Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) (26 page)

“Good day, gentlemen,” she fairly screamed from the doorway. “I have Baron Lewys with me. He’s hitching up his horse.”

Ian and Gareth had faced off in front of the lectern. They both turned to her, color high on their near-identical faces.

“Just what we need,” Gareth muttered.

“I won’t say anything. I promised not to. And no amount of money will make me go back on my word, whatever you think of me,” Ian said, straightening his collar. It appeared he and Gareth had a bit of a scuffle, even if they were in a church.

“What about the deacon?” Anne asked quickly. “He read the first of the banns.”

“I’ll take care of Thomas. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Mont, except that you are marrying my cousin. I don’t know whom to pity more.”

“Save your concern, Ian. We all know you’d like to see Lewys arrest me.”

Anne’s blood froze. “He can’t do that, can he?”

“He can do whatever he bloody well likes. He’s magistrate now that he’s returned. I’ll turn over the paperwork to him and see what he makes of it. The witness who vouched for my whereabouts on the day in question is dead, and everyone knows Cecily would have perjured herself to protect me anyway.” Gareth ran his hand through his disordered hair. “I didn’t expect Parry home until spring. I didn’t want to say anything to you until I had spoken with him, but we may have to delay the wedding.”

“No! I don’t care if I have to spend my honeymoon in a jail cell with you. We’re going to marry, and that’s that.”

“What’s this about jail, Mrs. Mont?” Lewys stood in the door frame, his flaxen curls buffeted by the wind. He shut the door Anne had left open in her haste to stop the fight, and moved to the front of the church. “If it isn’t dear Bronwen’s favorite pair of bookends.”

Ian’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Aye, Morgan, I knew about you both. Trust Bronwen to brag about her conquests over the years. The woman was shameless. I said nothing to you the other day over luncheon, wondering how far you’d go to get your cousin in trouble. You’ll be happy to hear, Gareth, that the good reverend confessed to planting evidence to implicate you in Bronwen’s death. He’d like to pin the crime on you, but I believe he knows in his heart of hearts that you are innocent.”

Gareth remained motionless at the lectern. “What do you think, Parry?”

“I suppose as I’m standing in a church I should speak the truth. I don’t much give a damn who killed her. The fellow who did saved me a lifetime of hell. Bronwen wouldn’t take no for an answer, you know. I used the Caribbean trip as an excuse to put her off—told her we’d fix things when I returned. I was ready to bring back a bride from the islands if necessary—any reasonably attractive stranger would have done. I saw what she did to her poor cuckolded husband. To you, Gareth. Why would I subject myself to her wiles? She cheated on her poor old husband with me, and you and you,” he said, pointing to Gareth and a scarlet Ian. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she decided to carry on with either or both of you if I had been so unlucky as to be trapped into marriage with her.”

“I doubt I was still a candidate for her affection,” Gareth said dryly.

“Ah, Gareth. Those rumors she started only made you more of a challenge. She thought you’d come around groveling eventually. She talked about you all the time. To make me jealous, she hoped. Bring me up to scratch. But why should I buy the cow when I’d been getting the milk for free?”

Yes, Anne definitely disliked Parry Lewys. But at least he wasn’t threatening to haul Gareth away in handcuffs. “What will you do?”

“About what, my dear? Oh, the investigation.” He snapped his gloved fingers, but they made no sound. “It’s obvious Bronwen was killed by a madman passing through the village. A thief. Her jewels were stolen, were they not? Her brother Robert Allen says they’re missing.”

“Is that what he told you?” Gareth asked.

“Yes. Is there any reason I should not believe him?”

“Some of those jewels belonged to my family. My father—” Gareth shrugged. “He meant well for me, but they were not enough to sway Bronwen’s opinion. Everyone knows that when I got well, I tried to get them back. Repeatedly. Bronwen laughed in my face. I’d hoped that Rob would return them. I know he needed money to care for the girls, and I assumed he took them to sell.”

“Rubbish. He had plenty to take care of my little cousins while I was away. My man of business saw to it. Allen told me you’d made rather a nuisance of yourself hounding him for them. He assures me he never had Bronwen’s jewelry. Or yours, for that matter. All of it was missing from the Dower House. No, it’s clear she was raped, robbed, and killed by an unknown vagrant, and there it will lie.”

Anne and Gareth had plenty of time the last few days to share their innermost thoughts. He had ashamedly confessed to her that once Bronwen’s body had been dealt with, he’d searched the house from top to bottom, ostensibly for clues, but for his mother’s jewelry, too. He was sick from drink and the fear that he might have blacked out and committed the heinous crime no matter what Cecily said. Anne reached for his hand now and gave it a squeeze.

