Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
R ichard hastily washed and changed. He couldn’t remember ever being caught out like this and felt slightly ridiculous, but he only had to remember Tina in his arms, and he knew being with her was worth any small embarrassment he might be experiencing right now.
Did he really mean to make his future with her?
When the words had come spilling from his mouth he’d wondered whether he was losing his mind, but they had seemed so right. His life had been full of nothing but his work with the Guardians and the search for Anthony’s killer—he’d been driven and hadn’t had time for anything else—but now suddenly he was imagining what it would be like to have more. A woman and one day children—most men his age were already burdened by several of the little blighters. He could call his first son Anthony, after his brother.
Recently he’d realized how rarely he had a conversation that wasn’t related to his job. Now he imagined discussing the mundane with Tina, lounging by the fire with her sitting on his lap while they dreamed of their future. Sharing things that might seem boring to others but were intimate and special to them.
Blast it, he wanted to marry her!
All this time he’d been looking around— not very hard he had to admit— for the perfect partner for Tina, and no one had come up to the mark. Well, of course not. Obviously, in his heart, he’d meant her for himself all along, and it’d just taken some time for his intellect to catch up.
“Brown jacket, sir? Or the gray?”
Archie was being very disapproving. He’d probably been talking with Maria, and they’d decided he was a wicked seducer.
Richard pointed to the brown jacket. Archie held it out and silently assisted him into it. As Archie turned to put away the other jacket Richard noticed a mark on his valet’s neck, just above his collar. To one of Richard’s experience it was unmistakable.
He smiled.
“Seen Maria, Archie?”
His manservant raised a supercilious eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Not my business, eh?” Richard guessed, straightening his sleeves with sharp tugs. “If you don’t want people to know you are seeing Maria, you might want to wear a higher collar,” he said with a grin, and strode to the door, leaving Archie fumbling at his clothing and peering at his reflection in the mirror.
Feeling more like his old self, Richard made his way to Sir Henry’s rooms to make sure all had gone to plan. Will Jackson was outside the door, awaiting Lord Horace Gilfoyle, who was the last of the shooters to be questioned and had inexplicably gone off somewhere.
“Any possibilities yet?”
“Not really. There was one thing. Mr. Branson said something odd, about Sir Henry’s deserving to be brought down a peg or two. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe he was glad Sir Henry was shot.”
Richard nodded, thoughtful. “He’s an odd chap. Seems to resent Sir Henry’s occupying the house that used to belong to him. Well, I suppose we can understand it, but why accept an invitation from a man he hates?”
“Unless he wanted to see him ‘brought down a peg or two,’” Will quoted.
“Yes, good point. You’d better go find Lord Horace and see what he has to say,” said Richard. “Then we can begin to put it all together.”
“And who did you see nearby when Sir Henry was shot?”
Horace held up his hands and counted on his fingers. “I saw Charles Smythe, John Little, Richard Eversham, Sir Henry of course, and a couple of local chaps he was employing as gamekeepers, whose names escape me. I didn’t see you.” He looked smug.
Will was writing down the names. So far no two witnesses remembered the scene in the same way although there were some consistencies. He sighed and put down his pen. “Thank you, Lord Horace. I think we’re finished here for now.”
After Horace had left, Will looked over the list in front of him. There was one man whose name had been missing from all of the accounts, and now here it was again. Mr. Branson. Lord Horace hadn’t mentioned seeing him, but then he’d made a point of saying Will himself wasn’t there, and Will definitely had been.
Will shuffled back through the statements, looking for Branson’s. Yes, here it was. He glanced over it. Branson claimed to have seen everyone else in the shooting party and, according to him, he’d never been apart from them at any stage.
So why hadn’t they seen him?
The sun was streaming in the window when Tina woke again, to the smell of tea and toast as Maria put a tray down on the side table.
“Oh, Maria, what time is it?”
“It’s eleven o’clock, miss. Most of the ladies are having a late breakfast after the ball last night although Miss Allsop was asking for you.”
“Margaret? Oh Lord, now what? First it was Mr. Little, and now Mr. Freer. Perhaps she’s found a new man.”
Maria ignored her levity. “Lady Isabelle is celebrating Sir Henry’s recovery and is planning an afternoon tea on the terrace.”
“Will Signor Veruda be singing?” Tina asked, remembering the scene she’d been a witness to last night.
“I think Signor Veruda has gone. I saw him with all his bags on the carriageway this morning waiting for his coach.”
So Lady Isabelle had made her choice between love and duty. Duty, was that what marriage was all about?
Richard had spoken of the possibility of marriage last night although he hadn’t actually said the word “marriage.” Secure your future, he’d said, or some such thing. If that is what you want .
Well Tina wasn’t sure she wanted to marry anyone just now. The thought of being at someone else’s beck and call, being obliged to act in a manner that wasn’t to her liking, well, suddenly she didn’t want to do it. She’d escaped Horace—imagine being married to him with all those other women!—and she wasn’t keen to consider stepping up to the altar again. Did that make her improper?
Tina smiled to herself.
