Silk and Scandal (22 page)

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Days later, Nicholas drank a final cup of coffee, neatly folded the morning paper, and rose to watch the progress of harried servants. Throughout his lonely breakfast, he’d listened to their rushed footsteps and frantic calls to one another. Leaving the dining room, he walked through the massive treasure-laden rooms and positioned himself near the foot of the stairs.

It was the day of their departure for Sussex and though it was surely a mundane occurrence, this was the first time that he’d traveled any great distance with a wife. God only knew how many things Eliza planned to take with them. The thought of a frantically packing wife seemed wonderful and somehow normal.

He smiled, content for the first time in weeks. At last, he would have an opportunity to woo her back into his arms. As a man who knew women, he believed the very romantic nature of Windmere would help tremendously. There, in the country, the world moved slowly and more than anything, he needed time with her.

Leaning against the balustrade, he watched Sally May, an upstairs maid, run down the stairs carrying a precariously stacked row of hatboxes. Brushing against her were two sturdy footmen who were hurrying up to presumably collect more trunks. Pandora stood at the top of the stairs, mussed and overheated. Her mobcap dangled by a single pin, showing riotous white curls around a pixie face. Despite himself, Nicholas laughed as she drew in a deep breath and red-faced, bellowed at poor Sally May.

“Bring yourself directly back, Sally! Her Grace’s brown lace evening gown is in a bad state o’ wrinkles from your cramming it in the trunk all willy-nilly, and I will not have it. Git your slack-witted arse up here now while the iron is still hot!”

Seeing his rapt attention, she simply grinned before whirling away in a rush of cambric skirt.

As the trunks began to make a hefty pile in the entryway, he tired of waiting for Eliza. Turning toward the study, he paused as the doorknocker rapped soundly. Pembrook answered the summons just as Nicholas went into his study and settled himself behind his desk.

After a moment or two, the butler presented him with a card on a silver salver. Why had an officer from Bow Street come to his door? Nicholas frowned.  “Send him in, Pembrook.”

When the man came inside and his butler closed the door with a chilling snap of finality. Nicholas steeled his features to a calm he did not feel. Had someone recognized Eliza beneath her manly garb? Had her dangerous game been uncovered at last? The very thought of it shook him to his core.

He stood and forced a smile of greeting.

“How do you do, Your Grace,” said the man, with a slight bow. “I am Lieutenant Jeremiah Cotswold of Bow Street.” He was tall, an elegant figure of a man in his red Bow Street vest. His hair was blonde with a dash of gray trimming the temples and his features were saturnine and sharp. Weary dark eyes gazed at Nicholas in a most worldly fashion, alerting him to the seriousness of the matter.

He indicated that Cotswald sit and offered him refreshments, which he waved away. “Now, sir,” Nicholas began, as cold fear raced over his skin, “what brings you to my door on this fine morning?”

“Well, Your Grace,” Cotswold replied after clearing his throat. “I have come bearing, I am afraid, some very bad news.”

Nicholas’ unease grew. As he opened his mouth to speak, the door of the study opened, and Eliza glided into the room looking lovely in a traveling gown of navy blue. Shiny gold, braided frogs trimmed the front from below the mandarin collar to her waist. Her hair was caught up at the crown in a cluster of curls. A tiny, feather-adorned hat sat upon her bright hair. She was obviously ready for travel.

A sense of premonition hit him like a punch and he suddenly had the urge to carry her away from anything unpleasant. She looked so happy. Perhaps it was the adventure of a trip. Or maybe it was, he hoped, his simple presence that lightened her mood. Whatever it was, he wanted to whisk the officer away immediately before the light in her eyes dimmed.

Both men stood as she walked inside and Nicholas made introductions as she moved to his side. She paled dramatically to learn their visitor was an officer of the law. Cotswold bowed low as Nicholas settled a protective hand at the small of her back.

“What brings you here, Lieutenant? Nothing dreadful, I hope,” she said in a tranquil voice.

“I am afraid that I cannot offer that particular assurance, Your Grace. Bow Street had a report just two days ago that a man’s body has been found. I am assigned to investigate the matter, and it was brought to my attention that you know the man quite well.” Cotswold coughed discreetly into his hand and to Nicholas’s amazement, blushed slightly as if embarrassed.

“Who died, sir?” Nicholas asked.

“Edward Huntley, Lord Stanhope, Your Grace, and he did not die. He was murdered.”

Eliza gasped and leaned against Nicholas while Cotswold went on. “He was apparently poisoned and had most likely been dead for several days when he was discovered. I am truly sorry for being indelicate, but we, of course, must investigate.”

Nicholas led his wife to the sofa and sat beside her. Taking her hand, he indicated that Cotswold should take his chair again. “Why have you come here?”

