Lady Beware (30 page)

Thea returned to the carriage with Darien. “I suppose now we should go and find Harriet.”

He gave the direction and the carriage moved off, so much more smoothly than a hackney, but nothing was smooth anymore. A tear escaped.

“Don't,” Darien said softly. “Don't weep for her. She's…”

She's not worth it.

“She's the closest to a sister I have,” she choked out. “What am I to do for her?”

“Sometimes there's nothing you can do. But I can get rid of Foxstall.”

“No. No violence.”

“Thea, I can't let this stand.”

“Because of the feathers?” she asked, looking into his resolute eyes. “But Maddy knows, too. Silencing him won't solve anything.”

“You really think she'll betray you?” He sounded shocked.

“I hope not, but…”

He sighed. “Listen, she can't do anything without risking exposure, whereas Foxstall won't care. And he smashes things out of spite.”

“He might smash you.”

“No,” he said flatly.

“You can't be sure of that! I can't bear the thought of you dead. Or of you killing him.”

He brushed his knuckles down her damp cheek. “I know. But I must destroy Foxstall, for what he did to your cousin and for the threat he holds over you.”

“What does it matter?” Thea asked, trying for a Maddy tone. “We'll simply have to marry. Will that be so bad?”

He smiled slightly, but without softening. “Yes. Do you imagine that I'd allow you to face scandal and shame when I can prevent it?”

Tears were pouring now, and not graciously. She pulled out a handkerchief and tried to stop the flow. “But we deserve scandal and shame. We did much the same. Why should anyone die over this?”

“He's not going to die for taking your cousin to his bed.”

“What if
you
die?” she cried.

He simply drew her into his arms and rocked her, gentle but implacable.

The carriage stopped outside Westminster Abbey. They parted, but neither of them moved to get out. Ignoring the liveried footman who'd appeared outside the door ready to open it, Darien took out a handkerchief of his own and wiped away her tears.

“This is like a battle,” he said. “Some wives wept and the truly weak even begged their men not to go. Tears can never change duty, only make it harder. Please, Thea, don't weep.”

She blew her nose. “That's not fair. I
want
to change things.”

“You can't.”

“You put yourself at my command,” she reminded him.

“No longer.”

She knew he wanted to kiss her, but with the footman there, even standing statue-still and looking away, he couldn't.

“If I return to you with his blood on my hands, what will you do?”

She wanted to say that it wouldn't matter, that it couldn't touch her love, but at a moment like this, she could only give him the truth. “I don't know.”

D
arien delivered Thea and her tight-lipped maid back to Yeovil House, but left before the duchess could appear. He returned to the Crown and Magpie as quickly as possible, but found Foxstall had already cleared out for good. The innkeeper had no idea where he'd moved to, only that he'd left shortly after Darien and the ladies, but not seeming to be in a hurry.

Darien considered a search of London, but if Foxstall wanted to keep out of sight, he would. Unless the search was widespread. The Rogues? They seemed to have a network of useful servants and others.

He went to Delaney's house but found they'd finally left Town. The nearest alternative was Stephen Ball's place. He was out of Town, too, as was Arden. So much for the Rogues' support.

Darien went to Van's. “At least you're here,” he growled.

“There's a gathering of Rogues at Marlowe in Nottingham. Do you really still need nursemaids?”

“Be careful,” Darien snapped, and Van's brows went up.

“What's happened?”

Darien couldn't tell anyone the details, but he said, “Foxstall's crossed the line. I need to deal with him, but he's made himself scarce.”

“I did warn you about him.”

“You were right. Set the word around, will you, that if anyone sees him, I need to know.”

“Very well. Are you still coming to Rathbone's tonight?”

A card party. “Give my excuses. I wouldn't be good company.”

Darien spent the next two days hunting Foxstall without success. He avoided Thea, but he did write her a vaguely worded reassurance that all would be well, hoping he could keep that promise. As part of that, he visited Lady Harroving.

The lady was far too interested in him for comfort, but by engaging in some flattery and flirtation, he discovered that she saw no connection between Thea and the feathers. Certainly someone had been naughty in her linen room, and feathers had been found there, but a little teasing conversation had proved his reassurance to Thea correct. Lady Harroving's servants knew that gossip about the goings-on during the masquerade meant instant dismissal without a character.

The lady made no secret of her association with Foxstall and revealed how he might know all. The feathers had been lying around her boudoir when Foxstall visited her and she'd told him where they'd been found. She hinted that they'd been used in some sort of love play and could be again. Darien had eased out of her presence, and breathed a sigh of relief.

