Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (8 page)

He chose a spot on the lee of a gentle slope, the field
rolling away before them until the wheat ended in a stretch of wood. The oaks
were stiff and dark, a line of winter across the hope of spring. He spread a
plaid blanket on the ground, and she set her back to the view of the trees and
opened her sketch book.

“All this is yours, then?” she asked as he pulled bread,
cheese, and fruit from the knapsack. Her hand strayed across the surface of the
open page of her sketch book, and she had a sudden desire to draw him. She
watched his profile, strong yet gentle. It would be a challenge to capture so
complex a gentleman. The idea was heady, and she found her hand trembling. She
shut the book and reached instead for the food he had set out.

“As far as the eye can see, or so they tell me.” He dug out
a silver flask and poured cider into two tin cups. They were dented and
scratched, and somehow she did not think they had come from the Brentfield
kitchen. “Everything you see belongs to Brentfield, except for that stretch of
wood. Supposedly that marks the dividing line between the estate and the lands
of Prestwick Park. I’ve been trying to find the records that show exactly
where. I even wrote to the Earl of Prestwick, but he hasn’t answered. He
probably suspected I was trying to take more than is mine. That’s more likely
the reason he hasn’t introduced himself, not her ladyship’s excuse of my lack
of pedigree.”

“I don’t understand the reference,” Hannah confessed,
hackles rising at the thought of how cavalierly the countess sometimes treated
David. “You are a Tenant, are you not?”

“Is that with a capital T?” he teased. “Yes, I’m a Tenant,
but I had no idea I had relatives still in England, let alone in the
aristocracy. My four-times great grandfather came to America over a hundred
years ago, and his grandson settled in Boston in time to start the tea riots.
If we had aristocratic roots, they were burned right then and there. And with
me being a leather worker, by her ladyship’s standards, I’m not even good
enough to be a merchant. I’ll simply have to marry above my station.”

The bread was harder to swallow than she had thought, and
she washed it down with a draught of cider. “Yes, I understand.”

He set down his own slab of bread and cocked his head,
eyeing her. “That was a joke, Miss Alexander. I’ll marry as I please.”

She felt the color flooding her cheeks again and bowed her
head. “Of course you must do as you see fit.”

“That,” he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting her head up
so that her gaze was forced to meet his, “is the most sensible thing you’ve
said all morning.”

It took everything she had to pull away. “I seem to be
having a difficult time being sensible where you’re concerned,” she admitted.

“Then stop trying,” he quipped, winking at her. He took a
mouthful of the bread and chewed contentedly. The breeze ruffled his silky
hair. She could easily marry this man. But joke as he would, he needed to marry
an aristocrat if he was to be accepted socially. Hannah squared her shoulders.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous? To whom? How?”

“To both of us! You asked that we be candid, my lord. Surely
you can see the difficulties coming. The very fact that you feel we must hide
our meetings proves as much. Gentlemen may be able to laugh off such
clandestine meetings, but we women have reputations to consider. Even in
America there must be some expectations of young ladies having chaperones.”

“You’re a chaperone,” he grinned. “I have never felt safer.”

Hannah threw up her hands. “Will you be serious? Do you want
to be thought of as less than a gentleman?”

“I am less than a gentleman,” he reminded her, not unkindly.
“And rather proud of it. And I assure you I won’t breathe a word of any of this
to anyone, except perhaps to our grandchildren.”

Hannah caught her breath, but he merely winked at her again
and went on munching. “Tease,” she accused him.

He grinned again. “Better to laugh than to cry. Besides, you
English worry too much.” He leaned back on his elbow as if to prove that he was
immune to such petty concerns.

“Not so!” Hannah felt compelled to defend her country. “It
was our Andrew Marvel who said ‘seize the day.’”

“A man after my own heart,” David proclaimed. “Tell me, Miss
Alexander, what day would you seize if you could?”

She could think of one at the moment, but didn’t dare voice
it. “I’d study classical painting. And I imagine you’re one of the few who
won’t be shocked by that fact.”

“Not particularly,” he admitted, taking a sip of cider.
“Should I be?”

“Oh, my yes. In classical painting, the models are nude, you
see. It isn’t considered proper for a woman to view nudes.”

“Only to stand as a nude model before male painters,” he
said with arched brow.

“Ah, but those aren’t ladies. Still, I’m not unhappy being
relegated to portraits. People are so fascinating to study. I think I shall be
quite good at it, if I ever get the chance.” She realized she was bragging and
blushed.