“So there will be no further trouble,” she said.

“Not from me. The neighbors may feel differently. I’ve had a few complaints since I’ve been back. They seem to think Mrs. Mont is a little fool. Don’t prove them right, Gareth.”

She could feel him stiffen beside her. “I’m not worried, Lord Lewys.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something. You can shut your mouth now, Ian, and go about the Lord’s business. We’ve got something in common—we’ve all made a lucky escape. Your secret will be safe with me.”

Ian looked as if he wanted to say something cutting, but thought the better of it.

“I presume I’m invited to the wedding? I’ve heard of nothing else.”

“O-of course,” Anne said, squeezing Gareth’s hand harder.

“Excellent. I’ll scour the abbey’s cellars and send you a case of something. Until then.” Parry Lewys tipped his blond head and left the church, slamming the door behind him.

Anne let out the breath she’d been holding since she met the man on the lane. “My.”

“My indeed. So all will go on as planned, right, Ian?”

“I’ll speak to Thomas. I doubt he even knows what
The London List
is. He’s not one for gossip.”

“Thank you.” Gareth slipped his hand from Anne’s and held it out to his cousin. After a long moment, Ian took it and shook it firmly. “See you in church, Ian.”

“And not a minute too soon, coz.” To Anne’s amazement, Ian Morgan winked.

“J
esus Christ!”

Gareth had seen the smoke from the village road, drifting lazily into the winter-gray sky. The cart was loaded with the first round of food and crockery from the inn for the wedding tomorrow, but he needed to get home fast. With a shaking hand, he unbuckled Job from the traces and pulled himself up on the animal. He’d ridden bareback a thousand times, but never on Job, and the horse didn’t like it. Hell, he didn’t even really like a saddle.

Maybe Martin was burning trash. Annie had been a whirling dervish trying to make every corner of Ripton Hall shine, and had weeded out anything that didn’t meet her exacting standards. She wanted the wedding to be perfect. Some girls from the village had agreed to come this afternoon to spend the night and ready the house for the reception after the ceremony. Help Annie dress, too. A girl should have some attention lavished upon her on her wedding day, even if she was to marry in her one good dress.

But from the looks of things, Ripton Hall was burning down. What had she done now? He dug his boot heels into Job and they flew down the lane.

His house was on fire
. The kitchen wing, at any rate. Some building or other thing had been standing there for centuries. There wasn’t much left in his home that was valuable, but it was all Gareth had of his parents and his childhood. How many times had he watched his father hunched over the account books at the scarred desk in the study? By God, he even remembered the birds and bees discussion his father had so painstakingly provided there far too late, with the door locked and a furtive look on his face. Gareth had already buzzed quite thoroughly around Bronwen by that time and had had difficulty appearing innocent. A kaleidoscope of images spun through Gareth’s head—meals shared around the scrubbed pine table, tin soldiers marching up the back steps to his room, nights spent making love to Annie.

She had to be all right. When he found her, he’d kiss her first, then shake her for being so stupid. Then kiss her again and again.

Duw,
what if she wasn’t all right?

The last few yards down the drive felt like miles. The smoke was black and thick rolling from the open kitchen windows, but at least flames weren’t shooting through the roof. He slipped from Job and ran for the kitchen door.

It was locked. And cool beneath his riding glove. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“Annie!” he yelled.

There was no reply, just a hissing noise coming from inside, as if a thousand snakes were objecting to his presence. He pulled his collar up and raced around the corner to the front of the house. The door opened easily and he raced down the dark hallway to the back of the house, where the new met the old, the sections separated by at least a foot of good solid Welsh stone. His little study was undisturbed, as neatly organized as he and Annie had left it. Smoke seeped out from under the kitchen door, and Gareth pushed it open with his elbow, covering his face with his arm.

The room was blanketed in smoke. It stung his eyes, and he blinked quickly, searching for Annie in the midst of the gray pall. A plume of smoke climbed up the outside of the stovepipe, and flames were visible around the loose cast-iron burners. There was a charred mess of something atop the stove, coals glowing. The fire seemed to be limited to the stove and its contents, and Gareth could have breathed a sigh of relief if he would let himself breathe.

The stove continued to spit and rumble. Gareth was reminded of a cannon about to explode.

“Annie!”

The door to her room was shut. She might not even be in the house. He could pour water on the stove or keep looking for her.

He couldn’t take the chance. If the faulty stove burned the kitchen down, so be it.

