My Lord Murderer (29 page)

Hetty smiled. “If this night’s work does anything to make you see my brother in his true light, I shall be thanked enough.”

Gwen turned back to gaze at the fire. “I have been unforgiveably unfair to your brother tonight. And I’m at a loss as to how to make my apologies to him. He may even be badly hurt…!”

“I feel sure his wound cannot be severe. He looked in adequate health when he came stalking out of here,” Hetty said. “And as for apologies, they won’t be at all necessary if you’ll only tell him that you’ll have him.”

Gwen swung round. “
Marry
him, you mean?” She smiled ruefully. “I’m quite certain that Lord Jamison discarded
that
idea many weeks ago. I’ve long since killed any
tendre
he may have had for me.”

“I’m not at all sure of that, my dear,” Hetty ventured.

“But I am. Besides, nothing has really changed because of this dreadful night. I still could never marry the man who killed Edward Rowle, no matter how I’ve wronged him since.”

Hetty jumped up and stamped her foot in irritation. “Dash it, Gwen, are you still harping on the
duel?
I dislike railing at you when you are so sorely beset, but it makes my blood boil to think that, after all he has done for you, you still believe that my brother is capable of a cold-blooded murder!”

“I don’t blame you, Hetty, for saying these things. He is your brother, and loving and devoted to you at all times, I have no doubt, but—”

“Don’t talk fustian! Not that it signifies, but he is certainly
not
always loving and devoted. He scolds me quite vigorously when the occasion demands. He has, on occasion, a quick temper and a harsh tongue. But he is never,
never
thoughtless or unkind or cruel! And for you to persist in the belief that he intentionally harmed poor Rowle is the outside of enough!”

“I’m sorry, Hetty. I don’t wish to quarrel with you when you’ve been so very good to me. After tonight, I won’t speak to you of the duel ever again. It does you credit to have such faith in your brother’s good character.”

Hetty pouted. “It’s
you
who should have faith in his good character.”

“How can I?” Gwen asked sadly, turning back to stare into the flames, “when Sir George told me how—” She gasped and stiffened. Turning quickly, she looked at Hetty with eyes wide with horror. “My God! Do you suppose that George lied to me about the duel, too?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Hetty answered firmly.

Gwen ran to the settee and knelt at Hetty’s feet, neither one of them noticing that the door had opened. “Hetty, for God’s sake, tell me!” Gwen pleaded, grasping Hetty’s hands in hers. “What really happened at that accursed duel?”

“Of course I’ll tell you,” Hetty said promptly, pulling Gwen up and urging her onto the settee beside her. “It is more than time that you heard the whole story.”

“Confound it, Hetty, have you no conscience? No sense of honor?” came an aggrieved voice from the doorway. Selby stood there, a mug of steaming wine in each hand and a stern frown on his face.

“Oh, Selby, why did you have to return so quickly?” Hetty said petulantly.

“A good thing I did,” he said, entering the room like a stern schoolmaster. Wys followed, his hesitant step indicating a certain lack of support for Selby’s stand.

“Here, Lady Rowle, drink this,” Selby said, offering her a mug. Then, handing the other to his wife, he added, “and you drink that. You may as well, for you’ve done all the
talking
you’re going to do.”

Gwen looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand. Has Hetty done something wrong?”

“She was about to,” her husband said grumpily.

“We all gave our words not to talk about the duel,” Wys explained.

“To whom?” Gwen asked.

“To Drew, of course,” Selby said brusquely.

“I see,” said Gwen, lowering her head.

“Then I hope you won’t mind if I change the subject,” Selby said in his most business-like tone. “Wystan and I have been discussing what to do. The weather is worsening rapidly, and we think it would be foolhardy to attempt to return to London tonight. As much as we all would dislike remaining under the same roof as Sir George, I think, Lady Rowle, it may be necessary.”

“He is sure to sleep for many hours, Gwen,” Wys added hastily, “and you may be sure that we will see to it that he has no opportunity to cross your path. So, you may rest comfortably and without fear.”

“I’ve taken the liberty, ladies,” Selby said, “to order dinner to be served in half an hour. The innkeeper has prepared another parlor down the hall, so that we need not remain here amid all this chaos. Whether you wish to go to your rooms to rest, or to sit at the fire in the other room, this would seem to be the time to leave this one.”

