Chapter Six #2
The game had been going badly because every time someone hit a ball, Bijou would attempt to chase it, and while that made Bridget and Jane laugh, Colonel Kendall was not impressed.
For him, everything was a battle that had to be won at any cost. About halfway through, just as Lady Armstrong was admonishing Miss Jennings yet again for playing as though she were “wearing a blindfold,” an elaborate black and gold carriage rolled through the gates of Villa De Lacey, causing everyone to pause their game and watch its ascent up the carriageway.
“Someone is here.” Lady Matheson’s face grew pale as she followed the carriage with her eyes. “There’s a crest on the door. Can you see what it is?” She discarded her mallet and looked around wildly.
“I say!” Colonel Kendall pointed at Lady Matheson’s discarded mallet. “We are only halfway through the game. Do you intend to forfeit?”
“Yes, forfeit. Forfeit for all I care!” she said.
“That’s a disgrace, madam! We do not abandon our men on the battlefield.”
Lady Matheson ignored him, but Jane giggled.
The lady silenced her with a glare. “Who is that? Are you expecting more guests?” she demanded, turning to Bridget.
“Not that I am aware of.” Bridget frowned at the approaching carriage.
“Well, it looks to be someone important,” Lady Matheson said, and Bridget thought she heard a tremble in her voice. Of what, or who, was Lady Matheson afraid?
The red and gold family crest on the carriage came into focus—two winged griffons on either side of an elaborate shield sporting a medieval castle. Bridget’s heart started to pulse. She’d seen a carriage bearing that crest before.
“I think I recognize that crest,” Mr. Harley said, “but I can’t quite put my finger on to whom it belongs.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “I can’t quite place it either. Although, I agree, it looks familiar.”
“It’s her.” Bridget’s voice came out in a whisper.
“Who?” Lady Matheson sounded hysterical, but Bridget couldn’t find her voice to answer.
They all watched as the carriage rolled to a stop.
Then one of the two coachmen, dressed in smart livery consisting of a black and gold-trimmed tailcoat, red breeches, white stockings, and shiny black shoes, dismounted and opened the carriage door.
“The Countess of Luxton,” the coachman announced. And then, Nate’s beautiful former betrothed—the mother of his young son—exited the carriage.
“It’s Lady Luxton!” Jane said. “And she’s brought her darling little boy.”
The apples of Jane’s cheeks brightened at the sight of the child.
Her one wish was to become a mother, but with each passing month, her hope diminished.
Jane feared she was barren. Bridget was pleased that the presence of little Henry Luxton would bring some comfort to Jane, but for her, his arrival brought new anxiety and worry.
The last time Nate’s former betrothed had been a guest at Villa De Lacey, things had not gone well. Worse, Bridget had been the uncomfortable witness to their quarrels and to Nate’s agony at finding out he was the father of a boy who’d been claimed by another man.
As far as the world was concerned, Nate’s little boy was the son of the Earl of Luxton, who also happened to be the Laird of Lochmaben, owing to his massive estate in Scotland.
Neither Nate nor Lady Luxton would do anything to jeopardize that.
But Lord Luxton was seven-and-eighty years old and in ill health, so although Lady Luxton had left Nate for the title and money the earl provided, it seemed she now wanted the best of both worlds.
Ultimately, Lady Luxton was a vain and cruel woman who liked to use her child to manipulate Nate.
And Bridget did not want to see him hurt.
“What a dear little boy,” Lady Matheson said, and then she let out a choked sob.
“Whatever is the matter?” Jane asked the lady.
Lady Matheson shook her head, unable to answer.
“Why don’t you go inside and lie down?” Bridget suggested. “I’ll have some tea sent up to your room.” George’s death had been an enormous shock to Lady Matheson, and grief had an odd way of expressing itself. After her papa died, the smallest thing could bring forth a flood of tears.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Lady Matheson sniffed. “But I’ll want some brandy with my tea. I need something to settle my nerves.”
“Of course, my lady,” Bridget said.
Lady Matheson turned and walked toward the villa.
