The Reluctant Earl (14 page)

“In what room did this happen?”

“His bedchamber, I believe.”

“The same one he occupied on this visit?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I would have to ask Mrs. Anderson, but I doubt so. Neither you nor Killiane were present at that time.”

Sadness twined around his heart as suspicions lodged in his mind. “Is it possible Miss Vance did indeed lose her comb three years ago and Mr. Fleming had it in his possession all this time?”

“Why would Reggie keep an item of Miss Vance’s?”

“Perhaps he had formed a tendre for her. Teresa did say he spoke much of her yesterday.”

“Impossible. Reggie can do—could have done—so much better.”

“Miss Vance was the daughter of a clergyman and sister of a fellow officer. There is no shame in an alliance with her.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “You know a surprising amount of Miss Vance’s background for such a recent acquaintance, Julian.”

Undoubtedly more than his sister who’d employed the woman these past eight years. “You don’t think I would entrust Caro to a woman of low character, do you?” And yet, he had surrendered his sister’s care to a woman of proven disloyalty. He could have forgiven her devotion to her cause if only she hadn’t lied to him by omission.

“I don’t question Miss Vance’s virtue, only her appropriateness for Reggie. Her father was an impecunious vicar. Reggie knew he needed to marry well. More likely the attachment traveled the other direction—a lonely woman hoping for more than life as a governess. Perhaps she tried to exploit the relationship for gain.”

And yet, Fleming was the one with a reputation for exploitation. “Then she chose a flawed target since, as you say, Fleming needed to marry well.”

“It’s a motive for murder.”

“A spurned female of several years past? A very weak motive.”

Mr. Mason folded his arms across his chest. “Perhaps we should invite Miss Vance back to give us a more detailed accounting of her whereabouts at the time of Mr. Fleming’s murder.”

Julian knew full well where Miss Vance had spent the afternoon. Not where his sister supposed her to be, he’d warrant. But since his own desire to see if she would name her associate meshed with the magistrate’s need to charge someone with Fleming’s murder, he pulled the cord to summon the butler.

Elizabeth settled folded hands on her lap. “Did you find nothing else of note when you searched Reggie’s belongings? No other indications as to who would do such a terrible thing?”

“Is it possible your nephew owes someone money?” Julian instructed Hawkesworth to fetch Miss Vance, then returned to the cheerful fire blazing on the hearth. “Could he have lost a sum of money on wagers or bad investments?”

“I don’t know what his financial situation is—was. I believe his brother provided him with an acceptable allowance.”

How many others of Fleming’s ilk found their allowances less than adequate for their expenses and entertainments? And couldn’t a relative with a rapacious appetite for money and mischief also be a motive for murder?

“My lord?” Miss Vance’s feet tapped against the floor as she inched into the room. She’d secured her mother’s shawl around her shoulders. For warmth or for courage? The ivory complemented the ribbon of the same hue and softened her features. Then she caught sight of her employer on the settee. Her lashes dipped to cover the sudden flash of vulnerability as she dropped into a curtsey. “My lady.”

“Come in, Miss Vance.” Elizabeth’s frosty tones were colder than January. “Mr. Mason has a few additional questions to ask of you.”

Her gaze flickered to Julian, the candle’s subdued glow revealing pools of fearful brown. He hardened his heart with reminders of her duplicity. Not a single event—possibly misconstrued or wrongly ascribed—but a series of incidents that pointed to serious deceit. Her unexplained visit to the stable the night of Fleming’s attack. The information in his chamber that found its way to the radical group. Today’s meeting with a man she wouldn’t name. The same man Fleming had spotted her with on Sunday?

A special man, obviously—one for whom she’d risk the gallows.

* * *

Leah lifted her chin and stared at the delicate designs of the drawing room wallpapers. She would not be cowed. She’d done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. Not this time. Not in regards to Fleming anyway.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Miss Vance.” The magistrate’s bushy brows lowered over narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry for the lateness of the hour, but I’m certain you appreciate the urgency of our investigation.”

Fatigue chafed her eyes as she peered at the mantel clock. She didn’t often see the hour of two. “I understand, sir.”

“Earlier when we spoke, you denied being in Mr. Fleming’s chamber at any time today.”

“Yes, other than those moments immediately prior to his death.”

“Of course. Both Lady Sotherton and Lord Chambelston vouch for your presence then.”

Leah fought the urge to glance at the man in question despite her awareness of his presence, of the heavy regard of his stare and the painful weight of his distrust.