Gwen rose quickly. “You have been more than kind. I can’t find words with which to thank you for all you’ve done. Your arrangements are quite satisfactory to me. However, if you will all excuse me, I shall retire for the night. I don’t feel quite up to eating dinner, and I s-suddenly find that I’m quite w-weary…” Her voice seemed to fail her and, with her head lowered, she walked hurriedly to the door.

“Gwen, wait!” Hetty cried in concern. “You
must
eat something. Please say you’ll come down for dinner.”

Gwen, her hand poised on the doorknob, her back to the room, tried to speak, but her throat ached with the sobs she was holding back. With a quick, negative shake of her head, she ran from the room.

Hetty, arms akimbo, glared at her husband. “
Now
see what you’ve done! She’s upset all over again.”

“I don’t know what
I
have to do with that,” he said innocently.

“Why couldn’t you leave us alone? It’s more than time that poor girl learned the truth about the duel.”

Selby raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Is there never to be an end to my wife’s interfering tricks?” he asked the heavens. “Am I never to have a moment’s peace? Am I expected to put up with deceit and lies and dishonor?”

Wys expelled a little snort of laughter. “Doing it a bit brown, aren’t you, Selby? I must admit I’m almost in agreement with Hetty in this.”

Selby rolled his eyes toward Wys in dismay. “You can’t mean it!”

“But I
do
mean it. Hasn’t this gone far enough? What harm can it do to tell Gwen now?”

Hetty nodded with satisfaction. She was delighted to have support from this unexpected quarter. “See?” she said triumphantly to her husband. “Even Wys agrees with me now! Go ahead and answer his question.”

“I don’t know what harm it can do, just as I don’t know what
good
it can do,” said the always-logical Lord Selby ponderously. “I only know that we gave our solemn words. Does your word mean nothing to you any more, Mr. Farr?”

“You know it does! That’s the devil of it,” Wys admitted ruefully.

Hetty threw up her hands in disgust. “Oh, you men and your
honor
! It was your stupid honor that caused the duel in the first place, and it is your stupid honor that now prevents us from curing the ills that resulted from it. Well, I, for one, have had enough of your honor. I’ll gladly break my word if it means my brother’s happiness. So stand aside, please. I’m going up to Gwen.”

“How can you decide for your brother what will make him happy?” her husband asked with asperity. “What makes you think he still wants Gwen Rowle? After the ridiculous way that shatter-brained female has behaved all these weeks, it’s my belief that Drew is well rid of her!”

“That’s unkind, Selby,” Wys remonstrated. “Gwen has had her reasons for what she’s done. And one of them is the fact that she’s been kept in ignorance about that duel.”

“Yes, indeed,” Hetty said in vehement agreement. “If I had told her when I first wanted to, they might be happily wed by this time.”

Selby snorted. “Ha! Wishful thinking, if you ask me. But be that as it may, the fact remains that I saw Drew storming out of here not over an hour ago with a look on his face that chilled my blood. If that was the look of a man in love, I’m out in my reckoning.”

“I don’t know, Selby,” Wys said thoughtfully. “He swore to me this morning that he’d have nothing to do with her, yet here he came! How would you explain
that
, if it were not due to love?”

“It
could
have been due to decency. Drew has always had a chivalrous streak.”

Wys subsided. “You may be right. We have no right to meddle, in any case,” he said slowly.

Hetty’s face dropped. “You mean you’ve changed your mind?” she demanded of poor Wys. He looked at her regretfully and shrugged. “Well,
I
haven’t. I’m going to Gwen right now.” And she walked to the door mutinously.

“Hetty,” came her husband’s voice, coldly calm, “if you break your sworn word, I will not speak to you again.”

Hetty hesitated at the door. She knew that tone in Selby’s voice. She knew, too, that her happiness depended on him and his love. Her resolve wavered, but her conviction that she was right and the men wrong was quite strong. “Oh, pooh!” she said bravely, “you’ll never stick to a resolve like that!”

“My word of honor,” Selby said briefly.

She flashed a questioning, frightened look at him. He met her eye, unmoved. Her hand fell from the doorknob, and she turned to surrender to his demand, when her eye fell on a puddle of blood drying on the floor. Drew’s blood. She raised her head defiantly. “Well, you must do what you must,” she said quietly, “just as
I
must.” And she opened the door.

