Chapter Ten
L eighton Darby was a man who had everything. Unlike most privileged people, he was well aware of his good fortune and excessively pleased by it. Born into a family of ancient lineage and considerable wealth, he had increased his personal riches considerably by his judicious marriage to the heiress, Annabelle Niall.
Annabelle was one of those glacial, very English beauties, though she doted on Darby. He rather suspected they both regarded the other as some kind of trophy to flaunt in public. Which suited him quite well, for it meant he could do more or less as he liked in private.
He was the proud possessor of several houses, though this one, Shelton Hall, had become his favorite. Handsome and gracious, it stood in a delightful park, surrounded by excellent woodland for hunting and shooting. He held excellent parties there, where his wife was the perfect hostess and he generally had the pick of his friends’ wives. And daughters.
Oh yes, Darby was a happy man.
He was even happier when he was informed that Lady Maule and her friend had called on his wife, who had requested his company in the drawing room. Darby, happy to oblige—for Lady Maule was a taking little thing with a positive bear of a husband—hurried to obey his lady’s summons.
No doubt there would be some lovely gossip, too, for his wife’s cousin Frances Niall— distant cousin, as he assured his many friends—had been fished dead out of Maule’s lake. Foul play was suspected. People remembered only too well that Maule had once been expected to marry poor Frances.
Even now, the memory of her made him smile.
He was still smiling when he walked into the drawing room. His gaze went straight to the delightful Lady Maule, but it was the other visitor who deprived him of breath.
She was so stunning, he didn’t catch her name at first, merely prowled toward her before he managed to recall his manners and bow over her ladyship’s hand. “Lady Maule, always a pleasure.”
She withdrew her hand with modest decorum. “My good friend Mrs. Grey, who is staying with us at The Willows for a little.”
Mrs. Grey’s smile was dazzling, and her mouth… Desire tore through him. He had to have her.
Fortunately, he retained enough sense to behave with civility, although when he ferried tea from his wife to the other ladies, he made sure his fingers touched Mrs. Grey’s soft, slender hand. He wanted to growl.
Apparently undisturbed, Mrs. Grey met his gaze boldly, with a murmur of thanks, and looked beyond him to continue her conversation with Annabelle.
Darby collected his own tea and sat beside his wife, from where he did his best to catch Mrs. Grey’s eye.
“We came really to pay our condolences for the loss of your poor cousin,” Lady Maule said. “Such a sad and shocking loss. All the more so for us, since she was found in our lake.”
At last Mrs. Grey’s eyes met his.
“Yes, it has been shock for all of us who knew her,” Annabelle said. “Has it not, Leighton?”
“A most terrible shock,” he managed, while retaining Mrs. Grey’s gaze. “She was still so young and vital, a sad loss to all her family and friends. Annabelle and I are devastated.”
Mrs. Grey released his gaze and turned her own upon Annabelle. “Of course, I never had the pleasure of meeting Miss Niall, but I do offer my sincere sympathies. And those of my husband. Were you and Miss Niall close friends?”
“We were most cordial,” Annabelle said. “Although she was several years younger than I, so we were never terribly close. Sadly, we never will be now.”
Lady Maule said, “You must take comfort in your own kindness to her and her family on their return to India. The evening of your ball was so enjoyable. Frances spoke of it often to me.”
Darby almost smiled again as he remembered that night. But he had fresh fish to fry now in the delectable person of Mrs. Grey.
“Thank you,” Annabelle said. “I shall remember her as she was that night.”
“As shall I,” Darby said piously. Mrs. Grey’s eyes were upon him once more, large, mysterious eyes of alluring beauty. He would wager everything he had that she knew well how to please a man.
“It is even more shocking,” she said sadly, “that detectives from London are now investigating her death as murder.”
“I had heard something of the sort,” Annabelle said. “In fact, they called here just the other day. Leighton sent them away very sharply, I can tell you.”
“Why?” Mrs. Grey asked unexpectedly.
Annabelle blinked. “We can’t have policemen in our house, asking impertinent questions, implying we somehow know things about poor Frances’s death.”
“I’m afraid you have Colonel Niall to thank for that,” Mrs. Grey said. “It was on his account that Sir Humphrey asked for Scotland Yard’s help. After the colonel’s accusations against Elizabeth, Sir Humphrey could not be considered impartial in his investigations.”