“Where were you in the hours preceding Mr. Fleming’s death—say, in the time between my interview with Lady Teresa and Mr. Fleming’s demise?”

The silence stretched almost as long as those hours the magistrate spoke of—tense moments while Leah’s exhausted mind whirled with excuses both impossible and improbable.

“Miss Vance?” Lady Sotherton’s frosty tones cut through Leah’s concerns. “I pay you good money to educate my daughter.”

Not good enough for Leah to care for her sister, let alone have enough left to provide for herself afterward. Resentment churned in her stomach, making credible lies all the more difficult to formulate. “I—I was...”

“Were you with Teresa?”

To answer in the affirmative would put Teresa in an untenable position—a choice between her mother and her governess, between a lie and a truth and perhaps even between Leah’s life and death. For the second time since her mother’s death, her mind formed a rusty prayer, a plea for wisdom, help, escape. Leah dropped her stare to the knotted fingers on her lap, knowing she could give but one answer. Much as she disliked Lady Sotherton, much as she feared for her life and Phoebe’s future, she couldn’t burden Teresa with such a dilemma. “No, my lady. I had an errand to accomplish beyond the estate.”

“I thought I had made my expectations clear. You have Wednesday afternoons to see to any personal business.”

“I had...personal business that couldn’t wait.”

“Not even one day? I wonder what could possibly have been so important.” Chambelston paced to the fireplace, hands clenched together behind his back. The mirror above the mantel reflected a second, equally forbidding, image of his expression back to her. “By your own admission, Miss Vance, you were not in the schoolroom at the time of Mr. Fleming’s death?”

“No, my lord.”

“Did you meet with anyone on this critical errand—a shopkeeper, a blacksmith, a milliner—someone who will confirm your presence away from the Abbey?”

Fear roiled in her stomach and ripped the air from her lungs. The room dimmed, the accusatory faces receding into the darkness of her dread. How she could trust Molly’s reassurances of a God with a vision for her future when she saw nothing but imminent doom?

“Miss Vance?” The magistrate’s voice pierced through the clamor in her head. “Is there anyone who will confirm your absence?”

If she provided Alec’s name, what would happen to him? They had no witnesses to her presence in Fleming’s room. Was the discovery of her hair comb, combined with her disappearance, enough to hang a murder charge on her? “No, no one.” Her whisper echoed through the hostile silence.

“Think carefully, Miss Vance.” Mr. Mason peered at her over his spectacles. “Is there anything else you would like to add to your defense?”

“I have only the truth.” A partial truth, unfortunately. And therein was the rub. “I didn’t harm Mr. Fleming.” This time.

The queasiness still fermenting in Leah now touched the magistrate’s countenance, coloring his cheeks a sickly green. “Miss Vance, I fear I’m going to have to arrest you on suspicion of Reginald Fleming’s murder.”

“But I didn’t hurt him!” To the contrary, in fact.

“No, she didn’t.” Chambelston’s low, deep agreement reverberated in the quiet and raised prickles of awareness along her arms. “As a matter of fact, I witnessed Miss Vance’s excursion outdoors—although she didn’t see me at the time.”

Leah twisted her head and at last met the scornful bitterness in his glare. Had it been there all along? Had even that twilight kiss been a means to seek her cooperation, or had her reticence tonight quashed what might have been?

An errant lock dangled over his brow, its strands gilded by the light of the wall sconces. His snowy cravat gleamed against the backdrop of his blue coat, the same one of their first meeting. A memory surfaced in her mind of Lord Chambelston marching into Fleming’s chamber in his greatcoat, his hair tousled by the wind. Yes, he had indeed been out then. Had he seen Alec with her? Enough to identify him? Nausea bubbled in her stomach where fear mingled with loss.

Mr. Mason straightened in his chair. “What were you doing at the time, my lord?”

“I had gone for a ride. I returned to the house at approximately the same time as Miss Vance. The groom will vouch for my absence and return.”

“And you are certain as to the identity of the woman you saw?”

“Absolutely. She was walking, and too far from the Abbey to be in the manor when Fleming consumed the laudanum.”

“I admit to a large measure of surprise you didn’t inform us of this earlier, my lord.”

“I waited for Miss Vance to reveal the truth.”

Because he didn’t trust her, and perhaps never had. And never would. That truth hit Leah like one of the blows to Fleming’s body.

The magistrate’s ample girth expanded as he sucked in a deep breath. “Very well, then. It seems we shall have to inquire further to find our murderer. Miss Vance, you are free to retire. However, should you recall any details about your comb or develop any theories about its discovery in Fleming’s chamber, I would appreciate your cooperation.”