She was beginning to like being improper. What was the point in being a perfectly behaved lady when she was poor? Surely the best part of being poor was doing exactly as one pleased. She’d heard that the lower classes lived their lives to a different set of rules than everyone else, and Tina was beginning to think she might enjoy that.
She stretched and yawned. “I must get up and dress. Everyone will think I’m a slugabed.”
“I’m quite sure they all think you’re a well-brought-up young lady, miss, who behaves just as her parents would wish.”
The tone of disapproval was obvious.
“You won’t tell, will you, Maria?”
Maria lost her starchy attitude and sighed. “No, miss.”
“Then no one else will ever know.”
“Take care, Miss Tina. Mr. Eversham may not be quite as he seems.”
Tina sat up. “Of course he is as he seems. He’s perfect. I wonder if Charles has proposed to Anne yet. Wouldn’t that be wonderful! Unless her parents refuse the banns when they find out just how badly in debt we are.”
Maria gave her a doubtful look. “Are you in debt, miss?”
Tina grimaced. “Yes, we are. Surely you’ve noticed? You must have, all the darning and patching you’ve been doing lately. And all those pigs’ trotters for supper, ugh. Can you marry Archie immediately? At least then we won’t have to give you notice, Maria, when we get home. If we have a home.”
Maria had paled. “It is that bad, miss? I knew . . . that is, I was aware, of course, but not how serious it had become.”
“Now you see why I am a little reckless suddenly, Maria. I had hoped to marry Horace and save us all, but that has gone terribly wrong, so I have decided to enjoy myself as much as I can before I have to take some dreadful position as a companion or a governess. I suppose my education at Miss Debenham’s will help with that. Someone will snap me up, you wait and see.”
Even to herself, she sounded breathless and overwrought.
“If they find out about last night, miss, no one will snap you up.”
Tina waved a hand. “Nonsense. That will never come out. You wait and see, Maria, all will be well.”
Maria wished she shared her young mistress’s optimism. She’d been worried about Tina’s plans to marry Horace, knowing what sort of man he was, but now those worries seemed minor in comparison. Richard Eversham! According to Archie he was a dangerous man who led a dangerous life. She could not help but fret for any woman who fell under his spell. Perfect, indeed!
Miss Tina must be told, but telling her would mean breaking her promise to Archie. Maria was in a bind.
Archie would forgive her, of course he would, especially after last night. Wouldn’t he?
Miss Tina’s life was at stake here, and Maria had cared for the girl for too long to see her hurt because of something she failed to do. She could never live with herself if anything happened to her young mistress.
Richard had hoped to seek out Tina, but he found himself busy with the statements Will had taken from the shooters, as well as soothing Sir Henry’s frustration at their lack of progress.
At one point he happened to glance out of the window and saw her in the garden. She was wearing a dark blue muslin dress and a straw hat with a matching ribbon. She also carried a parasol to protect her skin, although—and Richard smiled to himself—he’d detected a hint of gold to her complexion last night, so perhaps the parasol wasn’t working very well.
His smile faded.
She was walking with her brother and Anne Burgess, but Gilfoyle was lurking behind them.
He kept thinking it was madness to consider marrying her— even if she’d have him— not before he’d found Anthony’s killer and kept his promise to his dead brother. But he couldn’t let her go. What if Gilfoyle got hold of her, promised her his fortune to help her family? She’d feel obliged to agree. No, he mustn’t let that happen. And he might have the Captain in his grasp today. Tomorrow? But then again he’d been hoping that for two years now. How long would Tina wait for him? She was young, beautiful, and he couldn’t expect her to believe in him and be patient forever.
And speaking of being patient . . . Richard wondered how long he could hold back from the ultimate act of physical pleasure. Last night had been exceptional, even for a man as experienced as he, but because of that experience he knew his limitations. One night he would lose control, and then . . . For her sake, he couldn’t risk the scandal of a pregnancy. He would have to marry her and set aside his promise.
The promise that had meant so much to him, that had directed the course of his life for two years.
Anthony’s face rose before him as he’d last seen it, but Richard dismissed it with a shake of his head and turned back into the room, where Will and Sir Henry were frowning over a mass of papers spread across the latter’s desk.
“I can’t believe it,” Sir Henry growled. He’d thrown a brightly colored robe over his night attire, but his skin was yellowish, his cheeks appeared sunken from his brush with death, and his mustache was untrimmed. The wound on his head was covered by a thick bandage, which only added to his disreputable appearance.
“I know Branson is a miserable old bugger, but would he attempt to shoot me? I can’t believe it.”
“He’s the main suspect,” Will said stubbornly. “I think we need to talk to him again.”
Sir Henry continued to shake his head in disbelief.
“What about Little or Gilfoyle?” Richard interrupted. “Did you find anything in either of their stories to make you doubt their word?”
Will shook his head. “They were where they said they were. Too many people saw them, even allowing for confusion.”
“This Captain chap is clever,” Sir Henry mused, “too clever to fire off a shot. I just don’t believe he’d do something to draw attention to himself.”
It was what Richard had thought all along.
“Get Branson in,” Richard instructed Will. “If he’s the one who shot Sir Henry, we need to break him.”
And if they did it quickly enough, then perhaps Richard could spend some time with Tina.