He reached into his coat pocket and removed a small notebook. Flipping carelessly through the pages, he read a bit then lifted his gaze to Eliza. “Stanhope was your brother-in-law, was he not?”

“Yes. He was once married to my sister, Charlotte.”

“I am sorry about the line of questioning, Your Grace,” he said, still speaking to Eliza. “It is well known in finer circles that you detested him. Is that accurate?”

She gripped Nicholas’s hand. “Yes, I did hate him and still do, sir, but that does not make me his murderer.”

“No, ma’am, only a suspect. I must know why you hated him so that you risked haranguing him in public.”

“That is enough, Cotswold,” Nicholas said harshly. “I will not allow you to harass my wife. If you must know, it is widely believed that he killed Charlotte. All of society suspected him and shunned him for it. The man, no doubt, had enemies around every corner. He was wicked, evilly twisted, and a gambler. Why are you not out investigating scoundrels who spend their time in the Hells?”

“Oh, I promise that I shall. My investigation has just begun. Again I apologize, but these matters must be addressed.” Cotswold thumbed through several more pages. He lifted his head to look at Eliza. “Word has it that earlier this spring, he accosted you at a lavish party. He accused you, Your Grace, of ruining his life. Violent words were spoken, and you dashed a glass of punch in his face. Is that true?”

“It is.” Eliza leaned closer. “I hated Edward and I shall not deny it. When was he killed precisely?”

“Several nights ago. Um, Thursday evening, I believe. Where were you on that night, Your Grace?”

Nicholas squeezed her hand, wishing the man gone. “I can answer. We were at the home of my father-in-law. There was a ball given in our honor that night.”

Cotswold smiled slightly. “By the way, congratulations on your marriage. Now, I must ask: did you leave the affair at any time?”

Eliza blinked, frowned, then pinned him with a look. “Absolutely not. How can you even suggest that I would be so rude as to do such a thing?”

Cotswold looked away and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. I must ask, you see. When did you return home?”

Once again Nicholas answered. “Dawn. Ask anyone who attended the party. They will vouch for our activities.”

The officer rose and gave another short bow as he prepared to go. “I shall. You must understand, Your Graces, that as an officer, I have to investigate the entire matter, and you, my lady, are allowed to hate anyone you choose without being named murderess. From what we have learned, Stanhope was a sly and off-color man. I am sure we shall learn the identity of his killer soon.”

“Perhaps, you will give the man a medal,” Nicholas snapped. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

“No, not at the moment. It does appear, however, that you are planning a trip.”

“We leave for my estate in Sussex within the hour.”

“Will you give me your address in the event I have questions?”

“Certainly,” Nicholas said, rising to walk to his desk. Once there, he jotted the information on a card and gave it to the Lieutenant. “We shall be there for perhaps a month, but I doubt seriously that we can be of more help.”

“Of course.” Cotswold bowed again and moved to the door where he paused. “Do not leave the country, Your Graces. You do understand, of course?”

Eliza lifted a hand that shook and plucked aimlessly at a braided frog. Fisting his hands, Nicholas could do nothing but answer the man. “Yes, Lieutenant. I understand.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sussex

Nicholas stood in the doorway of Windmere’s elegant music room and watched his wife daydream. A flicker of a smile graced her lips, and he hoped she might be thinking of him as she picked out a tune upon the pianoforte. What a besotted fool he was. Since their arrival two weeks ago, he’d often found her here pecking at the piano keys and gazing into a dream world to which only she was privy.

Today the village of Haverly would come to Windmere to celebrate their marriage, and the house was abuzz with activity. The scent of delicious food carried on the air as his staff cooked in the kitchen. Other servants had placed tables and chairs along the grounds.

But here in this room, the world seemed to stand still, and Eliza seemed farther away than ever.

Since their arrival, she, though not hostile, remained wary of him. They occupied separate rooms and seldom saw each other. It was a situation that he planned to change starting now. “May I ask where your daydreams take you, my dear?”

She started and swiveled to face him. “Nicholas! Must you sneak up on me?” She smiled faintly, recovering. “I was thinking of Lottie and how she would have loved this room.”

“Ah.” He walked across the marble floor toward her, boot heels clicking against the shiny surface. Gesturing her over, he seated himself beside her on the bench. “Did she play?”

“Oh yes, she was wonderful. Lottie loved to play. Even as a little girl, she entertained for my parents’ guests. By nature, she was extremely shy, yet she was so eager to please that she never turned down a request of perform.”

“You did not play, I assume?”

She laughed. “Heavens no! I love hearing it, but not playing. I was a genuine hoyden, drawn to the outdoors and all thumbs at a musical instrument. Lottie was bookish as well. She loved to curl up by the parlor window and read on a rainy day.” Eliza smiled. “Though Papa thought romances silly and frivolous, Mama would pass the ones she’d read on to my sister in a most sneaky fashion. When I caught Lottie crying over some maudlin tale of lost love, I teased her.”