There was still danger, however. The fight had placed Thea close to the linen room. A large enough bribe would loosen the servant's tongue. If Foxstall put it all together and waved it in the world's face, it would be undeniable. Therefore, he had to be stopped.

 

Despite the treasured note, Thea spent two days braced for scandal, duel, or both, but also tussling with her reaction to violence. She had to come to terms with it to marry Darien. She wished she could lie to him, but when she told him she loved him, loved all about him, it had to be the truth.

Her mother drove her to distraction by asking too often why Darien hadn't stayed long enough to speak to her, and wondering why he still didn't visit, but on Saturday, she said, “Ah, well, he'll be at church tomorrow.”

So he would. Thea spent the day in a mindless daze.

When they arrived at St. George's, however, Darien hadn't yet arrived. Thea tried not to watch for him, but she found so many excuses to turn to look that her mother asked if she was all right. The service was about to begin. Was he truly so determined to avoid her?

Then a verger passed a note to her father, who read it, then murmured, “Darien won't be able to attend.” His lips were tight.

Thea's heart beat with fear and she needed details, but the organ played and they all rose. Instead, she prayed. Had Darien found Foxstall and fought him? Was he fleeing the law, or lying wounded?

She prayed as never before for his safety, and for another chance. Her blind terror finally convinced her that she could not live without him.

Once they were out of the church, she demanded, “What happened to Darien, Papa?”

“An unpleasantness at his house.” Her father was attempting to appear relaxed as they strolled toward their waiting coach, but Thea knew something was terribly wrong.

Surely, however, he wouldn't speak of a death as an unpleasantness? And “at his house”? That couldn't mean a duel. She wanted to hurry there, but as usual they had to pause every few steps to exchange greetings.

Then Thea noticed whispers that felt horribly like those first days.

“A bloody corpse!”
someone hissed.

She turned, trying to guess who'd said it. Darien's corpse?

“Thea.”

The sharp reprimand made Thea turn back and replace her smile. But they'd been waylaid by Lord and Lady Rotherport now, an older couple but eagle-eyed gossips.

“Quite horrible,” Lady Rotherport was saying, bright-eyed, “but given the family, perhaps understandable.”

Murdering the current Viscount Darien?

“I don't see the relevance,” the duchess said. “Darien's family has nothing to do with someone killing a pig.”

“A pig?” Thea gasped.

“Shocking,” her mother agreed, but with a sharp look that commanded Thea to control herself.

“It took place in the Hanover Square gardens,” Lady Rotherport protested. “At night. In the exact spot where Mary Wilmott was found.”

Thea might have turned faint except for relief that Darien was unhurt. Physically, at least. This must be horrible for him. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked.

“A trail of footprints led from the carcass to Cave House,” Lord Rotherport said with relish. “Just as before. The poor Wilmotts.”

“Fortunately they've left Town,” the duke said, sounding bored.

“Only Lady Wilmott, Yeovil. Sir George is soldiering on.”

By killing pigs in the garden? Thea wondered. Mary Wilmott's still-grieving father might be driven to such extremes. She'd known Darien shouldn't be living in that house.

Thea's mother took charge. “Come, Yeovil, we must go and offer our support to Lord Darien. Such a tiresome inconvenience for him.” She led the march to the waiting carriage. Thea followed, feeling something would burst from her effort to appear as if bodies and blood were simply tiresome.

As soon as the carriage moved off, Thea's father said, “Sarah, dear….”

“If we don't go, it will look as if we're abandoning him.”

He sighed. “Very well.”

As they rolled into Hanover Square, however, they heard angry voices. The duke leaned to look ahead. “A mob. No, Sarah, it will not do.” He instructed the carriage to continue along a quiet side of the square and leave.

“But Darien…,” Thea protested, craning to see his house.

“Is well able to take care of himself.”

“Maria's house isn't far from here, Charles,” the duchess said. “We shall go there and send someone back to find out what's going on.”

The duke agreed to this and gave the order.

Thea had seen no sign of Darien in the square, thank heavens. She was frightened, but as much by the mob as the vile act. These days, with such hardship in the country, a mob seemed to form over any little thing, and they could rapidly get out of hand. Innocent people had been hurt and even killed, and often the rich and powerful seemed a natural target. A mob didn't heed whether the inhabitants of a private coach were careless oppressors or those who worked hard to ease suffering.