“I’d like to see your work,” he declared. “Do you have any
pieces in your sketch book?”

She breathed a silent prayer that she had not yet started to
draw him. Surely the picture would confess her feelings. “A few.” Shyly she
pushed the book at him. He set down his cup and began to thumb through the pages.
Abruptly he stopped, peering closer. The next few pages were turned slowly and
thoughtfully. Hannah held her breath.

When he glanced up at her, his face was more serious than
she had ever seen it. “These are very good. I can almost imagine I know these
people. I could care about them. You have a gift, Miss Alexander. You must use
it.”

“I intend to,” she replied, and at that moment, she meant it
with all her heart. His praise warmed her, all the more precious for its
rarity. He nodded, returned the book, and resumed his contented munching.

All too soon, he declared it time to return to the house.

“We still have our exploring to do,” he reminded her when
she protested. He climbed to his feet and offered her a hand to help her up. As
he pulled her to his side, she found herself against his chest, his mouth scant
inches from her own. She did not so much as blink as he moved to close the
distance.

“Miss Alexander!”

Asheram’s call broke David’s concentration, and he jerked up
before his lips could meet Hannah’s. At the foot of the hill behind them, he
saw a carriage and horses. Asheram was climbing the hill. Although a moment ago
she had looked so sweet he had longed to kiss her, Hannah now thrust herself
away from him as if he had burned her and smoothed down her skirts. She looked
as adorable as she looked guilty. He winked at her, and she blushed.

“Miss Alexander,” Asheram panted as he reached them. “You
must return with me. Miss Ariadne Courdebas has taken ill.”

The blush disappeared. “Oh, dear, I was afraid of this. It’s
probably just an upset stomach, but she’s forever thinking she’s dying of some
dread disease. I’d better see what I can do.”

The fierce look on Asheram’s face told David it was useless
to argue. He bent and crammed the remainder of their picnic back into the
knapsack “I’ll come with you.” They hurried down the hill to the vehicle.

Based on Hannah’s words and his own assessment of the girl,
David was surprised to find on their return that Ariadne appeared to be quite ill
indeed. She lay ensconced in the huge bed of the room she had been given, her
normal rosy complexion a ghastly white. The bright light in her eyes told David
she was delirious.

“I’ll send for a doctor,” he promised Hannah, who
immediately took off her bonnet and cloak to help the maid minister to the
girl. David thought about staying as well, but Asheram motioned him out into
the corridor. Hannah offered him a regretful smile as he left.

“I’ve sent Weimers for Dr. Praxton,” his friend explained.
“I’m sure Miss Alexander is capable of handling the girl until he arrives.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” David snapped. “Where’s everyone
else? Her ladyship seems only too happy to play hostess until she’s
inconvenienced.”

“Lady Brentfield and the other young ladies are downstairs
while her ladyship’s and Priscilla’s things are moved to the east wing. Her
ladyship did not want to take the chance that this illness was contagious. She
has a Season to consider.”

David snorted. “But it’s all right to expose the other girls
and Miss Alexander?”

“Would you like me to remove their things as well?” Asheram
asked.

“Not until we’re certain this is dangerous. You saw the
girl, Ash. What do you think?”

To David’s surprise, his friend looked up and down the
corridor before drawing David farther from the open door. “I think Miss Ariadne
may have been poisoned.”

“What!” David quickly sorted through possibilities then
shook his head. “You’ve been listening to her ladyship, Ash. The Earl of
Prestwick may be a bit miffed with me, but you can’t think he’d drug an
innocent girl. What would he gain by it?”

“You assume it was the earl. From what the young ladies tell
me, Ariadne began feeling unwell on the carriage ride over. They cut short
their visit when her condition worsened. She collapsed before they reached
Brentfield. I suspect she was poisoned at breakfast.”

“But by whom and why?” David persisted, peering more closely
at his friend. From the first moment he had met Asheram on the boat from
America to England, the older man had impressed him as level-headed and
responsible. The London solicitor who had found David had insisted that David
take one of the two main cabins, himself going to sleep with the other
passengers in the hold rather than disturb the very important dignitary who supposedly
had reserved the second cabin. The solicitor had been shocked to find that
Asheram had been that dignitary.

David had found it amusing that the solicitor continually
tried to put the man in his place, and Asheram continually rose above it. The older
man’s serious demeanor had been a challenge, until David realized that
Asheram’s stiff comments often carried a biting humor. He could see no sign,
however, that his friend was trying to make light of the current situation.

