The Suspect's Daughter (12 page)

Dawson leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever thought of running for the House of Commons, Mr. Amesbury?”

“No, but after making your Mr. Fairley’s acquaintance, I’d almost be tempted to do it so I could take a seat and vote for him.”

“Politics is not for the faint of heart,” Lord St. Cyr said with a slight grimace. “It takes a strong constitution to endure all those speeches without falling asleep.”

Grant allowed the corners of his mouth to curve upward. Confident that his bait had been taken if these were indeed the conspirators, he played out the rest of game then made an excuse about an early appointment tomorrow and bade his farewells.

Miss Fairley rose to escort him to the door and saw to it that he got his hat and coat. Her smile was part teasing and part sympathetic, as if she sensed Grant’s discomfort in social gatherings. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Amesbury.”

“More than I expected.” He faced her fully. “You really believe in your father, don’t you?”

Her eyes shone with undisguised admiration and affection. “He is the finest man I’ve ever known. Our country needs him. Besides,” she paused, “he is so much more alive since he decided to run. When Mr. Dawson first approached him about the office, my father was still so deeply grieving my mother’s death that he had faded away to a mere shadow of himself.” Her brows pulled together and some of the light left her eyes. Then she visibly brightened. “But when he found a new purpose, he became himself again.”

Grant turned over her words and explored them from all angles. “Every man needs a cause, something to live for.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“So it was Dawson’s idea?”

“Yes. He’s been such a devoted friend, always buoying up my father when he doubts himself.” She smiled, that persistent sunshine returning like a ray spearing the clouds. He’d seen her frightened and sad, but always quickly recovering to a state of joy.

Grant bowed. “Good night, Miss Fairley.”

He turned to go, but she touched his arm, a light touch, no more than the feathering brush of a butterfly. Still, he stiffened at the contact and withdrew. She blinked down at the thwarted contact as if searching for the source of his abruptness.

“Yes?” he prompted.

She faltered but seemed to draw from that endless well of happiness, and managed a sincere smile. “I look forward to seeing you at our house party.”

If Miss Fairley knew her father was his prime suspect, she wouldn’t be treating him with such kindness and familiarity. Her devotion to her father was clear. She’d be devastated when he brought her father to justice for conspiring to murder and treason. That Grant might play a part in dimming that ray of sun felt a tragedy. But better that than allowing a group of radicals commit murder.

“I look forward to it as well.” He inclined his head in farewell and left.

The touch of her hand still burned through his sleeve to his skin. A great pit of loneliness opened up inside him. He would never find joy to shine light into all the dark places of his soul.

No matter. He had work to do, and that required he become a creature of darkness.

Jocelyn’s heart started an odd thumpity-thumpity when Grant Amesbury arrived at their country manor for the house party. It wasn’t as if she had any designs on him. In fact, he’d make a terrible husband—dark, closed, unfriendly, solitary, and he clearly didn’t like to be touched judging from the way he jerked out of her hand at the end of their dinner party. But she wanted to peel away the protective layers around him and determine whether he were truly as dark as he seemed, or if his heart were so tender that he kept it carefully locked away to protect it.

That was an interesting notion: he didn’t
not
feel; he was afraid to feel. She would consider that later. For now, she’d settle for trying to make him smile. She could make it a game. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt him. Very well, she’d go to any lengths to make the overly serious man smile.

He had cast off his all-black attire in favor of fawn breeches and a bottle-green coat. He stood in the doorway shouldering a large bag, glaring fiercely at a footman who visibly shrank from him.

Jocelyn drew a breath and called upon all her happiness, letting it bubble up to the top, and hurried forward to Mr. Amesbury, smiling as if he were her dearest friend. “Mr. Amesbury, I’m so happy you’ve arrived. I trust your trip was pleasant?”

“Tolerable. Thank you.” He raised a brow as if he found her mildly amusing, the way one views a puppy’s antics.

“Wonderful! Where are your trunks?”

He jerked his chin toward the bag on his shoulder. “This is everything I brought.”

She raised her eyebrows. “A man who travels light. How refreshing.” She gestured to the nearest footman. “Westley, please take Mr. Amesbury’s bag to the Green Room. I hope you like it,” she said to Mr. Amesbury. “It doesn’t have a fine view but it’s very comfortable. And the fireplace doesn’t smoke, so that’s an advantage.” She smiled brightly.