“I say!” Colonel Kendall called after her. “This is outrageous. One cannot simply discard one’s post in the middle of a game.”
Lady Matheson kept walking and paid no heed to the colonel’s rantings, which only infuriated him further. “If you were in the army, you’d be shot!” He shouted.
Jane giggled, and Bridget squared her shoulders and prepared herself to face Lady Luxton.
“What’s the matter with you?” Jane asked. “You look a bit green all of a sudden. I hope there isn’t some sort of illness going around.”
“No, don’t worry, I’m fine.” Bridget swallowed. She could not reveal all that had transpired between Nate and Lady Luxton during the summer. Nor was she at liberty to tell anyone that Lady Luxton’s son belonged to Nate and not Lord Luxton. “I wasn’t expecting her, that’s all. I’m surprised.”
“She’s not the most amiable, I agree,” Jane murmured. “But it’s always good to have more guests, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.” Bridget handed Jane her mallet. “I’d best go and see to her needs.”
“You too!” Colonel Kendall said, and then bellowed, “Have you ladies no sense of honor—of duty!”
“I’m sorry, Colonel. I’ll be back, I promise. But I must see to our new guest,” Bridget said.
Colonel Kendall threw down his mallet in a huff, making poor Miss Jennings flinch and gasp out loud.
“Lady Luxton,” Bridget said as she approached the lady. “What a lovely surprise. Will Lord Luxton be joining you?”
“No,” Lady Luxton said dismissively.
Bridget looked at the little boy and swallowed.
Eight months had made an enormous difference in the small child’s appearance.
The boy, now three years old, had Nate’s mop of dark curls and his mother’s lovely, chocolate brown eyes and long, thick lashes.
Dressed in a linen blue skeleton suit with gold buttons, he held his nanny’s hand and looked up at Bridget.
His likeness was so close to Nate’s that Bridget could not take her eyes off him.
“I’ll want the same arrangement I had during the summer,” Lady Luxton said coolly. “A room for myself—the best you have, of course, and one for Viscount Brayton and his nanny.”
Bridget was momentarily taken aback by Lady Luxton’s use of Henry’s title. She’d not used it once during the summer, and it struck Bridget as awfully pompous and formal. But, she supposed, it was another opportunity for Lady Luxton to exalt her status over Bridget.
“I believe we can accommodate you, but we weren’t expecting you, my lady,” Bridget said. “Usually, guests send word to warn us of their coming. Did you send word to Mr. Squires?”
“No, I decided to surprise him. Where is he?”
Surprise him? More like blindside him. Bridget’s gaze dropped again to the little boy who was Nate’s tiny doppelg?nger.
“He went into town to see Mr. Groby,” Bridget said, then winced at her choice of words. She was so disrupted by the sight of the boy, she’d spoken without thinking. “He should be back shortly.”
“Groby?” Lady Luxton inclined her head. “Who is that?”
“He’s our butcher,” Bridget said, not wanting to talk about the murder.
“The butcher?” Lady Luxton’s dark eyebrows came together in a frown. “Shouldn’t you be handling such a menial task?”
Bridget’s chest burned. Lady Luxton never missed a chance to insult her. But before she could reply, Mr. Angert looked up from his easel and said, “You misunderstand. The butcher is accused of murder. And Mr. Squires wishes to save him and deprive us all of a good hanging.”
“Mr. Angert!” Bridget had to restrain herself from diving forward and covering little Henry’s ears.
“Murder, did you say?” Lady Luxton raised her lush eyebrows. “Another one?”
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Angert said, his paintbrush poised in midair. “It’s most sensational. The murderer cut out the victim’s heart and fed it to his pigs. Come see for yourself.” As he spoke, drops of red paint dripped from his paintbrush onto his black boot.
Lady Luxton strode to Mr. Angert and peered at his easel. Bridget followed suit.
“Good heavens!” Lady Luxton said as Bridget stifled her gasp with her hand. Mr. Angert had painted a lovely picture of them playing croquet and, lying in the daffodils a few feet away from the joyous game, was the mutilated, blood-soaked body of George Otis.