Chapter Fourteen
The next morning at breakfast, Nate became increasingly irritated by Helen and Rupert.
Unable to consume his attention, she’d taken her “act” with Rupert a step further, and it was becoming embarrassing.
The two of them shared glaringly obvious smiles and flirtatious glances.
It did not bode well for a countess to behave in such a manner, especially when the countess was the mother of his son.
Henry would one day replace his father as the Earl of Luxton, and his mother was doing all she could to tarnish that title.
Just when he thought he could take no more, Angert, who’d been glaring at everyone seated around him, suddenly slammed the butt of his knife into the table, rattling the dishes, cups, and utensils.
“My word!” Lady Armstrong said, as her tea sloshed down the sides of its cup. “What are you about?”
“I demand to know which one of you butchered my paintings. Was it you?” He suddenly turned to Rupert, swinging his butter knife in the poet’s direction.
Both Rupert and Helen burst out laughing.
“You find it funny to destroy my work? You demon!”
“Mr. Angert”—Nate squared his shoulders—“put that knife down at once.”
But Angert sprang from his seat and swung the knife in Charlie’s direction. “You did it, you worthless little—”
In a flash, Colonel Kendall shot out of his seat, grabbed Angert’s wrist and, with a sharp twist, forced the butter knife from his hand. Angert squealed as the knife fell onto the floor.
Nate felt his mouth physically drop open. The retired colonel took on a new level of admiration in his eyes.
“You barbarian!” Angert cried. “You’ve broken my wrist.” The artist held up his limp wrist.
“Don’t be absurd,” Colonel Kendall said. “It’s merely bruised. Good heavens, man, straighten up and stop whimpering like a little boy.”
Angert took a few steps backward and scanned the room. “You will not get away with this,” he shouted. “Mark my words, all of you! The culprit will pay.”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Lady Matheson said. “You nasty little man!”
Everyone fell silent. Lady Matheson’s mood had darkened considerably since Otis’s murder.
“You!” Angert pointed a finger at Lady Matheson. “How dare you? I demand that you return my portrait.”
“Portrait? What portrait are you talking about?” Lady Matheson said.
“You know which one. The one you begged me to paint of the dead poet.”
“I know of no portrait. You’re deranged!”
Suddenly, a strange sound emanated from Miss Jennings, who’d been quietly observing the madness. Nate wasn’t sure if it was laughter or tears. She covered her mouth, and her body trembled.
“What on earth are you doing?” Lady Armstrong hissed. “Get a hold of yourself.”
The young lady apparently could not do as she was bid because she rose from her chair and hurried out of the room, still shaking, either with laughter or tears.
Angert stormed out of the breakfast room.
Nate had had enough. He pushed his plate of eggs and kippers away and stood up just as Bennett entered and handed him an envelope on a silver tray.
He took the envelope and, seeing it was from his brother, thanked Bennett and exited the breakfast room.
Wanting some fresh air, he went downstairs and headed for the garden, where he opened the letter, which bore the seal of the Earl of Westerly.
What could Edward have to say to him now?
No doubt, it was yet another threat to cut him off.
He’d already informed Edward that he no longer needed his money, but his brother had kept it coming anyway, along with the threats.
And Nate knew why—the earl couldn’t bear to give up control of anyone or anything.
Nate sighed as he unfolded the letter, and as he did so, several banknotes fell into his hands.
He pocketed them and turned back to the letter.
Brother,
I hear you are stubbornly and shamefully continuing to make a mockery of our family name and me by running an inn.
Villa De Lacey—an estate I gracefully bestowed upon you out of the goodness of my heart—has now become known in London as the ‘murder inn.’ And while you might think yourself clever, and while people might find your little scheme amusing, may I remind you that in the long run, they will shun you and make you a persona non grata in society.
Because, brother, as you well know, gentlemen don’t run inns.
Now to my main point, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that the Countess of Westerly is with child.
As such, it is even more imperative that you drop your shenanigans immediately.
Should the child be a boy, you will no longer be my heir, but you will continue to receive your thrice-yearly allowance if you behave accordingly.