“Of course, sir.” Leah pushed herself from the chair, intent on escaping the contemptuous sneer of the man who had saved her from certain arrest and possible death. The room spun with her relief even as her shoulders ached from tension and her eyes burned with fatigue.

Lady Sotherton raised a hand. “Just a moment, Miss Vance.”

Leah paused, dread escalating her pulse. “My lady?”

“You have confessed to a dereliction in your duties. I cannot keep you on my staff.”

The lump in Leah’s throat sealed off any protests she might have made. How would she care for Phoebe with no job, no references, no accommodations, no...anything? But she’d saved Alec. “I understand, my lady.”

“You have one hour to gather your belongings and leave.”

“One hour!” Leah’s gaze shot to the ormolu clock on the mantel again. Only thirty minutes had passed since her arrival in the drawing room. Dawn was hours away. “But how will I say my farewells to Lady Teresa?”

“I will make your excuses in the morning. I suggest you make the most of your allotted time tonight, Miss Vance.”

“Yes, my lady.” Leah curtseyed, then fled up the stairs to pack. So much for Molly’s assurances of a God with a plan.

Chapter Eleven

T
he cold air stung Julian’s eyes and chilled his cheeks as he waited outside the manor door. He set the lantern on the ground and tugged the collar of his greatcoat higher around his neck. The silence of the winter night furled around him, disturbed only by the mournful cries of a dog howling in the distance. The full moon illuminated the snow, creating a world of dramatic grays.

The door latch clicked and the hinges squeaked. Then muted footfalls crept closer.

“Miss Vance?”

Her gasp echoed across the quiet. “Lord Chambelston?” Her arms cradled a modest bag.

“Do you have somewhere to go, Miss Vance?”

“I...I think so.”

“How far?”

“The village of Heckton. About five miles to the south. Did the magistrate leave?”

“Yes, but he intends to return tomorrow—or rather, today—to question more of the staff.”

“A pity he’ll have to find some other convenient scapegoat, now that he can’t charge me with the murder.”

“You were never in any danger on that score.” He scooped up the lantern and clasped her elbow.

She jerked her arm away. “What are you doing?”

“It isn’t safe for a woman to be alone at this time of night.” Perhaps those who attacked Fleming were associates of hers—but perhaps not. Besides, other depraved, destitute and displaced men roamed the countryside. “Not to mention, you probably shouldn’t walk so far on your foot. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

“You?” Anger flashed from her eyes into the night. “You knew the entire time I was innocent of Mr. Fleming’s murder, that I wasn’t even in the house. You could have told the magistrate the first time he questioned me and spared me the indignity of being cast out.”

“Indignation doesn’t suit you under the circumstances. I admit I didn’t expect Lizzie to dismiss you quite so precipitously—”

“Why wouldn’t she? You let both my employer and the magistrate assume I was a murderer while you knew otherwise.”

“I also know you to be guilty of treason. And yet, I let both my sister and the magistrate assume you were merely neglectful, not a traitor.”

“So why did you?” Her whisper caressed his conscience.

“Not for your sake.” He settled his hand against the curve of her spine and guided her toward the stable. A bittersweet hint of lavender drifted to him on the night air like the faint promise of spring.

“Obviously. You took no great pains to hide your disdain for me.”

After her betrayal, she should have expected no less. Given what he’d surmised of Fleming’s conduct toward her, he could have forgiven her the man’s murder before he could overlook her perfidy to
himself.
Julian hated disloyalty—which is why he would perform this last service for her. “I owe your late brother.”

“My brother?”

“David Vance of the
HMS Belleisle,
no? I only recognized the relationship when I saw the comb. We served on the same frigate briefly—a very long time ago. I was a newly minted lieutenant while he was yet a midshipman.” The stable crouched before them. Julian slid the door to the side. The twin scents of hay and horse suffused his senses and chased away the memories as he gestured her in, the building’s interior darker than the bright night. “In addition to his artistry at carving, I remember your brother as an exceptionally good navigator.”

“Yes, as I said, David was the most intelligent of us.” A tinge of bitterness colored her tones. Resentment toward the parents who had inadvertently favored their firstborn son over their later-arriving daughters?

“Did you have dinner last night?”

“Not...much.”

“I thought that might be the case.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved a small bundle. “We can’t have you fainting along the way.”

“Where did you get this?” She unfolded the cloth to expose a hunk of bread and cheese.