Mr. Amesbury paused. Had she been babbling?

“Thank you.” He surrendered the bag he’d been easily supporting on his broad shoulder.

The brawny footman let out an
umph
as he took the bag and practically staggered away with it.

“Are your horses and coach being seen to?”

Her taciturn guest nodded. “I rode on horseback, but the groom is seeing to my mount.”

“Shall you take some refreshment first, or would you like me to show you to your room?”

“My room, please.”

She swept an arm out and offered a welcoming smile. “This way. I hope you aren’t afraid of ghosts, Mr. Amesbury, because we reportedly have one.”

“Oh?” He kept pace with her as she led the way up the large curving staircase.

“Yes, it haunts naughty children who get out of their beds. Or so my nursemaid told me.” She smiled, watching for signs of amusement in him.

One corner of his mouth twitched. Not exactly the smile she’d hoped for, but it was something. “A tale born of necessity, no doubt.”

“I hated bedtime. There was always something to do instead.”

“Such as?” He studied her as if he truly wanted to know.

“Oh, look at the stars, listen to the nightingale, search for signs that the dolls and toys really come alive at night. I used to lie so very still, hoping they’d think I was asleep, and then open one eye to see if I could catch them moving. When that proved fruitless, I’d go to the window to watch the gardens for signs of fairies. They come out in moonlight, you know.”

“You have a vivid imagination.” His voice wavered between amusement and disapproval.

“Didn’t you play make-believe as a child?” She pictured him as a little boy with black curls and serious gray eyes. Surely, he’d been more talkative and more inclined to smile as a child.

“I did.”

She waited.

His eyes softened. “I used to play in the gardens with my brothers. One tree in particular often served as a lookout tower or a ship.” He broke off and the hardness returned to his eyes. One hand curled into a fist. “It was a long time ago.”

The gardens. He must be thinking about the brother he lost in the gardens. How old had he been when tragedy struck?

She led him to his room and peered in, content to see a fire crackling in the grate and his bag resting against a clothes press. No valet had unpacked his things. “You didn’t bring a valet?”

“I brought a boy who does odd jobs, cleans, fetches dinner, does my laundry—that sort of thing. He isn’t really trained as a valet. He has only been with me for about a year, and my needs are simple. He’s probably still belowstairs.”

That was the longest monologues she’d heard him utter. “He’s your only servant? You don’t live with family?”

He shook his head. “I live alone.”

“It sounds lonely.”

Though he shrugged casually, he avoided eye contact. “It’s peaceful. If I want company, I know where to find it.”

Facing him fully, she admired the lines of his handsome face and the shine of his midnight hair. His gaze darted about the room as if searching for danger, or perhaps to avoid hers. Very gently, she asked, “Do you? Want company, I mean?”

He huffed a harsh laugh. “Usually I have more company than I can stand.”

Her smile faltered. How could anyone get close to such a prickly character? Or was that a defensive move? “If you feel you’re being overwhelmed by unwanted company while you’re here, no one will badger you if you leave the group.” She stepped back a pace. “I’ll let you get settled in. We have tea at four, and dinner at seven.” She withdrew.

“Miss Fairley,” he called when she’d only taken a few steps.

Jocelyn turned back, her smile in place.

His gray eyes were solemn. “If you can spare the time after you’ve seen to your guests, I’d appreciate a tour.”

She could hardly contain her surprise that the solitary, reserved Grant Amesbury wanted her company. Or maybe he wanted to survey the area the way he always visually surveyed every room he entered. “Of course. After tea?”

He dipped his chin in a brief nod.

She smiled. “I look forward to it, sir.” Probably more than she should. He’d said nothing, done nothing, to express any sort of interest in her. But the idea of spending more time with the handsome, mysterious gentlemen added a bounce to her step.

He nodded again. Leaving him to settle in, she turned her attention to the other guests as they arrived. Once they were settled, she donned her pelisse and bonnet and left the house to check on Katie’s sister, Lucy, to see if she and her children were settled into their new home here at the country estate. As she walked, she put the intriguing Grant Amesbury out of her mind. She had plenty of other concerns.