Bear in mind that if you do not, I shall do more than cut off your funds.
Trust me when I say, I will not have my son growing up under your disgraceful shadow.
Your ever gracious and benevolent brother,
Edward Squires, Earl of Westerly
Nate felt his entire jawline tighten. He crumpled the letter and mumbled, “Just you try, brother.” Then he laughed out loud.
Thank heavens for Lady Westerly! If Edward were blessed with a son, he would no longer have to endure the burden of being his brother’s heir.
It was what he’d been hoping for, but now it seemed that a son would only make Edward more determined to control him than before.
Nate looked at the crumpled paper in his hand.
He needn’t worry about it now. Edward was being premature.
Whether or not Lady Westerly gave birth to a boy remained to be seen.
He turned back to the spectacular view of Lake Windermere and saw Bridget and Jane Harley coming up the garden toward him. They must have breakfasted early and gone out for a walk—no doubt to escape Helen and Rupert. It’s what he should have done, too.
Both women were smiling and looked delighted to be in one another’s company as they came toward him.
But it was more than the smile that made Bridget lovely, something…
he suddenly realized she’d come out of mourning.
Instead of the severe black she’d worn, or the somber grays and lavenders, this morning she wore a pink dress.
She was transformed. Nate blinked, overwhelmed by how the color complemented her soft, sweet features.
She looked as feminine and delicate as a pink rose, and her face was joyful as she chatted and laughed with Jane.
It filled his heart with pleasure that Bridget had a true friend in Mrs. Harley, who was a changed woman since coming to Villa De Lacey.
“Good morning,” he said as the women approached him. “Out for an early walk, I see.”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Harley said. “It’s the most glorious day.
” Her blue eyes, which had been droopy and always sad when she and her husband had first arrived at the villa eight months ago under the large thumb of Mr. Harley’s draconian aunt, now sparkled with enthusiasm.
What a difference a few months can make away from those who seek to oppress you, he thought.
“It certainly is a day for celebrations,” Nate said, hiding the crumpled letter from Edward behind his back. “I’ve just had some excellent news from my brother. Lady Westerly is with child.”
“How wonderful!” Bridget cried. “She has been waiting for so long.” Then she turned to Mrs. Harley and squeezed her arm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jane?”
Mrs. Harley put her hand on her stomach, and her cheeks flushed pink. “Well, it seems there must be something in the air this spring.”
Nate hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “What are you saying?” he asked. As far as he knew, Mrs. Harley was barren. This sounded like a miracle.
“I am with child,” Mrs. Harley confirmed. “Mr. Harley and I are delighted. We can’t thank you enough for allowing us to stay at Villa De Lacey. Even with all the…well, it’s been a breath of fresh air for us.”
“I must say, I am stunned. I should go and find Harley and congratulate him. He didn’t say a word about it at breakfast.” Nate frowned. He couldn’t remember if he’d seen Harley at breakfast that morning because he’d been too distracted by Helen, Rupert, and the madness that had ensued with Angert.
“Yes, he is thrilled. After all our troubles…” She bit her lip. “I only hope Lady Darby won’t force us to return to London.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” Bridget patted her friend’s arm. “All you need to concentrate on now is resting and securing the health of yourself and your child.”
Mrs. Harley’s cheeks flushed as she inadvertently touched her belly again.
Nate felt a lump form in his throat, and he shifted his gaze to Bridget.
He adored Henry, but what would it be like to share a child with a woman he loved?
The thought caught him by surprise. Did he love Bridget?
She caught his gaze and her sweet lips curved into a shy smile, revealing the two minute dimples at the corners of her mouth.
And Nate knew the answer to his question.
*
“Did you hear what I said, Nate?” Bridget’s words cut into Nate’s thoughts. He’d been lost in a blissful moment where it was Bridget rather than Mrs. Harley who stood before him with sparkling eyes and bright cheeks, holding her belly with one hand and clasping Henry’s small hand in her other.
Nate sighed inwardly. “Forgive me. What was that?”
