Chapter 7 #2
Alex hesitated. “Very well, then.” She drew in a measured breath. I am disturbed by the number of so-called accidents that have befallen my brother in the last three months.”
Branford’s eyebrow shot up. “This was not the first?”
She shook her head. “A small bridge collapsed at Aunt Aurelia’s estate early one morning when Justin was out riding. Once again, it was only by the purest of luck that he was not seriously injured—or worse.”
“Was he the only one who rode regularly at that hour?”
“Yes. And then, just a short time later while on his way to Oxford with his good friend Charles Hartley, one of the wheels came off Mr. Hartley’s carriage. The coachman broke his leg in the mishap.”
“There is a plausible explanation for all these things,” he observed, wishing to think more about what he had just heard before offering an opinion. “Accidents do occur, Miss Chilton.”
“Yes, I know. But the coincidences is troubling, to say the least.” Again, she paused. “I looked at Justin’s saddle. You may think me melodramatic, milord, but the girth looked tampered with. The break was awfully clean, as if it were … cut.”
A frown tugged at his mouth. “Why do you think anyone would wish to harm your brother?”
Her hands flew up in exasperation. “That is what makes no sense—I can think of no earthly reason! It certainly isn’t for money or title—oh!” She broke off, her face tight with embarrassment.
Branford gave a little smile. “Do go on, Miss Chilton.”
“He has no enemies, does not run with a fast crowd, gamble or …”
“Bed other men’s wives?” suggested the earl.
“I-I think it highly unlikely,” answered Alex, coloring slightly at the earl’s subtle self-mockery.
“He is quite attached to Miss Anne Lockwood, a childhood friend, and hopes to ask for her hand in marriage. So, apparently, does a baronet from Sussex. But Anne is a sweet, biddable girl fresh from the schoolroom. And while her father is quite well off, he is no Croesus. So, it seems to me that Anne is hardly one to inspire murder.”
Branford couldn’t suppress another smile. “Hardly,” he agreed.
“You think me a hysterical widgeon?” There was a note of challenge in her voice.
“I think you are quite observant. And in truth, I tend to agree with you that the coincidences seem rather forced.”
“At least you don’t think me mad.” A look of relief flooded her face. “Well, whatever the truth, I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Branford’s smile disappeared. “Just what do you mean?”
“I intend to find out who is responsible, and why.”
“And just how do you intend to do that?” asked Branford.
“I would think that is obvious, sir. I plan to investigate the matter thoroughly.” Her chin rose. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to stand aside and let someone murder my brother, sir!”
A noble sentiment, but …
“I suggest you stick with your painting, Miss Chilton,” counseled the earl. “Let your brother deal with the matter.”
A spark of anger flashed in her eyes. “And stick with embroidery and playing the pianoforte as well, no doubt. Because of course, a female couldn’t possibly set her mind to something serious.”
“Don’t be bacon-brained.” He looked nonplussed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Ah, thank you, Lord Branford! At least you acknowledge that I have a brain,” she said acidly.
“What I meant was,” continued Branford in exasperation, “it is a dangerous course you are setting—”
“Thank you for your advice, milord,” cut in Alex. “But there is no need to concern yourself in my affairs. It is a family matter.” She gestured toward the open library door. “I believe we have finished our other topic of business. Good day to you, milord.”
The earl narrowed his eyes. “I think not, Miss Chilton …that is, our business is not yet finished. For if your request for me to decode your mysterious letter is a business deal, then surely you are aware that payment must be made for services rendered.”
Alex blinked, then quickly recovered herself. “You must name your price now, sir, so that I know whether I can afford it.”
Branford glanced towards the easel. “The hibiscus.”
“My painting!” she cried. “My paintings are not for sale.”
The earl removed the folded paper from his pocket and held it out. “Here—since you seem to think you can solve every conundrum in the universe, I will return this to you.” A shrug. “I’m sure you will eventually figure it out.”
Alex hesitated, pride apparently warring with practicality. “Very well,” she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“What was that?”
“I agree to your terms, milord,” she replied. “You may have the painting when you have deciphered the letter.”
Relieved that he had created a way to keep an eye on her—and her frightening sense of responsibility for her family—the earl inclined a slight bow.
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Chilton, but we have a deal.” He put the coded letter back in his pocket.
“Good day to you,” he added before turning away
“Wretch!” she muttered as he disappeared into the corridor.
