Never Kiss a Rake (2 page)

Don’t trust any of them. Someone’s stealing money, and it looks like Kilmartyn’s in league with them, no matter what excuses he makes. Don’t trust Morgan either. Never trust a pirate. Something’s going on, and I’ll get to the bottom of it, or

Don’t trust anyone. That’s what her father had dashed off, a note to himself, but for Bryony it was something else. It was purpose. The idea that there was actually something that could be done was a tonic to her soul. There was no way she could bring her father back, but if she could ensure whoever was truly behind this met justice it would give them all some kind of peace, or, at the very least, resolution.

“We don’t even know that he was murdered,” Sophie protested. “Simply because you found an odd note among Father’s papers doesn’t mean we should pay it any heed. Carriage accidents do happen, you know. And who’s to say that Father didn’t take that money?”

“Because Papa was almost maddeningly honest, and he instilled those values in all of us,” Bryony said firmly. “I simply cannot believe he would ever do such a thing.”

“I told you,” Maddy snapped at her younger sister. “If you ever used your brain to think about anything but fashion and food…”

“We aren’t getting to enjoy any fashion,” Sophie shot back, plucking at her black-dyed mourning dress. “And since I’m the only one who can cook around here we’re not getting to enjoy the food either.”

“Stop fighting!” Bryony said wearily, not for the first time. “I swear, the two of you are like angry cats. If we’re to get through this with any kind of success we have to work together.”

“Sorry,” Sophie muttered, casting a half-resentful, half-apologetic look at Maddy.

“I’m sorry, Bryony,” Maddy said with a degree more sincerity. “Where do you propose we start?”

Bryony sat back, pouring herself another cup of the strong, cheap tea they were subsisting on. “I can think of three suspects—Papa named two of them. The Earl of Kilmartyn was his business partner and made a
fortune at Papa’s side. Papa distrusted him, and for some reason the bank panic didn’t affect him in the slightest. He’s the most logical choice. He’s a well-known rake, despite his beautiful wife, and he’s got the morals of an alley cat, or so I’ve been told.”

“He’s too obvious,” Maddy said. “What about Captain Morgan? Father had just removed him from his command, and he was on his way to Devonport when the accident happened. When our choice is between a peer of the realm and a former pirate the answer seems logical.”

“Privateer,” Bryony corrected firmly. Maddy had a tendency to be overdramatic. “You’re right, though. Captain Morgan appears to be a man who wouldn’t blink at the thought of murder. I don’t believe Father ever trusted him completely. Although there are a number of reasons to drive to Devonport—visiting Captain Morgan being only one of them. There did appear to be bad blood between them.”

“There was bad blood between Father and almost everyone he ever met,” Sophie scoffed. “Honest or not, he was hardly the most convivial of individuals. Surely you’re not suggesting Captain Morgan embezzled a fortune and killed our father out of pique?”

“It’s something you would do,” Maddy said pointedly.

Sophie shrugged with surprising good nature. “I suppose I might, if someone annoyed me enough. But what about Viscount Blackhurst? With our father’s death he regained ownership of Renwick, no small treasure. He already murdered his wife. Why hesitate to kill a total stranger if you stand to gain that much?”

“We don’t know that he murdered his wife,” Bryony corrected her. “It’s just rumor. And of the three I admit he seems the least likely. The man was already wealthy, and he owned several estates. Besides, Father didn’t seem to suspect him.”

“Clearly Father didn’t know everything, if he ended up dead,” Sophie replied, sinking back on the window seat and staring out into the rain-drenched city, the sheen of her unshed tears barely noticeable. She looked like a gorgeous, shining doll amidst the trappings of a black crow. Mourning clothes had been expensive, even using the cheapest of worsted, but
instead of diminishing Sophie’s vibrant beauty the stark black only made her more stunning. “Why don’t we simply go with our original plan? I’ll marry someone fabulously wealthy and very handsome and support the two of you.”

“This mythical husband of yours has yet to materialize,” Maddy pointed out. “And may I remind you that my suitor discovered a pressing need to travel to South America when all of this came out?”

“Just because you couldn’t hold on to Tarkington doesn’t mean I’ll have similar problems.”

“Stop it!” Bryony said sharply. “This is difficult enough. If we spend all our time arguing with each other we’ll never find out what happened! Surely you don’t want our father’s murderer to go scot-free?”

“We don’t know for sure that he was murdered,” Sophie said in a sulky voice.

“No, we have no proof. A hasty note in Father’s hand that tells us not to trust anyone. Not to mention the fact that every penny of his fortune has disappeared, leaving us on the streets,” Maddy pointed out in a caustic voice.

“Not on the streets,” Bryony said, a stickler for accuracy. “These rooms are warm and comfortable, and there are relatives who have offered us a home any time we choose. In fact, we were just about to leave when I found the note in a box of his papers.” She glanced over at the stained piece of paper on the small table. No matter how many times she read it, it still failed to make any sense.

“Of course there are,” Maddy shot back. “I could live with second cousin Rosalie and take care of her seven ghastly children in between running errands.”

“And how is that different from going into service?” Sophie countered.

“Because there’s no way out from Cousin Rosalie’s,” Maddy said gloomily. “No answers to be found, and not even a farthing to show for it. I’d rather be an honest maid than a slavey for Cousin Rosalie.”

“I thought the whole point was not being particularly honest,” Sophie pointed out.

