The Perfect Princess (21 page)

“And the money?”

“Once it was known that Stapleton was a thief, his friends got him to confess. He’d spent every penny of it on paying off creditors. The irony was, he’d borrowed the money to spend on his friends.”

“They would have been much more severe with Stapleton than they were with you.”

“How do you know?” He sounded surprised.

“Because his offense was more serious. He let an innocent boy take his punishment. That was cowardly. What did they do to him?”

His eyes darkened. “They tarred and feathered him and left him out all night tied to a tree in the middle of the quadrangle, so that in the morning the whole university would witness his shame. I suppose at the time I felt he deserved it, but it did not take me long to regret what was done. Stapleton left Cambridge at once. I left shortly after, never to return. The next term, I enrolled in Aberdeen University, with my own kind.”

“You sound bitter.”

“That’s because I’ve dredged up that ghastly memory. If I was bitter, I didn’t stay that way for long.” He stopped suddenly. “This is all beside the point. You wanted to know if I had ever shamed anyone, and that’s my answer. But Stapleton wasn’t innocent; he was guilty. So you see, our cases are not the same.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Disappointed?”

“I suppose I am. I thought we were getting somewhere. Whatever happened to Stapleton?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“And those other young men who tarred and feathered him?”

“I see the odd one occasionally, but only in passing. We’re civil to each other, but we keep our distance. There’s an awkwardness there . . . you know what I mean. Anyway, all that happened seventeen years ago.
Do you really believe it has any bearing on what’s happening now?”

She heaved a sigh. “No, more’s the pity.”

After that, they went back and forth, going over old ground, probing every detail in an effort to find some clue that would point them in a new direction—all to no avail. They were interrupted when Harper entered with their dinner. A small table was cleared, and Harper set the tray down.

“Beef stew,” he said, “with dumplings and pastries.”

He left almost at once. “To see to the horses,” he said, and winked at Rosamund.

Much later, when they’d eaten their fill, Rosamund said, “Tell me about this house, and what happened to the Dunsmoors.”

“They’re both dead,” he said, “and I inherited the house.”

“Do you think it’s safe to stay here? I mean, what if the militia come here looking for you?”

“Besides myself,” he said, “only you and Harper know about this house.”

“But if this was your home—”

“It wasn’t. When I left Cambridge, I never returned to Dunsmoor. Let me worry about it, all right?”

The snub caught her off guard again, and she withdrew into her shell like a little tortoise that had been whacked on the nose. A moment later, she looked at the clock, exclaimed at the time, and pleading fatigue rose from the table. He walked her to the door.

She heard him sigh, then his hands were on her shoulders and he turned her to face him. “Go home, Lady Rosamund Devere,” he said, “and forget all about me.” His hands tightened on her arms, briefly, then his hands dropped away and he took a step back. “Forget about me, Rosamund,” he said.

She searched his face. There was no offense intended. He was perfectly serious and spoke from the heart.

Her own heart cramped. She couldn’t give him the answer he wanted, because she knew she would never forget him, or the deadly peril that threatened him. It would be like deserting him, and that she could never do.

She masked her pain with a smile. “Take care, Richard Maitland,” she said. “You’ve made an awesome enemy, and he hasn’t finished with you yet.”

And before the incipient tears could turn into a flood, she whisked herself out of the room.

I
t was still dark when Harper came for her and told her it was time to get going. He’d brought a tray with tea and toast and had laid out a fresh set of clothes.

“Men’s clothes,” he told her, grinning, “because we have a hard ride ahead of us, and two men on the road won’t attract no notice. Women is nothing but trouble, begging your pardon, your ladyship.”

“And Colonel Maitland?” she asked quickly, before Harper could whisk himself out of the room. He seemed in an unholy hurry to get away from her. “How is he?”

“Couldn’t be better! Top o’ the morning! As fit as a fiddle!” and before she could put any more questions to him, Harper made his escape.

She was out of the bed like a shot. It didn’t take her long to get ready, and less than ten minutes later, she stalked into Richard’s bedchamber and came to a sudden halt. The bed was made up, a fire was blazing in the
grate; the remains of his breakfast were on the small table by the window. But there was no Richard.

“We best get going, your ladyship,” said Harper from the open doorway.

She whirled on him. “Where is he, Harper?”

Harper looked down at his boots. “I . . . er . . . think he went for a walk.”

“In the dark?”

He frowned, sighed, then went on sheepishly, “I don’t know where he is, m’lady, and that’s the truth. But he did say that I was to get you away from here before the sun was up.”

She stalked by Harper and went marching along the corridor till she came to the next room, another bedchamber. All the furniture was under Holland covers. It was the same in the next room and the one after that. Harper dogged her heels, telling her to be sensible; that time was wasting; and finally, that it was better this way.

“Think about it, m’lady. What can you say that hasn’t been said?”

Plenty. She’d had a sleepless night thinking about what she wanted to say to Richard Maitland. She wanted to tell him that she knew she could convince her father and brothers to believe in his innocence and that they would all work tirelessly to prove it. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing and no one who could ever shake her faith in him.

That was the most important thing: that he should know that there was nothing and no one who could ever shake her faith in him.

That’s what had kept her awake last night, not sifting through the details of the crime for which he’d been convicted, but all the gaps he’d left in his story. He’d felt like an outsider when he went to Cambridge. He wasn’t one of them—that’s why they’d made him their scapegoat. It was the law of the jungle.

They punished me with silence
.