Lord Ashton ran his hand down the hock of the big grey carriage horse, then turned to observe the perfectly matched companion tied alongside the. “What do you think, Sebastian?”
Branford ran his critical eye over the pair. “Both of them are a bit narrow in the chest, but they’re not bad for the price.”
The dealer standing close by let out his breath. “It’s a very fair price, if I say so myself, Your Lordship. But of course, for any friend of yours …”
A quelling look from the earl silenced the man.
Ashton straightened. “I appreciate your help, Sebastian. Lud knows, you have the best eye for horseflesh of anyone I know.”
“Happy to be of assistance, Henry. Are these two all you wish to purchase today?
His friend nodded. “Are you doing any business here yourself?”
“No, but if you’re finished, I shall have a look around. Bagley has been raving about a chestnut hunter, and I hear the animal’s up for sale today.”
Ashton waved him on. “Go ahead. I’ll settle up here. Oh—and don’t forget, Cecilia expects you to call on her this afternoon.”
“I will do so without fail.”
With that, Branford strolled off. Sale day at Tattersall’s was always of interest …
and often amusement. He watched an acquaintance from White’s—a foppishly dressed, haughty second son of a duke—haggling over a colt and suppressed a grin.
The animal was showy, but spindleshanked and would no doubt turn out to be a weak mount with a miserable gait.
And the price was nothing short of a fleecing.
Suppressing a grin, the earl turned away, but had only gone a short distance before he noticed another deal being discussed.
Despite himself, he paused.
Justin Chilton was examining the teeth of a bay stallion with obvious inexperience.
“Not more than five years old, sir,” exclaimed the dealer. “A solid horse, and runs like the wind.”
More like twelve, and a plodder to boot, thought Branford, who couldn’t help but overhear the conversation.
“I don’t know,” said Justin uncertainly. “He seems a little skittish to me, and the price …”
“It’s a very good price, sir. You’ll do no better, I assure you.”
It was no concern of his, the earl told himself. The pup had no business coming to a place like Tattersall’s without someone experienced to show him the ropes. He’d learn a good lesson by making a cake of himself.
Still, something held him back from walking away and leaving the young man on his own. Damnation … from behind, Justin Chilton looked just like his cousin Jeremy. The young man even had the same way of holding his head when deep in thought …
Justin reached out to stroke the bay’s head, but the animal shied away with a snort.
“Spirited stallion, he is—” began the dealer.
“Unstable is the more accurate word.” Branford’s low voice interrupted the fellow, who whirled around, an angry retort on his lips until he saw who had spoken.
“Lord Branford!” The dealer rubbed his hands together nervously. “The young gentleman didn’t tell me he was a friend of yours. Of course, there are other mounts I could show him.”
Justin hesitated, then bowed a civil greeting to Branford. Clearing his throat with a cough, he asked shyly, “Y-You would not recommend that I purchase the horse, sir?”
“Indeed, I would not,” replied the earl. “It would be a sad waste of your blunt.”
Justin stared wistfully at some of the fine stallions on offer nearby. “I’m afraid he’s really the only one I can afford— and even then, it’s more than I should spend. I was hoping to have something left over for a new gown for my sis—”
He stopped abruptly, looking acutely embarrassed for having revealed such personal matters.
Branford found himself liking Justin for his honesty—and even more for his concern for his sister. Not many young men would give a thought to such things when tempted by the offerings at Tattersall’s. There was also something about the young man’s demeanor that kept reminding him of Jeremy.
So much so that that he felt a painful clench in his chest.
The earl turned away, pretending not to notice Justin’s discomfiture. A chestnut hunter caught his eye, a compact horse with nice lines and sound legs. An excellent mount, if not showy one.
“Have you inquired about the chestnut?” he asked,
Justin’s eyes flared in admiration as he turned to see the animal in question. “No sir. I’m sure he’s way above my means.”
“What do you have to spend?”
Justin told him the amount.
Branford was careful to show no reaction to the paltry sum. Contrary to what he had told Alex, he did remember what it was like to be young and without funds.
“I’m acquainted with the dealer. Perhaps if I have a word with him, I might arrange a favorable price for you.”
Justin’s face betrayed the war between his longing to acquire a good mount and his reluctance to accept a favor from someone he wanted to dislike. His shoulders stiffened as youthful pride won out. “I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out, milord,” he replied.