“Hawkesworth was concerned about you.” Julian struck the flint and lit the candle, then hung the lantern on a peg. The small circle of light emphasized the dark crescents of exhaustion that underscored her eyes, the plainness of her coat and bonnet and the meagerness of her bundle containing all her worldly belongings. A new wave of unease washed over him as he considered the incongruity.

What had she done with her ill-gotten gains? Provisioned a destitute invalid during this winter of want? Guilt scratched at Julian’s conscience. Would any do the same for her?

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you left Rowan Abbey this afternoon?”

“It doesn’t matter now, my lord.”

No, probably not. Not when what might have been would never be.

* * *

Leah retreated into the shadows to escape Chambelston’s too-penetrating, too-perceptive stare. His gaze lingered on her for several more interminable moments, then he snared a bridle and entered the black gelding’s stall.

Leah finished the bread and brushed the crumbs from her fingers.

“My lord?” A disheveled, heavy-eyed Wetherel shuffled his bare feet into the lantern’s weak light. “Is there a problem?”

“Miss Vance was called away suddenly because of an emergency. I’m going to see her to Heckton.” Chambelston inserted the bit into the horse’s mouth.

Wetherel whipped his head around. His bushy brows lowered over his eyes as he caught sight of Leah. “I can do that for you, my lord.”

“Thank you, but I have the matter in hand.” Chambelston buckled the bridle. “Go back to sleep.”

The groom lingered for several more minutes. “Very well, my lord. If you insist.” Wetherel’s gaze locked onto Leah’s as he edged past her. Then the rustle of his footsteps faded and he disappeared.

Despite the lateness of the hour and the seriousness of her situation, or perhaps because of them, a giggle bubbled in Leah’s throat. “I don’t think he trusts you to suitably manage the matter, my lord.”

“No doubt he’s met other members of the nobility and fears for his animals.” Chambelston smoothed a blanket along the gelding’s back. Much as the man’s mercurial moods vexed her, Leah acknowledged he displayed a self-sufficiency rare among the aristocracy.

A hand tapped against her arm. Leah peeked over her shoulder as Wetherel crooked a finger and gestured her away from Chambelston. She inched back a step, then another until the darkness of the stable’s murky interior swallowed her.

Wetherel pressed a folded note into her hand, then leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “This arrived several hours ago. I had thought to wait until morning to deliver it to you.”

“Thank you.” Answers from Alec, perhaps about the attack on Fleming and Teresa? Unfortunately Chambelston saddled the black gelding next to the only lit candle in the entire stable. She could hardly examine the note there. But she probably didn’t need the message now. Alec could tell her himself once she arrived at his lodgings. She tucked the paper into her sleeve then edged forward lest Chambelston notice her absence.

He secured the girth in place. “See to the candle, Miss Vance.” The horse’s iron shoes clanked against the floor as Chambelston led the animal outside.

Leah blew out the flame and followed them, dragging the stable door shut behind her. The cold wind tossed snow against her face.

“Quickly.” Her unlikely knight-errant climbed into the saddle. “Pass me your bag.”

She transferred the bundle containing a few clothes, her mother’s shawl, and her father’s Bible—unread these many years—without comment. Chambelston balanced it on the front of the saddle before him.

“And now you, Miss Vance.” He stretched out his hand to her. “Put your foot atop mine.”

She placed her palm against the leather of his glove, braced her sole on the toe of his boot, and let him swing her onto the horse behind him. Sitting astride hiked up her skirt several inches. The cold assailed her calves through her thin stockings.

“Still no gloves, Miss Vance?”

“I—I fear they were quite ruined during the events of the other day.”

“Take mine.” He stripped them off his hands.

“I can’t do that. You need them yourself.”

“I’ll manage.”

Reluctantly she accepted his offering. She pulled the leather over her fingers. The lingering warmth of his touch inside thawed her cold skin. “Thank you.”

“Hold on.” He urged the horse into motion. “Which way?”

“Veer left. We will follow this road for a mile, then turn right at the crossroads.”

“To Heckton.”

“Yes.” Hopefully Alec could squeeze her into his lodging for the few hours remaining of this night. And in the morning? Where would she go? Her mind swirled with alternatives, each leading to the same conclusion. Molly’s words, about a God with a plan, returned to mock her. She had no money and no prospects. No future.

The raw breeze chilled Leah’s cheeks. She tilted her head down and sheltered her face from the wind with Chambelston’s broad shoulders. The gentle rocking of the horse, the silence of the night and the warmth radiating from his coat promised blissful oblivion from her anxiety and exhaustion. Her heavy lids drifted over her eyes and her drowsy head bobbed.