“Ash, this doesn’t make any sense,” he protested. “How could
Ariadne have been poisoned under our noses? Mrs. Abbot had over a dozen dishes
on the sideboard at breakfast. All of us ate some of one thing or another. Yet
Ariadne is the only one sick.”

Asheram sighed. “My lord, you must believe me. I’m beginning
to suspect that Lady Brentfield is dangerous.”

“Lady Brentfield? Her ladyship isn’t even dangerous in
whist,” David countered. “Oh, I might tremble if I had a daughter looking to
get married. I have a feeling her ladyship could be vicious if she thought
Priscilla’s place was being threatened. But Ariadne Courdebas is no threat to
her. Priscilla is three times as beautiful and four times as talented. No,
Asheram, I refuse to believe I’m in any danger from her ladyship.”

“Very well. I’ll try another direction to get through to
you. Will you believe you’re in danger from Hannah Alexander?”

The thought was so ridiculous that David gave it up and
laughed.

Asheram shook his head. “You simply can’t see it, can you?
How can a man so wise in the ways of the world be so stupid when it comes to
self-preservation?”

David raised an eyebrow. “Just who got so caught up in a
card game that he wagered his own freedom?”

“But I nearly won!” Asheram protested earnestly. When David
continued to eye him, he stuck out his chin. “Very well. You’ve made your
point. Cards are my weakness, and they would have gotten the better of me that
night if you hadn’t interceded. I don’t know what came over me to want to play
with the crew. I will be forever in your debt. Let me return the favor. This
dalliance with Miss Alexander is dangerous, to both of you.”

His words were remarkably like those Hannah had uttered on
the hill that afternoon. He had heard the excuses about his reputation, and he
rejected them. “How am I endangering her?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“That got you, didn’t it?” Asheram chortled triumphantly.
“You refuse to think of your own well-being, but you’ll think of hers.”

“Answer the question.”

“Very well. I know you too well to think you’re playing with
the woman. Although if you were, I might point out that you will ruin her
reputation, and she will never get another teaching post or a decent painting
commission again.”

“I’m not playing with her, as you put it,” David said,
knowing his annoyance was out of proportion with Asheram’s fatherly advice. “I
need her help to locate the art treasures. And I like her.” He paused,
remembering their kiss in the passageway the day before. He wasn’t sure why he
had taken that liberty with her, but her sweetness had stolen his breath away.
Already “like” seemed far too subtle an emotion. He shook himself and
continued. “I’m not out to take advantage of her. My intentions are honorable.”

“Just as bad. You may not understand the social customs here
yet, my lad, but I’ve seen far too many of these mixed-class marriages. She’ll
never be accepted as your countess. Even your children, if you have any, will
have a devil of a time.”

“Then I’ll take her back to America,” he replied defiantly,
“where she’ll be respected for who she is and not her fancy title or lack of
one.”

“And leave the estate untended? You’ve objected to that from
the first, or so you told me.”

“You know I have,” David returned. “I didn’t want this
title, but when the solicitors assured me that the estate would be returned to
the crown, and Lady Brentfield and the two hundred farmers evicted if I
refused, I had to accept. It was my responsibility, Asheram.”

“And a weighty one it is, to be sure,” Asheram agreed. “You
can see for yourself that the place badly needed your leadership. Even with the
improvements you’ve planned, there’ll be little enough income for the first few
years. But that could change, if you married well.”

“Marry for money? I’d sooner sell that Egyptian death mask.”

“Go around the trust and denude the estate of its treasures?
Would you leave your sons less than you were given?”

“At this rate, I won’t have sons to worry about.” David ran
a hand back through his hair. Glancing across the corridor through the open
door, he could see Hannah bending over the sick girl, wiping her forehead with
a cool cloth. He returned his gaze to Asheram and knew his voice sounded as
desperate as he felt.

“All my life I waited for the right woman, Ash. I’d watch my
assistants and friends fall in love and marry, one by one. I even tried
courting a couple of times, but no one ever stirred my heart. Now, just when my
luck is turning, you want me to walk away because ‘it just isn’t done’? A pox
on your fine British conventions. If I decide to marry Hannah Alexander, I’ll
marry her.”

“Stubborn,” Asheram growled. “There’s more of an earl in you
than you want to admit. Very well. I’ve had my say where Miss Alexander is
concerned. You make a fine couple.”

The last was said so begrudging that David found his anger
melting. “Yes,” he agreed with a chuckle, “I think we do. Stop worrying,
Asheram. Just let me do things my own way.”