“And she forgave you?”

“Yes, always. We were the closest of sisters. Though we were very different in our enjoyments, we understood each other.”

Nicholas studied her face, unable to miss the sweet melancholy in her expression. Tilting up her chin, he kissed her softly, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t pull away. Parting at last, bereft of her touch, he looked into her eyes. “Would that we could understand each other as well.”

“Do not press me on this, Nicholas. Please. I feel uncomfortable with revelations at present and must accustom myself to the things I have just learned.”

Feeling that changing the subject was the best course of action, he stood and moved nearer to an open French door. There he plucked lazily at the strings of an enormous gilt harp. It caught the sun in such a way that it made one think of heaven and angels. “This was my mother’s favorite room. After she died, I was prone to linger here and grieve. Learning of my habit, my father had the room locked.” He frowned, continuing to strum. “In that blunt way of his, he told me in no uncertain terms that grieving was not healthy. I was to forget.”

“What a barbaric man! How old were you?”

“Ten. Perhaps eleven.”

Eliza came to him and touched the sleeve of his coat. “How dreadful for you. We must all grieve. It is natural.”

“Did you?” He looked down into her stricken eyes.

“I grieve still.” She rested her head against his arm and sighed. “I remember the exact moment that she died.”

He stilled. “You were there?”

“No. No, of course not. I would explain, yet I fear you will think me silly.”

“Never.”

Eliza closed her eyes. “I was in bed when suddenly, I knew. I cannot explain it, but I believe it to be a phenomenon between twins. I felt her soul pass like a light brush through my body. Whispers ran through my brain, soft whispers that swirled through me. I knew it was goodbye and that Lottie was gone.”

He felt her shiver and reached out to gather her close. “Enough sad thoughts, pigeon. Lest you forget, we have a party to attend. You look delightful, by the way.

He stepped back and placing both hands on her shoulders and examined her from top to toe. Her dress was a quiet, misty green and so pale it provided a glorious contrast with her vivid hair and bright eyes. A frothy confection reminiscent of a spring day, it was in the empire style and trimmed beneath the bosom with slender satin ribbons that trailed down the front of the gown.

Reaching out, he took a frail ribbon in his hands and fingered the tiny satin rose at the end. “Quite lovely, wife.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, giving him a shy glance. “You look—”

“Yes?” he whispered, staring deeply into her eyes.

“I—”

He ached to possess her again. He lowered his head and took her mouth. Her lips, lush and full of promise, parted sweetly in a long-awaited response. Victory was close. He could taste it in her kiss, feel it in the way she melted against him. But perfect moments were not meant to last. A noisy crowd began to gather outside and with reluctance, he ended the kiss.

Eliza glanced away as a bloom of red colored her cheeks. He forced a smile. Lifting the sheer bonnet she would wear, he placed it on her head and neatly tied the satin bow beneath her chin. “Come, love,” he said softly. “Allow me to show off my bride.”

* * * * * * * *

The owner of the Red Bird Inn, a portly man named Deeds, puffed out his chest and studied the crowd of villagers surrounding him. Facing the Duke and Duchess, he lifted his tankard and gave the young couple a gap-toothed grin. “’Ere’s to the new Duke and his bride. May all good fortune fall upon ye’re ’eads!”

A loud chorus of “hurrahs” and laughter surrounded them as Eliza looked up into Nicholas’s smiling face.

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I hope it doesn’t hurt.”

She giggled, unable to help herself, as the entire village of Haverly celebrated their marriage with food, flowers, and kegs of ale. She knew most of them by now since the village boasted only about two hundred souls, most of hard-working, peasant stock.

As the crowd cheered them on, Nicholas laughed heartily and she laughed along with him unable to deny the merriment of the moment. Then, quite suddenly, her husband clasped her beneath her bosom and lifted her high.

Unseemly.

But what fun, she thought as he swirled her in wide circles to the boisterous appreciation of the crowd. Twirling. Twirling to the delight of the happy crowd, she laughed harder than she had on any day since childhood.

As he swung her dizzily to her feet, he caught one of the flowers raining down upon them. Holding it out to her, he grinned and flicked the tip of her nose with a white petal before pressing the daisy into her hand.

“Thank you, gallant knight,” she teased, and he swept her close for a hug.

Yes, she was still hurt and angry, but she had to admit that he was wearing her down with his attentions. He had lied to her, deceived her, but in the living day-to-day, she could not help but notice the sweetness within him. His people loved him, too. A sense of pride filled her at the notion.

Turning in the circle of his arms, she watched the villagers enjoy the lavish countryside surrounding Windmere. Rolling green hills stretched from the mansion to beautifully straight country roads leading down to the village itself. Country people, eager to celebrate their marriage, had turned out in force to offer their welcome.