 

There'd been no blood-splattering for weeks, but Darien had kept up the habit of checking the front of the house before his ride each day. There'd been no mischief at all until today, when there'd been blood. Only traces this time, but a bloody handprint on the door.

He'd gone to the kitchens to tell Ellie to clean it up and continued on to the stables. Why hadn't he looked around and found the bloody footsteps? He could have had the whole mess cleaned up before anyone saw it. As it was, he'd returned from his ride to a tense atmosphere in the stables. He'd shown nothing, but he'd signaled to Nid without getting off Cerb.

Nid had come alongside and told him the gruesome story. “Load of idiots, sir, thinking you've gone stark mad and taken to murdering pigs. But the mood's ugly.”

Darien's instinct was to confront, to fight, but he knew when caution was wisest. He'd no mind to be trapped in his house by an angry mob, perhaps stirred up for some particular purpose. Foxstall? He was sure the man would want to do him harm.

“Go to the house,” he instructed the groom, “and tell the Prussocks to get out if they can. If not, they're to stay away from windows, and not put themselves in danger to protect the house. You, too. I'll be back soon to restore order.”

He rode to Van's. He only remembered when he got there that he was supposed to be at St. George's, cementing his reputation of worthy piety and friends in high places. He laughed bitterly. However this turned out, Sweet Mary Wilmott and Mad Marcus Cave would be on everyone's lips again, and he'd be back to the beginning.

Was this Foxstall's revenge? He was capable of it, but it was too mild. He'd not think social embarrassment punishment enough.

He found Van and Maria about to leave for church, but they discarded that to hold a startled analysis of the situation. A couple of their servants were sent off to discover more, and a message was sent to the Yeovils at St. George's.

Speculating did little good, and when Van's servants returned, they could only report that the mob was growing in size and turning nasty. Even though the remains were of a pig, it had been roughly dressed in a woman's blue gown, so some still insisted it was a person. Even some of those who believed it was a pig were saying that it had been killed to hide human blood.

“With talk of mad Caves, I assume,” Darien said, head in hands.

“They'll soon discover no one's missing,” Maria said, “which will put an end to that, at least.”

“How?” Darien demanded, looking up. “They'll not find anyone missing from Hanover Square, I hope, but I'm sure some woman went missing in London last night, so why not assume she was my victim? The only difference between me and Marcus being that he was too insane to cover up his crime.”

“Then we have to discover who did do this,” Van said, “and why. The family of the girl? The Wilmotts?”

“No, I can't believe that,” Maria protested. “They're decent people. Lady Wilmott is out of Town and Sir George isn't that sort of man. If he took any action, he'd confront you in the street, Canem, or even spit in your eye. Nothing sneaking like this. This,” she added, frowning, “is
peculiar
. Do you have any enemies?”

Darien laughed.

“I mean personal ones.”

He decided not to mention Foxstall. “Not of this dimension, no.”

“Then who would want to wreck your attempt to restore your family's reputation?”

“Admiral Sir Plunkett Dynnevor?”

“This isn't a joking matter,” she said severely, “and he's in Gibraltar.”

“And he'd hardly go to such lengths to prevent his daughter marrying your brother,” Van pointed out.

“Why not? I would if I were him.”

“Let's keep our tempers,” Maria said. “People don't do things for no reason. What was the reason?”

Darien rose to his feet. “Perhaps it's not a person. Perhaps it's Marcus's cursed spirit.” The others stared and he added, “I'm not entirely joking. I think the house is haunted.”

“'Struth,” Van said. “You really must abandon it. Move in here.”

“After this?”

“Especially after this.”

“No.”

“He's right, Van,” Maria said. “To move without clearing this up would look very bad. In fact—”

The door knocker rapped. They all fell silent, perhaps all feeling the same wariness. But how could trouble follow Darien here?

The footman came in. “The Duke and Duchess of Yeovil are below, ma'am, and Lady Theodosia Debenham.”

Maria smiled with relief. “Bring them up, Simon.”

They all rose to greet their guests, but Darien felt this was another straw on his breaking back. He didn't want the Yeovils involved in this sordid mess. Especially Thea. He risked a look at her and caught an expression of furious militancy.

Don't, love. Don't side with me.

The details had to be recited again.

“A dress,” the duchess said, shocked.

“A pig,” Thea said, but thoughtfully. “Wouldn't it be hard to acquire a live pig in Mayfair?”

“And transport it,” Maria said. “They squeal.”