Breathing in the clean country air, Jocelyn strode across the back lawn, hopped off the ha-ha, the low wall that served as a barrier between the lawn and the open fields where sheep grazed. She strolled over wild grasses down a shallow depression in the land. Ahead lay the creek and a cottage with new residents. The small stone structure, nestled near a grove of trees, had once belonged to the caretaker in generations past before the Fairley family made this estate their permanent residence. The caretakers had long since gone, and now it housed her four refugees from London.

Laundry hung from lines near the house and voices carried to her. Children laughed, chasing each other around in the grassy clearing near the house. Beyond the house, a creek bubbled bringing fresh clean water.

“Miss Fairley!” Flora ran up and threw her arms around Jocelyn’s legs. “The country is so big and so green!”

Jocelyn laughed at her exuberance. “Yes, indeed.”

Little Mary toddled over to Jocelyn and raised her arms. “Up.”

Jocelyn picked her up and put her on her hip. “Where’s your momma, Miss Mary?”

The child pointed behind her.

“Getting water,” Flora supplied. “We can ’ave all the water we want. That’s called a creek and it brings new, clean water all th’ time.”

Jocelyn chuckled at the child’s delight. “Yes, it does.”

Lucy trudged up the slope from the creek, carrying buckets full of water that sloshed with each step. Baby John rode on her hip, tied snugly inside a sling made up of clean linen.

The young mother actually smiled. “This is a righ’ pretty place, Miss Fairley.”

Jocelyn could hardly believe the change in the woman. Judging from the healthy glow to her cheeks and her confident walk, a change of scenery had already done her a world of good. Of course, plentiful food and a safe place to raise her young children had probably added to the improvement. Jocelyn let out a happy sigh.

Gesturing to the lines of clothing, Jocelyn said, “I see you already have work.”

Lucy adjusted her hold on the baby. “Th’ other laundress gave me all the bed sheets and linens to do. But I’m nearly done and it’s not even dark yet.”

Jocelyn smiled. “The job and the cottage are yours for as long as you want them.”

The young widow set down the bucket. “Thankee kindly, Miss.” She hesitated. “I can get ye some tea?”

“No, thank you. I must return to my guests soon. I merely came to check on you and the children to see if you were settled.”

Lucy nodded and spread her arms. “It’s heaven.”

Overjoyed to have been of some help to this sweet young mother, Jocelyn turned to the two little girls. “Have you rolled down the hill, yet?”

“Rolled, miss?”

“Oh, yes. It’s great fun. Watch.” Jocelyn walked to a place where the grassy ground angled down toward a hollow. Ignoring the threat of stains, she lay on the grass, and with her arms over her head, rolled down. It had been too long since she had done that.

Laughing and a little dizzy, she sat up at the bottom and gestured to the children. “Try it.”

Flora went first. She, too, was laughing by the time she reached the bottom of the little hill. Mary hung back, too afraid to try it until after Jocelyn and Mary had rolled down the hill several times. Mary finally braved it, screaming all the way, but at the bottom hopped up and said, “Again.”

They rolled again until Jocelyn was too dizzy to continue. She laughed out of pure joy. If any of her guests suspected their hostess was rolling down the hill with children, they’d disapprove. Good thing none of them frequented the laundress’ cottage.

She got up, brushed off her pelisse and waved. “I must go. Goodbye.”

They waved. Lucy finished folding the last sheet she’d removed from the lines, picked up her bucket of water, and shepherded her children inside for an early supper. If only Jocelyn could help everyone in need. But at least she’d aided Lucy, and by that she’d helped not only the children, but Katie, too. Maybe she couldn’t help the stoic Mr. Amesbury, but she would try to prove to him that his face wouldn’t crack if he smiled.

As she strolled back to the house, the object of her thoughts paced along the ha-ha edging the back lawn. Sheep grazed on the lower side of the barrier like fluffy clouds floating in a green sky. Mr. Amesbury’s focus remained fixed on the house as he glided like a phantom, barely stirring the grass. She’d read of ninjas of the far off Orient and how they’d been trained to move with undetectable stealth. She’d never seen a real ninja, of course, but easily pictured Grant Amesbury as one of their kind—silent, precise, deadly.