foxed.
“However, you’re quite right; Desmond is my legal guardian as well as the overseer of Papa’s businesses. Hence, sober or not, he should be in attendance.”

She wanted to kick herself the moment her final words were out.

“Indeed he should.” If Hendrick perceived her faux pas, he gave no sign.

Brandi didn’t intend to tempt fate.

“I’ll speak to Desmond myself,” she vowed brightly. “Today, in fact. No, I won’t reach the Cotswolds until Lord knows what hour. Tomorrow then. First thing in the morning. Unless, of course, he’s still groggy from … that is, if he is unable to … if the effects of last night’s …”

Her mouth snapped shut, presumably with her foot inside.
So much for my temporary brush with diplomacy,
she silently berated herself.
I’m hopeless.

“There’s no need for you to disrupt your sleep, my dear,” Hendrick was saying. “As it happens, I’ll be meeting with Desmond tomorrow. Once we’ve concluded our business, I’ll fill him in on everything you and I discussed today.”

Normally, such utter condescension would infuriate her. But in this case, Brandi was too elated by Hendrick’s implication to pay attention to his placating tone.

“Then you’ll see to the meeting?” she asked eagerly.

“I will.”

“Immediately?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Hendrick’s face, and Brandi bit her lip to silence her impatience. She must control her tongue, lest she insult Mr. Hendrick. After all, as the most respected solicitor in all of London—the expert who managed the funds of the ton’s most affluent noblemen—Mr. Hendrick was clearly unused to tolerating pressure from anyone, least of all a woman.

“Forgive my appalling lack of manners, sir,” she tried, attempting to explain her urgency. “But the monster who killed Kenton, Pamela, and Papa lurks somewhere about—free and unpunished. And I will not rest until he is apprehended and tossed into Newgate, where he belongs.”

“I understand,” Hendrick returned thoughtfully. “And there’s no need for an apology.” In a decisive gesture, he cleared a generous space on his desk. “I’ll spend the next hour poring over the pertinent files. Immediately thereafter, I’ll draft the first set of missives in order that we might explore the availability of the gentlemen in question. Those initial communications will be dispatched tonight.”

Surprise and gratitude converged, sweeping over Brandi’s face like a ray of sunshine. “Thank you, Mr. Hendrick,” she acknowledged. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your compassion—and how relieved I am that you’ll be handling the matter.”

“I’ll do whatever I can. But remember, Brandice, don’t get your hopes up. I’m well-acquainted with these gentlemen, and the probability that any one of them is guilty of duplicity—much less murder—is virtually nil.”

“I recognize that.” Brandi’s mind had already taken another detour. “Sir, it just occurred to me that Quentin is due back from London any day now and that he, too, should be familiarized with the situation. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take the ledger with me, so I might show it to him and hear his thoughts. That doesn’t present a problem, does it? You’re free, of course, to copy down any figures you deem significant, although, as every gentleman Papa listed is your client, I’m certain your files are far more comprehensive than these pages.”

“Undoubtedly.” Hendrick jotted down a few notes, then rose, handing her the book. “By all means, take it. What’s concerning me now is not the ledger but the lateness of the hour. The sun is already beginning to set. I’d feel much better if you were on your way back to the Cotswolds, particularly since you’re traveling alone.”

“You’ll notify me should you discover something amiss in the files?”

“Of course. I’ll also apprise you of the responses I receive to my missives, and advise you of the agreed-upon date and time for our meeting.”

That prompted a thought. “You do know I’m continuing to reside at Emerald Manor?” Brandi asked.

“So I was surprised to learn. Tell me, Brandice, wouldn’t you prefer being among those who love you at this painful time? I know for a fact that Desmond would be delighted to have you stay at Colverton with him—and Quentin, of course.”

With gracious certainty, Brandi shook her head. “Emerald Manor is home. I’m not comfortable at Colverton; I never have been. Like Townsbourne—where I belonged only so long as Papa was alive—Colverton is too grand and impersonal to make one’s own. No, Mr. Hendrick, I have no desire to stay at Colverton—despite my fondness for both Quentin and Desmond.”

That possibility dismissed, Brandi toyed with the final nagging concern she’d yet to discuss with Mr. Hendrick—a concern that, if addressed with her customary lack of discretion, could be badly misconstrued.

Carefully, she chose her words, assuming the most nonchalant tone she could muster. “Mr. Hendrick, would you describe Desmond as a shrewd businessman?”

“Desmond?” Hendrick blinked, looking surprised and mildly curious. “Why, yes, I would say so.”

“Did Kenton share that opinion?”

The solicitor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “To be frank, Brandice, Kenton and I never discussed his personal views of his sons. But based on the intricacy of Desmond’s involvement in the Steel businesses, I should say, yes, I believe Kenton concurred with my opinion. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Brandi gathered up her skirts, clutching the ledger to her side. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you again, Mr. Hendrick. I look forward to hearing from you very soon.”

By the time her carriage arrived at Cotswold Hills, Brandi was curled against the seat cushion, exhausted in the aftermath of her trying day. The sun had set, making the air dark and chilly, and she was grateful for the warmth offered by the closed carriage, equally grateful that it was her driver’s responsibility—and not hers—to concentrate on the road, leaving her free to think and doze.