“We have to apologize for our cousin’s baseless claims,” Darby said quickly. “Poor old fellow is in pieces after his daughter’s death. Quite knocked him for a loop, did it not, Annabelle?”
“Quite,” Annabelle agreed, as she always did. “And I cannot think much of the officers they sent. Common little men who know nothing about respectable people.”
“Did they ask you if Frances had any enemies?” Mrs. Grey asked.
“They did! Leighton told them in no uncertain terms that of course she did not. They then began to imply that poor Frances was no better than she should be, going off for assignations behind her father’s back! I mean, how dare they? The night she died, she went to see you , Lady Maule, which is hardly an assignation.”
“No, but she left me and never got as far as home. Somewhere between our lake and Fairfield Grange, she died. Before someone put her body in the lake. We think,” Lady Maule finished almost apologetically.
They batted the subject around a little more, but Darby barely listened. It didn’t matter what Mrs. Grey said—it was the movement of her luscious mouth that held his attention.
When, after the polite half-hour of a morning call, the ladies stood to depart, Darby rose with them. So did Annabelle.
“Allow us to see to your carriage,” she said, taking Lady Maule’s arm, bless her. She was, he supposed, making up for her cousin the colonel’s ridiculous accusations against the woman by showing her personal support.
Which worked very well for Darby himself, who had no choice but to walk with the delectable Mrs. Grey. She even took his proffered arm on the stairs. And while they waited on the front terrace for the carriage to be brought round, she displayed no objection to moving a few more steps away from his wife, who was enjoying a serious tête-à-tête with Lady Maule.
“I feel so bad for Elizabeth with such a vile accusation hanging over her,” Mrs. Grey said. “Is there anything you can tell me that would help her?”
Darby tried to look sympathetic. “Such as what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How well did you know Miss Niall, sir?”
He almost laughed at his own wit as he said seriously, “As well as any man who admires a beautiful woman.”
“I see,” Mrs. Grey murmured, and just for an instant he had the uneasy feeling that she did. Her eyes were damned perceptive as well as mysterious. He would have to step more carefully.
“Believe me, I am at your feet. Nothing compares to my first sight of you,” he said. “I have never laid eyes on a woman more beautiful. Please tell me I may see you again.”
God, that smile, at once enticing, knowing, and veiled…
“You know where I am. Should you have information to impart that your wife might not understand.”
He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but it was far from a no. “What of Mr. Grey? There is still a Mr. Grey?”
“Very much so.” She smiled dazzlingly. “He is on his way to London. I expect you danced with her at your ball.”
“Who?” he asked, gazing into her eyes. “Oh, Frances? Yes, I did, of course.”
She gave a teasing slap to his wrist. “Did you flirt with her, Mr. Darby?”
“Of course I did. Frances loved to flirt.”
“Did you perhaps give her a secret gift? A bracelet?” she asked.
“Never,” he said, amused, wondering if she was jealous or merely grasping for gifts of her own. “Actually, I think India changed her.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“Well, she flirted at the ball, probably for old times’ sake, but never after that. Or, at least, not with me.”
“Are we still talking about mere flirting, sir?”
He allowed her to see the strength of his desire. “I am a man of deep passions, madam. Yet neither Frances nor anyone else has ever affected me as you do.” The horses were trotting briskly onto the terrace. He had only a moment more. “We will meet again, very soon. I have to believe you feel something too, even if only a pale reflection of my own—”
“Goodbye, Mr. Darby,” she interrupted with a smile and a curtsey. Just as well, for Annabelle and Lady Maule were almost upon them. “It was a pleasure to meet you. And you, Mrs. Darby. Thank you for your kind hospitality.”
Darby made a fuss about handing both ladies into their carriage and closed the door. Standing back beside Annabelle, he watched them drive away, fresh fire in his belly.
*
“What a revolting man,” Constance said.
“Mr. Darby?” Elizabeth said in surprise. “Well, he is very flirtatious, certainly, but quite open and charming about it.”
Constance raised an eyebrow. “Because he behaves so in front of his wife? Do you find him charming?”
“No,” Elizabeth admitted, “but I have Humph. And you know, you did flirt back just a little. You can’t help it either.”