She knew what that meant. If he walked into the common room, everyone would leave it. If he sat down at a table, everyone would rise and move to another table. Every day and every night, he would be alone with only his own thoughts for company.

Horrible, horrible boys!

It would have taken more than that, though, to get rid of Richard. Yet he’d left Cambridge shortly after, never to return. He’d done the same with this house. That could only mean that Mr. Dunsmoor had turned against him, too. He must have changed his mind eventually, because he’d left Richard his house. But Richard didn’t give people second chances. That was patently clear. And that was his greatest failing.

She cut Harper off in mid-sentence. “Do you swear to me he’s feeling all right?”

“Aye. You did a good job there.”

She walked on. There was another staircase at the other end of the house, but she was beginning to see how hopeless it was. If Richard didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found.

“Lass,” said Harper gently, “it’s time to go.”

The pity in his eyes made her own eyes tear. “You don’t approve of me, do you, Harper?”

He knew what she meant. “Not for the colonel, m’lady, not a duke’s daughter.”

She waited till she had command of her voice. “Will you give him a message from me? Tell him I don’t give up easily.” Then, before she could completely disgrace herself, “All right, Harper, you win. Let’s go.”

When Richard heard them leave, he tossed aside the notes he’d been making. He was on the top floor of the house, in the little study that had once belonged to him, when he was practically a member of the family. But that was a lifetime ago, before Cambridge, before the
estrangement between himself and the man he once called “Uncle Andrew.”

He pushed back his chair and got up, then paused as a wave of dizziness enveloped him. He knew he was on the mend, so he put it down to fatigue and the residue of his fever. The dizziness soon subsided, and he walked to the window and looked out.

He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of her, but the darkness was impenetrable. Dawn was only a feeble glimmer on the horizon, and it didn’t look like a promising dawn either, but a dreary repetition of the last several days. Whether it rained or not, there would be a pervading dampness that would penetrate to every corner and cupboard in the house. Nothing could keep it out.

Not unlike Rosamund.

His smile was fleeting. He hoped she’d got the message. They were becoming far too friendly, too cozy for his liking. He didn’t want anyone or anything distracting him from what he had to do. Besides, he was a dangerous man to know. He’d kept his friends out of this sorry business, so he certainly wasn’t going to drag a naive and impossibly trusting amateur into it.

Did you murder Lucy Rider?

No
.

And just like that she believed him.

A woman like that was dangerous, not because she made snap decisions, but because of the effect she had on her victims. If his heart hadn’t been protected by a layer of calluses, he might have been tempted to pour out all his woes.

He heard another voice asking a similar question, Uncle Andrew’s voice.
“Did you steal that money?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me! I know those boys! I know their fathers! They wouldn’t accuse you if you were innocent. So, I’ll ask you again. Did you steal that money?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t believe you!”

There had been a reconciliation of sorts, but after that, he could never be the same with the Dunsmoors. So he’d returned to Scotland, and right after university, he’d gone into the army. They’d kept up a sporadic correspondence, but he had never been much of a letter writer. When he was in Spain, first Mrs. Dunsmoor died, then her husband, and the house had passed to him. It was the last thing he’d expected. He’d written to the lawyer, telling him to let the house and its acreage, but even when he was back in England, he’d made no attempt to return to Dunsmoor.

It was necessity that had brought him back, and now that he was here, he wondered why he’d stayed away. He’d seen things, done things as an agent that made his quarrel with the Dunsmoors seem trivial. It was more than time to lay these ghosts to rest. If their positions were reversed, if he’d been Uncle Andrew, he might have said the same.

Not everyone was as generous as Rosamund.

Rosamund again! Frowning, he looked at the notes on his desk. He should be sifting through them, trying to find someone who fitted Rosamund’s profile, someone who wanted him to suffer as he had been made to suffer. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

He sat down at his desk and began to make more notes. Half an hour later, when he was no further ahead, he got up, left the study, and went downstairs to his bedchamber. The bed looked very inviting, but he ignored it. He didn’t expect Harper back for hours, so it was up to him to keep the fires going and generally take care of things.

Though he was sure in his own mind that no one could connect him to the house, and he didn’t expect trouble, he’d learned caution the hard way and never
took unnecessary risks. After banking the fire in his bedchamber and the one in the kitchen, he donned his caped greatcoat and went outside to have a look around.

Dawn was making a valiant effort to put in an appearance, but it was hindered by the heavy cloud cover, and not only that. A fine mist was rising from the sodden earth, blanketing buildings and trees in a frothy shroud.

He ignored the elements as he ignored the shivers that were beginning to wrack his frame. Head down, shoulders hunched against the breeze, he made for the stable. There was only one horse to see to, but after filling the troughs with water and bran, he felt as though he’d taken care of a troop of horses.

Caution or not, he knew that if he didn’t get back to his bed, he would collapse where he was.

He was climbing the portico stairs when he heard the faint rumble of horses’ hooves. He stepped behind a pillar and reached for his pistol. Though he could see nothing, he listened intently. One horse and one rider, he decided, and they were in one hell of a hurry to reach the house. A foe would show more caution.

On that thought, he stepped out from behind the pillar. Almost at the same moment the rider emerged from the trees.

“Richard!” she yelled at the top of her voice.

Rosamund! She was low in the saddle and her hair streamed behind her like a wake. He looked past her. There was no sign of Harper. As she reined in, he hastened down the steps.

“You have to get away at once!” Her breath came in rasping sobs. “They spotted us. No, there’s no time to saddle your horse. Get up behind me.”