Blankets spread all around them were littered with plates of food, and children yelled in play in the fields just beyond. The boys and girls cared nothing for the marriage itself, but for the fun to be had. From the house, Nicholas’s servants had brought out plump, comfortable chairs for the elderly and added contributions of food from the Windmere kitchens. Then, they too, joined the festivities.

Eliza sensed it was something that his father would never have done. Since coming here, she had heard much innuendo about the man. It was apparent that he wasn’t held in high regard among the people of Haverly.

“Are you having a good time?” Nicholas asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Oh, yes. This is wonderful. I do not remember having such fun. Have the folk here always been so kind and welcoming?”

“Yes, as I recall,” he said turning solemn. “After my mother died and I reached my majority, I could not leave this place quickly enough. Over the years, I realized how good these people were and missed them, missed this place.”

“Then, why did you leave?”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “Let us hold this discussion for another time. There is much to explain, but I dare not take that lovely smile from your face.”

Holding her by the shoulders, he smiled. “Come, let me escort you to our spot beneath that tree. I shall be your servant and fetch you something cool to drink. Lemonade, perhaps?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed, not wanting to mar his pleasure with sad revelations.

After he settled her upon a bright yellow quilt, he placed a glass of lemonade in her hand. Reaching out to tease the frothy fabric of her dress, he sighed and lifted his fingers to examine the small red curls peeking from beneath her bonnet. “You look attune with nature, my love, in your pretty green dress, though you could never blend into the scenery. You are much, much too lovely.”

Her face heated. Anger was a tiring thing, she realized. She was tired of being estranged, tired of lying alone in her big bed every night. But he still had much to explain. The question remained, was she ready to listen? Then, amid the boisterous celebration, calm settled upon her. Lottie’s face teased the edges of her memory, as a whisper of air blew past, ruffling her skirts. A green leaf fluttered through the air just past her nose and up again to settle on Nicholas’s head. Watching the children play kick ball, he laughed and absently brushed it away.

She felt her sister’s spirit here in this glorious place and without thought, closed her eyes to absorb the sensation of her presence.

Oh, my dear, how I miss you.

Lifting her lids, Eliza felt a whisper of feeling, then the going of it.

How Lottie would have loved this place, she thought, studying clusters of white clouds as they skittered across the pristine, blue sky. Brighton and the seashore were a mere hour’s carriage ride from here. One long ago summer, they’d traveled there with their parents. She and her sister had spent hours splashing around at the water’s edge. They’d merrily plucked shells from the damp sand and placed them in a wicker basket.

As the melancholy remembrance settled softly over her, Eliza glanced up to find Nicholas watching her.

Leaning back against the trunk of an elm, he slowly reached out, oblivious to who might be watching, and brought his arm around her. Pulling her against him, he untied the ribbons of her bonnet and soon the article was tossed aside. “Tell me your thoughts, Eliza. This is the second time today that I’ve felt this sense of wistfulness within you.”

“Nothing dire, I promise. Just remembering, that’s all.”

“Good things, I hope.”

She smiled. “Naturally. How could anyone’s thoughts be bad on such a day? Everyone here loves you, and they seem so happy that you have returned.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but a small boy brazenly tugged at his coat. The lad had carrot orange curls and riotous freckles upon his impish face. He grinned bravely, showing a serious lack of front teeth. “Does ye want to kick the ball wiff us, Yer Grace? It ain’t so berry hard eben if you is an older gent.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes and stood, towering over the boy, hands on his hips. Gamely, the child stared back, unfazed. With a wink at Eliza, Nicholas drew his coat off and tossed it carelessly aside. “Old, eh? I’ll show you old, you naughty urchin.”

With a wild whoop, he sprang at the boy and grabbed him around the waist. Tucking him neatly under his arm, he turned to Eliza and laughed as the boy squealed and wiggled like a piglet. “Duty calls, wife! I am off to terrorize the children.”

“Be careful, old gent,” she chortled as he dashed off to the field where a number of men had gathered to play with the youngsters.

Moments later, she was surrounded by several women from the village. All were eager to get acquainted with the new duchess and talk turned to various charitable endeavors. She had to admit that it was wonderful to be so totally accepted. She was invited to help organize a clothing collection for the poorest of the village and agreed to join a group of ladies in their reading group. From their giggles and titters, she suspected that a great deal of sherry drinking and gossip was involved.

As the group thinned to only two or three young mothers, she was drawn to cuddle the newest village member. The newborn, tiny and pink, with the sweetest of rosebud lips, tugged gently at her heart. Eliza had never held such a tiny creature and suddenly, quite without warning, the thought of motherhood sank its tender claws into her heart.

The tiny girl’s mouth moved continually, as if blowing kisses, and Eliza’s heart was moved. Her skin prickled with want, with longing.