For some reason, this observation annoyed Constance. “It is the only way a man like that will speak to women. Please don’t tell me how alike we are, or I shall be sick. He more or less admitted to having been more intimate with Frances than he should, but then implied this had ended when she came back from India, apart from one encounter at the Shelton Hall ball.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “You got him to tell you that in so short a time?”
“He wanted me to know how in demand he is, such a very dashing man about town.” Something had begun to curl and cringe inside Constance. Was that how she appeared to Solomon? A female equivalent of Darby? Only more disgusting because she took money for it? She liked to think she was honest, but to a decent man was she simply repellant? Why in God’s name was he friends with her?
Focus, idiot . “Tell me about the ball. Darby said he danced with Frances. How did she behave that night?”
“She was lively and fun, as I recall. Very popular with both the gentlemen and the ladies. But then, she and her family were the guests of honor. She never overstepped the mark, if that’s what you mean.” Elizabeth frowned. “At least, not in public.”
“Go on.”
“She did vanish for a little while, for I remember John looking for her. Then she reappeared with some tale of a torn hem and an emergency repair. Something that could easily happen.”
“Did Darby—er…vanish at about the same time?”
Elizabeth thought about it. “I…don’t know. He might have. He was a very genial host, flitting from group to group, playing cards, smoking cigars on the terrace, and dancing, of course. He danced with me, too, and was perfectly well behaved. Oh, Constance, are you saying you think the baby was Darby’s?”
“There was no baby, Elizabeth. The doctors would have found it during the autopsy.”
“Perhaps they decided not to tell. To save Colonel Niall worse distress.”
“It’s possible,” Constance admitted. “But I saw Dr. Murray’s face when the subject came up. He was shocked.”
“It’s a very odd thing to lie about.”
“Not if your aim is to wreck a marriage.”
“But Humphrey would never have married Frances. Not even if he divorced me. Not even if I died.”
“I suspect she would have found a way to force him, if that were what she truly wanted. But she might have been merely punishing him. I think she had another interest, one she was actually able to indulge in the present. Another lover she met in secret.” Who probably gave her a silver bracelet with a diamond at its center.
“Darby?”
“I doubt it. I have the feeling whatever their relationship in the past, it was over for Frances. Though perhaps Darby did not take his congé well. Or she threatened to tell his wife about their past affair. From what she said to you and Humphrey, this would be quite in character for her.”
Just for a moment, Constance had forgotten she was not talking to Solomon.
Elizabeth was staring at her. “What did she say to Humphrey?”
Damnation . “Oh, vague slanders against you that he didn’t believe for a moment.”
“Constance!”
Constance sighed and gave in. “That in London, before you came to The Willows as governess, you were a street whore.”
“Oh, dear God.” She buried her face in her hands. “Constance, how could she know? How could she have found out?”
“She didn’t,” Constance said, grasping both her hands. “She was spreading lies, like the nonsense about her own child. There is no way she could ever have found out about your past. She was in India.”
Although, would this firm of L. Dunne, who had told Frances about the baby, have told her other things, too? Could they have found out? If Frances had judged it more damaging than the baby story, it could explain why she hadn’t used that to upset Humphrey.
What other terrible information would John Niall find among his sister’s documents? Constance wished she’d taken them all last night.
“No wonder he is so cold to me,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Is he?” Constance asked, her heart aching for her friend.
“He tries not to be. And I have not helped, afraid Frances told the truth about carrying his child.”
“Maybe you should tell him the whole truth.”
“And bear his contempt, his disgust? I would rather die.”
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Constance said helplessly.
Frances was dead, but her damage lived on. Who else was suffering from it? And would the truth of her death change that?
*
Leaving Elizabeth playing with the children at The Willows, Constance walked up to the Grange and followed the path to the stables.
Although Colonel Niall seemed to have locked himself up in the house with his grief, his stables appeared to be run still with military efficiency. He had a number of handsome, well-cared- for horses, one of which was being groomed in the yard. The others poked their heads over the stable doors, no doubt hopeful of a gallop with whoever approached.
“What a lovely animal,” said Constance, who knew very little about horses, pausing to stroke the nose of the horse being groomed.
“That he is, ma’am,” the groom agreed, regarding her with curiosity. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Niall said I might come and see the horses,” Constance lied, “since I miss my own so much. I should speak to the head groom, should I not? Godden, is it?”