Her plan was in motion, and hopefully it would yield conclusive results—although the thought of confronting a murderer sent shivers up her spine. Still, she reminded herself, it was better than living in a state of perpetual uncertainty, with her life—and Quentin’s—hanging in the balance.

Quentin.

Dreamily, Brandi wondered if he’d returned to Colverton yet. Had he resolved things with the War Department, or would he be sailing immediately for the colonies?

That prospect acted as a stinging blow to her senses.

Brandi sat bolt upright, all vestiges of sleep vanishing in a heartbeat.

Swiftly, she rolled down the carriage window. “Hamlin,” she called to her driver. “I’d like to make a brief stop at Colverton before going on to Emerald Manor.”

There was a slight pause, before Hamlin called back, “As you wish, my lady.”

Judging from his startled tone, it must be very late, Brandi mused. Well, she didn’t care. If Quentin were home, she wanted to see him. And if both he
and
Bentley were home, then she
needed
to see him; for Bentley would, by now, have informed Quentin of their day’s adventures, and Quentin’s foul words would, by now, be echoing through the elegant hallways of Colverton.

The image made her smile. Yes, ’twould definitely be in her best interests to see Quentin straightaway, to seize the opportunity to defend her actions while he still possessed a shred of reason.

Not to mention that she was itching to learn the outcome of Bentley’s trip to Berkshire. Had he gleaned any information from Smithers or had his hectic dash to Allonshire been for naught?

Shifting restlessly, Brandi fixed her gaze out the window. Colverton suddenly couldn’t appear fast enough.

A quarter hour later—although Brandi would have sworn it was a year—the carriage passed through the formidable iron gates and headed down the drive leading to the manor. Nearly hanging out the window, Brandi scrutinized the house to determine if any signs of activity were transpiring from within.

There were none.

The carriage rounded the drive and paused before the double entranceway doors.

“Will you be alighting, my lady?” Hamlin swung down to inquire.

Brandi counted windows until she found Quentin’s bedchamber, noting that it was dark—a clear indication that the room’s resident was either away or abed. Her disappointment intensified as she observed the rest of the manor: cast in shadows, unlit but for a few precautionary gas lamps in the entranceway.

“My lady?” Hamlin appeared beside the carriage door. “Shall I assist you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I was going to visit, but it appears everyone has retired for the night.”

“Well, it is half after ten, my lady.”

“Is it?” Brandi blinked in surprise. “Then by all means, let’s be on our way. Poor Bentley must be exhausted and, knowing him, he still intends to arise before dawn. As for Quentin …” Her voice drifted off and she scanned the second level one last time. Seeing no movement, she sighed. “Evidently, Quentin is either asleep or still in London. Hence, let’s go on to Emerald Manor. I’ll try again in the morning.”

“Very good, my lady.” Hamlin bowed and returned to his post. A moment later, the carriage resumed its motion, retracing its path through the iron gates and veering in the direction of Emerald Manor.

It was a little after eleven when Brandi dragged herself up the cottage steps, wanting nothing save a cup of warm milk and the comfort of her bed.

Her plans were quickly dashed by the sight that greeted her.

Like a sentry at his post, Herbert paced back and forth before the cottage door, alternately waving his arms and muttering agitated phrases under his breath.

“Herbert?” It took a full dazed minute for Brandi to focus on Herbert’s obvious distress.

A minute was all she had.

“Miss Brandi …” He raced forward, grasping her elbows and searching her face. “Are you all right?”

“Well, of course. Why would you think …” Her hand flew to her mouth as realization struck, followed instantly by guilt. “Oh, Herbert, I’m so sorry. Were you worried about me?”

“Was I worried about you?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “You disappeared when I was supposed to be watching you—sneaked off like a thief while I was sleepin’. You didn’t say a word about where you were goin’. You were gone for Lord knows how long. And you want to know if I was worried about you?”

Brandi’s lashes swept her cheeks. “You’re right.”

“Where’ve you been?” he demanded.

“I rode to London.” Her chin came up a notch, a puzzled expression on her face. “And I truly am sorry I worried you. But, Herbert, when did you become so protective? I’ve always come and gone as I pleased, and you never fretted over my whereabouts. Why now?”

“Because I …” Herbert shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Because Bentley said somethin’ about you bein’ in danger.” Instantly, he pressed his lips together, clearly wishing he could recall his statement.

“I? In danger?” Brandi shook her head. “No, Herbert, you must have misunderstood. I realize Bentley asked you to look out for me today, but that was a mere formality—done out of respect for Quentin, who is convinced that I’m ever on the verge of doing something rash.” She reached up, patted Herbert’s weathered cheek. “But other than a few scrapes acquired fishing or, at worst, a bad fall from Poseidon, I assure you, I am in no danger.” She chewed her lip. “Nevertheless, I feel terrible that I caused you such distress.”

“Why’d you ride to London, anyway?” Herbert asked her.

“I had a bit of business to take care of.”

“Business, huh? Like followin’ after Lord Quentin?”

A flush stained Brandi’s cheeks. Was there
anyone
who didn’t suspect her feelings for Quentin?