She jerked and caught herself before she tumbled off the horse.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.” And yet, her words sounded soft and slurred even to her own ears.

“You could recite a few of those French conjugations. They kept me awake at night when I was a lad.”

“Exacting tutor?”

“Something worse. I didn’t want to disappoint my mother, given it’s her native language. Unfortunately I proved an inept pupil. Unhappily for me, my little brother has a remarkable ear for languages, and he put my poor efforts to shame.”

Rather like her younger sister Phoebe’s beauty casting Leah in the shadows. “Say something.”

“So you can tease me?”

“Your pride will benefit from a measure of humility.”

“Why do I suspect you are more interested in my humiliation than my humility?”

“A good laugh will keep me awake.”

“I think I would prefer you sleeping to mocking me.”

The indistinct outlines of Heckton’s cottages rising before them brought an end to this, their last—unexpected—banter. Longing for the foolish what-might-have-been weighed heavily in her heart as she tapped his lordship’s shoulder. The night’s ride, like her extraordinary part-friend and part-adversary relationship with Chambelston, had come to an end. “This is far enough.”

He drew the horse to a stop, then twisted his head and studied her face through the moon’s eerie glow. “Here? Miss Vance, as a gentleman, I would prefer to accompany you to your door.”

“But you see, my lord, it isn’t my door.”

He slid off the horse. “And you believe I would deliver your friend to the government.”

She fitted her hand into the one he extended to assist her down. “I think we both have good reasons for not confiding in each other.”

“You trust me more than you realize. I wish...”

A pity she couldn’t say the same of him. What betrayal had scarred him? A friend? Family member? A woman? “How so?”

“If you thought me a danger, you wouldn’t have directed me to this village. A few well-placed questions backed up with the offer of a bit of silver...”

But she would have bought herself what she most needed tonight. Time. She doffed his gloves and waited for him to pass her belongings.

Instead he reached inside his coat and produced a small purse. “A pity we couldn’t have met under other circumstances. I owe you this, I believe.” He captured her wrist and plopped the heavy pouch onto her palm. The soft chink of silver echoed in the night.

“I—I...” Pride demanded she refuse—she’d done little enough to earn his coins—but expediency held her tongue. Desperation did not allow for vanity. The money would solve her immediate problems for Phoebe’s care. Perhaps more. But... “Why?” The same question she’d asked when he’d insisted on attending her during this middle of the night venture.

“David.”

The answer she’d expected, if not the one she’d hoped for. Chambelston would have been pleased she intended to use the funds in the same way David would have—except she had no intention of revealing her family’s shame. “Thank you.” The swelling in her throat rendered the words subdued and husky.

“You’re welcome.” He passed her the bundle and swung up into the saddle.

“Would you make my farewells to Teresa and Lady Caroline?” Loneliness pierced her like the wind. “I fear my abrupt departure will unsettle your sister.”

“I’ll do that.” He gave her one last, lingering stare. Then he touched the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, Miss Vance.”

He rode off, leaving her holding the bag of silver. And his gloves, still clasped in her other hand. She raised them to her face and inhaled, imagining that sardonic smile as the scent of him filled her one last time.

Leah waited until the muffled clomp of the horse’s hooves faded into the darkness before she strolled the span of ageless stone buildings. She’d been to Alec’s lodgings but once, and then in daylight. A poor choice would make her decidedly unpopular.

A dog barked from inside a thatched-roof cottage. An angry voice responded, then all lapsed to quiet again. No, there was no dog at Alec’s lodgings. She peered at the next building, a modest structure whose warped wooden shingles moaned in the breeze. Alec had been wont to complain about the water seeping through his ceiling.

She gathered a fistful of snow and tossed it at an upstairs window. “Alec.” When the silence persisted, she repeated his name, more loudly.

Nothing. Now what? The wind penetrated her coat and the cold breached the slice in her boot. She would freeze if she remained out here until dawn. She tossed more snow at the glass, then ventured a tentative knock on the door.

The dog next door began to bark again. Leah pounded more loudly on the door, if only to get Alec to let her in before the entire village awoke.

A window above—not the one she’d covered in snow—screeched up in its frame. “What do you want?” The petulant alto resonated in the stillness and produced another session of barking.

“I need to speak with Alec Vance. It’s a family emergency.” Namely, her.

“He ain’t here.”

“He’s not? But then...” Perhaps she had chosen the wrong cottage after all.