“Lance!” the groom called, and a tall, handsome fellow in an unexpectedly white shirt and leather waistcoat swaggered out from the stable building.
Constance felt a ripple of excitement—not because of the man’s undeniable physical attractions, but because she recognized that he might well have appealed to the dead woman she was beginning to understand. He was strong and dark and confident in his body. And he was undoubtedly forbidden fruit in a way even a married man of her own class was not.
Constance went to meet him. “You are Godden, the head groom?” she said. “I’m Mrs. Grey, a guest of Lady Maule over at The Willows. Mr. Niall says you would tell me about the horses here and which might make a suitable lady’s mount.”
“Did he?” Godden looked amused, his roving eye definitely roving. “He never mentioned any such thing to me.”
“I expect he forgot,” Constance said.
“I expect he did.” The man’s eyes were positively gleaming now with the knowledge that Constance had sought him out with such a feeble excuse. He probably imagined she had glimpsed him from a distance and fallen into instant lust. Time to disabuse him of that notion.
“He has a lot on his mind just now, poor man,” she said. “Which is the real reason I wish to speak to you. Walk with me.”
His expression changed as he recognized her tone of authority. Obediently, he walked beside her back toward the stable doors. Listening, Constance could hear no signs of activity within, except the horses themselves shifting on their feet. At the far end, from where Godden had emerged, she could hear voices—the other grooms enjoying a well-deserved break from their duties. Good. She would not be overheard.
She paused to pet the nose of the first horse.
“Careful,” Godden said. “She’ll nudge you so hard for apples that she’ll knock you over.”
Constance, who had come prepared, drew a quarter of an apple from her pocket and let the mare take it from her palm while she kept her gaze on the head groom. “Tell me about Miss Frances.”
“Nothing to tell,” Godden said stolidly. “Which I already told the police.”
“What did they ask you?”
“If I ever accompanied her when she rode out.”
“Did you?”
“Once or twice. I told them that too.”
“Where did she go?”
Godden shrugged. “Different places. She wasn’t much interested in scenery or in horses, truth to tell. Just liked the fresh air.”
“Did she ever meet anyone when she was out?”
Godden sighed. “Perhaps I can save you some time, ma’am. She never went on any assignations, never rode to The Willows, or met Sir Humphrey nor anyone else outside. At least, not while I was with her.”
“Is that what the police inspector asked you?”
“And what I told him. Which is the truth.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Constance said honestly. With luck, it had deflected the detectives away from suspicion of Elizabeth. She moved on to the next horse, offering another piece of apple. “And when you rode out with her, did she always behave as a lady ought?”
“Of course.”
Constance blinked as though surprised. “You mean she never flirted? Not even with a handsome fellow like yourself?”
His smile was a little crooked. “Well, if she did, she did no more.”
“Should I believe you?” Constance asked.
“Yes, for I won’t deny I was disappointed. I only applied for the job because Josh Rennie—who used to be head groom here before the family went to India—told me I’d be in luck with her. But I never was. Her eyes promised, but she never gave an inch. And if you repeat a word of that, I’ll deny I spoke to you about anything save horses. Not that Mr. John will ask, will he? Because he never sent you down here in the first place.”
“No, that is true. But I needed the answers to a few questions, and I believe you just gave me them. Thank you.” She turned away, then back again. “Oh, one more thing. I don’t suppose you ever gave her a present? Perhaps in the hope of favor?”
Godden stared at her. “What could I give someone like her? Beyond the obvious,” he added crudely.
“The night she died,” Constance said, changing tack, “did you see her return from The Willows? Did she come by the stables?”
“No. The police inspector asked me that, too.”
“And you didn’t happen to see her going anywhere else?”
“No,” Godden said with exaggerated patience.
He answered immediately, with no pause for over-careful thought. It sounded like the truth. She was about to give up when another thought struck her.
“Why did Rennie leave his post as head groom?”
Godden shrugged. “They were all let go when the colonel went to India. Only a steward for the land, old Worcester, and a maid were left behind to keep the house. The horses went to India, too.”
“Yes, but why didn’t Rennie reapply? If he found his position so…rewarding?”
“Got a better place, I reckon.”
“Do you know where?”
Godden stared at her. “No.”
“Never mind. I’ll ask Worcester. Thank you, Godden.” She swept regally away as though she had every right to be there.