“That’s enough,” Bryony said firmly. “Neither of you is required to do anything. I came up with the idea, and I’ll follow through. If I can get a job in Lord Kilmartyn’s household it would give me access to his papers. No man can keep secrets from his domestics. Within a matter of days, weeks at the most, I should have my answer, and if he proves innocent I can move on to the viscount or Captain Morgan.”

“What do you intend to do?” Maddy asked, putting her own cold tea down with a grimace. “Could we even pass muster as maids?”

“I’m going to apply for the post of housekeeper. Apparently Lord Kilmartyn is always in need of one—the last stayed less than a month. Given his reputation, he probably drives them away with his reprehensible behavior. I don’t know how his wife can bear it. But I’m not going to be driven away. You know that I’m much better suited to being a housekeeper. Maids are supposed to be pleasant to look upon. Have you ever seen a maid who looks like me?” Bryony said evenly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Maddy snapped. “You’re beautiful!”

“My face is covered with pox scars, Maddy.”

“Only half of it,” Sophie piped up with devastating loyalty. “And the other side is very pretty. Of course you’re not as pretty as I am—no one is—but you’re still well enough.”

Bryony laughed, used to her sister’s backhanded compliments. “I also know more about running a household than I do about cleaning and dusting. I ran both the town house and Renwick for years, ever since Mama died. I think I’d be perfectly prepared to be a housekeeper. And I already have the right clothes.” She plucked at her plain, ugly dress.

“And when would this start?” Maddy said dubiously.

“I have an interview tomorrow.”

Her two sisters stared at her in dismay. “Don’t you think you should have brought this up earlier?” Maddy said finally.

Bryony managed to smile. “I was afraid you might talk me out of it.”

“And so we should,” Sophie said. “This is absurd.”

“At least I feel I’m doing something,” she shot back. “Not just sitting around waiting… waiting for God knows what.” She sighed. “In the meantime I want the two of you to go stay with Nanny Gruen while I’m
working in the Kilmartyn household. I’m old enough to stand as chaperone to the two of you and keep your reputations intact, but you cannot stay together without someone to look out for you. Nanny Gruen has been begging us to come ever since Father died, and I’ve written to tell her you’ll be on your way.”

“Awfully high-handed of you, Bryony,” Maddy said sternly. “Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you have say over our actions.”

“I don’t want to stay with our old nanny,” Sophie broke in. “Her cottage is too close to Renwick, and if you think I can sit by and watch that… that wife-murdering usurper swan around
our
house then you’re mistaken.”

“Renwick isn’t our house anymore, Sophie,” Maddy said with more kindness than she usually showed her spoiled baby sister. “And it wasn’t ours in the first place—Father won it from the current viscount’s father in a card game. We only had lifetime rights to it, rights that vanished when Father died. We need to accept that.”

Sophie glared mutinously, obviously not prepared to accept anything, and Bryony spoke before another battle could erupt.

“I’ve bought tickets on tomorrow’s stage to Somerset and I’ve written Nanny to expect you. Don’t fight me on this, please. I hate the thought of separating.” Bryony gave Maddy a rueful smile. “You would have left me soon enough, if Tarkington had come up to scratch.”

Maddy shrugged. “Who can blame him for running scared? In place of an heiress he was confronted with a pauper with a cloud over her head. And it wasn’t as if I were in love with him.”

“Of course not,” Bryony said firmly, knowing how Maddy had wept bitter tears over the faithless Tarkington.

“He was a weak-chinned idiot who didn’t deserve you,” said Sophie, who held the strong belief that no one should criticize Maddy but her younger sister. Maddy smiled at her, and Bryony sighed in relief. For all their squabbling, her sisters loved each other, and Nanny Gruen would keep them safe.

“Then we’re agreed,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow you two travel to Somerset and I will go to my interview.”

“But what if they don’t hire you, Bryony?” Sophie inquired.

“As I said, they’ve had a great deal of trouble maintaining a decent staff at their house in Berkeley Square, though I’m not sure why. In any case, my forged credentials are impeccable, and I’m quiet, forceful, yet unassuming. They’ll take me.”

Neither Maddy nor Sophie protested this self-assured statement. Indeed, they believed their older sister capable of anything she set her mind to, Bryony thought. She only wished this were more a matter of fact than bravado.

“Then we’re decided,” she continued. “I think we should break into Sophie’s supply of tea cakes. They’re sinfully good for only your second attempt at baking.”

Sophie preened. “Let’s eat them all,” she said recklessly. “I’m ready to tackle bread next.”

“I’m sure Nanny will give you plenty of scope for your culinary genius,” Maddy said, not without kindness. She looked at her older sister. “There’s no chance at changing your mind, Bryony?”

“None at all,” she said.

“Then tea cakes it is.”

B
RYONY STOOD OUTSIDE
the large town house on Berkeley Square that was home to the notorious Adrian Bruton, Earl of Kilmartyn, and his beautiful wife. Bryony had never stepped foot inside it—indeed, she had shunned society completely for her entire adult life, a fact which now served her well. Standing on the street, her drab mourning garb washed and faded to a dull brown, the ugly hat pulled down over her tightly braided hair, she felt as if she were entering into battle.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. This had been her idea, and a good one it was. She was more than capable of carrying off the role of housekeeper—that was all she’d been since she’d left the schoolroom. Most of her life she’d been immured in the countryside, and no one in London would recognize her, despite the distinctive scars. With her light hair pulled back tight against her scalp, her too-generous mouth pulled into a grim expression, she could pass muster with the best of them.