Gareth opened her door. Annie lay on the bed, looking like a marble effigy. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he felt his heart stop.

“Please be alive, please be alive,” he murmured. He touched her cheek. She was warm, but lacking in all color. He scooped her into a sitting position where she coughed and spluttered, looking up at him in fright.

“Gareth, what’s wrong? What’s all this smoke?”

He gave her a quick shake that turned into a hug. “You’ve set the house on fire again. This is getting to be a habit.”

“I’ve done no such thing!”

“I’m not going to argue with you. Can you get out of the house while I put out the fire?”

She scrambled for her boots. “Let me help you!”

“You’ve done enough. Go wait outside. Find Martin if you can. I think the trouble is confined to the stove but I want to make sure.”

“The wedding!” Annie cried.

“No time to talk about that now. Get going!” he ordered.

She gave him a look he’d seen on the face of his men when they were doubtful of the brass’s battle plans. By God, she wasn’t going to defy him now.

“Get out!”

There. His roar scared her away. He heard her cough as she went to the kitchen door and fiddle with the latchstring. Odd that the door was locked, but she must have wanted to ensure her privacy as she rested. If he’d come home any later, she might have inhaled so much smoke she never would have woken up.

The next few minutes were spent pumping water and dumping pails of snow on the stove and shoveling wet coals into the old fireplace, where they were doused again for good measure. The entire kitchen stank of burnt fabric and food. Whatever had she been trying to do? She knew Mrs. Chapman was providing refreshment for the reception tomorrow.

Gareth wiped the soot from his face. There would be no party here tomorrow. The stove stood crooked in its corner, hinges bent, even the stove pipe listing. It looked as if someone had taken it apart and put it back together again blindfolded. He struggled with the windows, opening them wider. A good gust of wind could have stirred up much more mischief indoors. As it was, the walls were streaked black and ashes filtered down through the air like dirty snowflakes.

He was lucky.
They
were lucky. It could have been worse, he reminded himself. He and Annie were both alive and the house just needed a good scrubbing. But damn. How often was his little housekeeper going to scare the wits out of him?

She stood at the doorway now, green eyes huge in her white face. “What happened?”

“Suppose you tell me.”

“I don’t know what happened! I laid the cloths on the tables in the dining room and then took a little lie-down before the girls came.”

He eyed the stack of china on the kitchen table, seemingly every dish his mother had ever owned. They were coated with black grime and a few had fallen to the slate floor in his haste to put out the fire. A whole village of girls would not be enough to get the Hall ready for a wedding. He gathered up the shards and dropped them into the fireplace.

“I’ll take the wagon back to Llanwyr. We’ll just have to have the wedding reception at the Silver Pony, if Mrs. Chapman agrees to it.”

Annie’s face fell.

“You can’t expect to still have it here. It will take some time for the house to air out, and the stove is useless for warming anything.”

“You—you must be right.”

“Look, I know you worked hard—so hard you must have been distracted.” He picked up a scorched remnant from atop the stove with a toasting fork. A few inches of charred lace were plainly visible. “Where did you say you put the tablecloths?”

“In the dining room, of course! Look and see if you don’t believe me!”

She ran ahead of him down the hallway and threw open the double doors to the dining room. The few chairs he still owned were pushed back against the walls from the long table and the smaller ones they’d found in the attics. The
bare
tables.

“Oh! But I know I put them down. I was so pleased I got most of the wrinkles out—don’t look at me like that! I know I didn’t drop them on top of a hot stove! I’m not that much of an idiot!”

Annie wasn’t pale anymore. Her cheeks were rosy with embarrassment. Poor thing. Bridal nerves and all that.

“Look, it’s all right. No real harm done.” But he wasn’t going to give her a chance to burn the house down a third time—she just might get it right. Hiring a housekeeper was number one on his list. Until then, they’d take all their meals at the Silver Pony.

“But I didn’t do it!” she insisted, her color mounting.

“I don’t want to stand here arguing with you. Did you find Martin?”

Anne shook her head. “Penny’s gone, too.”

“He said something to me about riding over to Hay to get us a wedding present. I told him it was unnecessary, but he will do what he wants. I’ll probably meet the girls you hired on the road. Do you still want them to come? They can begin the clean-up, although I daresay it won’t be as much fun for them as arranging greenery and ribbons. You probably don’t want to get your hands dirty before the big day either.”

Annie looked around the dining room with a forlorn expression on her face. Glass and china vases stood on the sideboard waiting for filling that would never come. Gareth noted the basket of boughs in a corner—she must have tramped out while he was gone and clipped whatever was decent from the overgrown bushes in the garden. If theirs had been a London wedding, she might have raided her father’s glasshouse. She had some such idea to tack one onto the back of Ripton Hall when the money came in.