“I’m beginning to think I have little choice in the matter,”
his friend replied. “But don’t think you’ve won me over completely. I stand by
my opinion on Lady Brentfield. She is lethal, and I wouldn’t turn my back on
her if I were you.”

David clapped him on the shoulder. “With you at my side, she
doesn’t stand a chance.”

Dr. Praxton, a small pointy-nosed fellow, took that moment
to arrive, and Asheram ushered him in to see the patient. David waited in the
corridor long enough to hear the man’s diagnosis.

“She no doubt ate something that disagreed with her,” Dr.
Praxton pronounced. “I’ve left some laudanum with Miss Alexander, to be used
should the pain persist. Give Miss Courdebas nothing but clear broth, weak tea,
and toast for a couple days, and she should be fine.”

Asheram showed the doctor to the door, but David checked
with Hannah before going downstairs to inform his other guests. He found her
sitting at Ariadne’s side, reading the Bible to the drowsy girl. She rose and
hurried to meet him.

“You saw the doctor?” When he nodded, she continued. “I
should stay with her. For all her imaginings, she is rarely truly ill. I think
it’s frightened her badly. She tells me she had visions. It sounds rather
beastly. Perhaps you could have Mr. Asheram send up a dinner tray for me?”

David took her hand and raised it to her lips, warmed by her
care for her charge. “I’ll bring it up myself.”

He left her blushing.

He had to admit, as he headed downstairs, that he rather
liked the way the tiniest compliment brought the rose to her cheeks. Not the
least arrogant, that one. Her understanding of art, self-taught at that, proved
she was sharp as well. Her ladyship had lived in the house for five years, and
she had apparently never realized there were secret passages, yet Hannah had
caught on right away. And Hannah was far kinder and more thoughtful toward the
visiting girls than her ladyship, who had invited them here in the first place.
Hannah Alexander was definitely a rarity among the few British women he had met
so far. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single thing at that moment that he
disliked about her.

After the loyal scene upstairs, the blue room was a disappointment.
The remaining girls were huddled in chairs near the windows while Lady
Brentfield reclined on the divan across the room, calmly shuffling through
correspondence. She seemed completely immune to their worried glances and
hushed conversation. The girls scrambled to their feet as he entered, calling
out their concerns. Lady Brentfield’s gaze flickered up momentarily, and he
would have said that the only thing she felt was annoyance at the interruption.

“Dr. Praxton has been here,” he explained to the girls. “It
isn’t serious. Your friend will be feeling better in a day or so.”

“I told you she was pretending,” Priscilla said, tossing her
head so that her golden curls fell in artful disarray.

“I wish she wouldn’t be so missish,” Daphne said with a sigh.

“Is it contagious?” Lady Emily wanted to know.

“No,” David replied, eyeing Lady Brentfield and remembering
Asheram’s warning. “In fact, it appears she was poisoned.”

The letters slipped from Lady Brentfield’s fingers as if
they had suddenly gone numb. Priscilla gasped. Daphne trembled. Lady Emily
looked grimly fascinated.

“What do you mean, poisoned?” Lady Brentfield asked slowly,
as if her breath was held tightly in her chest. She rose from the couch and
stood staring at him, ashen. It was an interesting reaction, but not, David
thought, necessarily indicative that she had had a hand in the deed. He
suspected that any hostess would react so at the news that one of her guests
had been poisoned.

“Something at breakfast didn’t agree with her,” David said
by way of explanation. “To her, it was a poison. Evidently, the rest of us were
immune.”

Lady Brentfield closed her eyes for a moment and opened them
again. The blaze of resentment was quickly masked, and David wasn’t sure
whether it had been directed at him, or the situation. “Thank goodness,” she
said. “I had Haversham move our things to the east wing to be certain Priscilla
would be safe. She has a Season to consider, you know.”

The other girls, who also had Seasons to consider, exchanged
glances but said nothing. Lady Brentfield continued as if she had not noticed.

“I feel almost foolish having him move the things back so
soon. I suppose there’s no harm in Priscilla and me staying in the east wing
for a day or two.”

David managed a tight-lipped smile. The last thing he needed
was them next door. He didn’t want the secret passage to be discovered, and he
certainly didn’t want a repeat of last night. “I wager your niece would rather
be near her friends, seeing as we still have six days left in their visit. I’m
sure Asheram won’t mind having to move things twice in one day. It’s amazing
how quickly he accomplishes things.”