“Hetty!” her husband said warningly.

She cast him one last glance—a strange combination of boldness and appeal—and fled. Selby remained rooted to the spot, his eyes on the door she had just shut, a wave of perplexed chagrin washing over him. Feeling Wys’s eye on him, he turned. Wys was watching him with an unmistakable hint of laughter hovering about his mouth. “What do you find so amusing?” Selby barked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Wys said quickly, trying—not too successfully—to keep the grin from widening. “It’s just … well, you should not have given your word of honor, you know.” He choked back a laugh. “You’re going to have to endure a good many years of enforced silence.”

“All right, you lobcock,” Selby sputtered, “let’s have a little silence from
you
! I don’t care what the rest of you do now. As for me,
I’m
going down the hall to eat my dinner!”

Up in her bedroom, Gwen sat at the window under the dormer and looked out at the blackness. All she could see were the little white flakes that swirled close enough to the window to catch the faint light from her room and an oblong patch of light which spilled from the window of the taproom onto the snow below. From the look of it, the level of the snow had deepened considerably since she had left the window some two hours ago.

But the snowstorm no longer worried her. Her commitment to marry George no longer worried her. There would be no marriage and no burning necessity to hurry back to London. She was safe, surrounded by friends who were concerned for her welfare and ready to protect her, even from herself. The ache inside her should therefore diminish, the turmoil of the thoughts abate, the pounding in her temples cease, the flush of her cheeks fade. But neither the torment of her spirit nor the restlessness of her body had yet eased. She could not banish from her mind the picture of Drew as she had seen him when the innkeeper had opened the door of the parlor—his hair disheveled, his cheek bruised, his left hand dripping blood. And another picture haunted her—his scornful eyes and mocking sneer as he made a scathing denunciation of her judgment of the character of men. What was it he had said? “Your superb judgment of the male character has been unerring in the past, hasn’t it?”

Oh, yes, she had erred. She had mistaken the character of Edward badly enough, and she had gone on to be completely taken in by George. How badly had she been mistaken about Drew? Was it possible that he had not been at fault in shooting Edward? Had she, because of blind prejudice and her own guilt, been more susceptible to Pollard’s lies than the truth that everyone else, even Hazel, had been able to see? If so, she had foolishly, wantonly,
unforgivably
thrown away her only chance of happiness.

Because she knew now how much she loved Drew. When she had thrown open the parlor doors and seen what she thought was Pollard’s dead body on the floor, it was not for Pollard that her heart had broken. It was for the fate of the murderer who stood before her with the sword in his hand. It was fear that Drew would end on the gallows that had made her blood run cold.

When Hetty came in, Gwen could almost guess what she would say. Once she was able to admit the possibility that she could have been wrong about the duel, she could begin to imagine other circumstances. If Drew had
not
aimed the gun deliberately and cold-bloodedly at the frightened, white-faced and shivering Edward (and how out of character for Drew that action now seemed), then something else must have taken place. The possibilities were many. Why had she not seen that before?

Hetty sat on the bed and told Gwen the story in full detail. At its conclusion, Gwen merely nodded. Hetty could read the agony in her eyes as Gwen relived the moment that Edward, in hysterical relief to see Drew indicate his intention to delope, pointed a shaking pistol at Drew and fired too soon. But Gwen could not say a word. After a while, Hetty rose to go. “I hope I’ve done the right thing, telling you all this, my dear,” Hetty said in deep concern, “but perhaps you will believe me now.”

Gwen turned to gaze at Hetty with a look of profound regret. “I should have known it without being told,” she said in a voice vibrant with pain. “Oh, Hetty, I
should have known!
”

Chapter Seventeen

D
REW, DESPITE THE WOUND
in his hand, managed to return to London by morning. The others, however, because of their decision to remain at the inn for the night, found themselves unable to leave. The snow continued unabated for two days, making the roads impassable. Their imprisonment within the confines of the small hostelry was not a particularly pleasant one. For one thing, Selby, keeping his word of honor, would not say one word to his wife despite the fact that they were thrown together much more than they would have been at home. For another, George Pollard had recovered enough in a couple of days to leave his room from time to time, and one or another of the party would come face-to-face with him in the corridor with embarrassing frequency. He was, however, wise enough to avoid Gwen.