If she didn’t destroy the house first.

“Look, I’ve got to go to see if I can sort this all out. Give us a kiss then.”

Gareth thought he was being more than magnanimous. Apart from yelling at her when he was trying to save her life, he hadn’t raised his voice or given her the dressing-down she so deserved.

She stepped toward him, raising herself on tiptoes. “I didn’t do it,” she said, offering a cheek.

And then she plunged back downward. “You’ve been drinking!”

“Just a bowl of punch after we loaded the wagon up. We all did, Jim the ostler and the kitchen girls and Mrs. Chapman. They wished us luck, Annie. And it’s damned cold out there in case you didn’t notice.” She must have—she’d gone out in just the ugly brown dress she was sleeping in to stand in the dooryard wringing her hands as he’d filled buckets with snow and water. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Hold still. You have a smudge on your nose.”

“You are treating me like a child, Gareth! And—and drinking when I asked you not to.”

“It was just a little punch to celebrate the wedding,” he said, exasperated. “One round.” She didn’t need to know he’d had three, and endured the good-natured teasing of the Silver Pony’s staff. It had all been rather jolly. If he’d had friends, surely he’d have had some sort of bachelor dinner before his wedding. He’d attended many riotous nights when he was in the army before some poor sod got leg-shackled. Somehow he couldn’t picture raising a glass with Ian and Parry Lewys.

Damn it. This was his last day of freedom. And how was he spending it? Putting out fires and acting as a pack mule with a wagon full of wedding food. Which he was somehow going to have to manage to turn around in the narrow lane and bring all the way back to the village. Damn Job was not going to be a bit of help. “Don’t be so sniffy, Annie. Tomorrow you’ll promise to love, honor, and obey me, but I have a feeling I’ll be the one doing the obeying.”

“I haven’t asked you to do anything that’s not good for you.” Annie gave him
the look
. He’d seen it only fleetingly, and he didn’t want to burst her bubble to tell her she’d have to work on it before she truly frightened him. He was not going to spend the rest of his life being bossed around by a redheaded dwarf, even if she did control the purse strings.

All talk of his money and her money had evaporated. He’d made sure she didn’t want to leave him, had wrapped her tight in his arms—well, his arm, he thought with an inner chuckle—and fucked her senseless night and day. If there was a God, she’d already be breeding. She’d make a marvelous mother, full of energy and fun—she could boss around all his babies with no complaint from him. But she was not going to tell him what to do the day before his wedding, especially after she’d almost ruined it.

He raised a superior eyebrow. “No kisses, then?”

“You smell.”

“I daresay I do,” he said, tamping down anger. He was still awash with sweat from his exertions putting out the fire. And underlying that was the stench of the fear he’d felt when he wondered if his bride would be around on his wedding day. “All right, I’ll leave you to your mess.”

“I didn’t do it!” she shrieked. “I put those tablecloths on these tables and lay down for a nap!”

“I suppose they bundled themselves up, rolled into the kitchen, and climbed aboard the stovetop.”

“I don’t know what happened.” She spoke slowly as if
he
were a child. A not-very-bright one. “Maybe Martin put them there.”

“Martin! Come now, Lady Anne, don’t blame the loyal servant. It’s unworthy of you.”

“He doesn’t like me.” Her arms were now crossed over her ample bosom. She vibrated righteous indignation and irritation with him. With the world. She put up a good front, but at some point would have to admit her careless mistake.

“Oh, Martin doesn’t like women. It’s nothing personal. I’ve told you that before. Look, I’ve really got to go. If Mrs. Chapman can’t get the inn ready on such short notice, we’ll be sunk. Do you want those girls to come here to clean, or shall I send them to the Silver Pony?”

“I don’t care where they go.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back later. May as well offer my services where they’ll be wanted. And get a decent meal,” he said with an apt parting shot.

He heard the vases shatter before he opened the front door.

The next few minutes proved he should have stayed and let Annie hit him on the head with a flying object. In his haste to get into the house, Gareth had abandoned Job. Instead of wandering into the stable like a good horse, he was nowhere to be found. Gareth whistled. Gareth shouted. Gareth cursed himself and the animal for good measure. Job was a prime bit of horseflesh—though temperamental, true—and he didn’t want to see him injured. He grabbed a saddle and bridle from the tack room in hopes of encountering the animal on the lane, but found nothing but the laden cart blocking the road.