“I said that I’ve invited Mrs. Groby and her children for a picnic by the lake. I sent out a note by messenger, requesting her to come at noon.”
“You’ve what?” Nate said, completely snapping out of his reverie. “Do you think that wise?”
“It’s the perfect environment for a casual conversation, and with the right prompting, who knows what she might reveal about her relationship with Mr. Otis? Jane will be with me, of course. So it will just be a few ladies and children enjoying a day at the lake,” Bridget said.
Nate nodded. “I suppose that sounds harmless enough. Still, do be careful.”
“Oh,” Bridget said, peering behind Nate, “here comes—”
“Excellent morning, isn’t it?” Nate groaned inwardly as he heard Colonel Kendall’s voice behind him. He forced a smile as the colonel joined their party and greeted the ladies.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Bridget said. “What do you have planned for this fine day?”
“Well, I’ve already prevented another murder, so I think it’s time now for a brisk walk along the lake.” He chuckled.
“Prevented another murder?” Bridget said. “Whatever do you mean?”
“It was nothing. Only a small skirmish involving a butter knife at breakfast.” The colonel puffed out his chest.
“A skirmish?” Bridget’s eyes widened.
“Mr. Angert is still furious about his paintings,” Nate said, and then proceeded to tell Bridget and Mrs. Harley what had happened at breakfast. “I had hoped to smooth things over by replacing his damaged easels, but I imagine that after today, he’ll be returning to Germany.
After all, he won’t be able to paint with an injured wrist.”
“But he can’t go,” Bridget said. “He has proven to be violent and bloodthirsty. He could be the killer.”
“Nonsense,” the colonel said. “He’s no killer. Only a temperamental artist. And you don’t need to worry about him leaving. He won’t want to miss the gibbeting.”
“The gibbeting?” Nate’s stomach plummeted. “What are you talking about?”
“The butcher. After his trial in York. He will be hanged and gibbeted. It’s the law. The Murder Act, don’t you know?”
Bridget’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled her gasp.
Nate’s gut twisted. Gibbeting would be torturous for Mrs. Groby and her children.
It meant that Groby would be hanged and then his corpse would be encased in a cage that fitted his body and held it in place, so he could then be displayed to rot away in public.
It was a cruel punishment meant for murderous, evil criminals.
But if John Groby was found guilty of George Otis’s murder, he would indeed be considered the worst of the worst.
“The magistrate is going to request that Groby be brought back to Westmorland to be hanged and gibbeted. It’s only fitting that those of us who witnessed this heinous crime should see justice meted out.”
“Who told you this?” Nate said.
“I heard men talk of it when I went into town yesterday. After a spot of shopping, I stopped at The Black Horse for some refreshment. And I overheard some men talking about it. I must say, I think it’s a fine idea.
I like a good hanging. And I expect Angert’s mood will be restored as soon as he has the opportunity to watch a man hang and then rot away in a cage.
It will make for a fine painting—a rotting corpse against Westmorland’s pristine landscape.
Oh, the contrast is delicious.” Colonel Kendall chuckled.
“That’s quite enough,” Nate snapped.
“Oh, heavens!” Mrs. Harley clutched Bridget’s arm. “How awful.”
“Awful? I hardly think so. That butcher deserves the very worst of punishments. His corpse should rot as an example to others who plan to commit such wicked crimes. In the army, we have no tolerance for criminals of any kind. When deserters are caught, they are—”
“I said, that’s enough,” Nate barked. Any earlier admiration he’d felt for the colonel in handling Angert quickly dissipated.
“Well, I daresay, there’s no need to be rude!” Colonel Kendall said. “I think I’ll take my leave of you. Good day, sir.” He bowed stiffly. “And to you ladies.” He marched away in a huff.
Good Lord, what kind of guests is Villa De Lacey attracting now that it’s become known as ‘the murder inn’? I meant for this to be a respectable establishment. A place of relaxation and beauty. Perhaps Edward is right. Perhaps it is time to shut Villa De Lacey’s doors.
“I must go and see Magistrate Hunt at once,” Bridget said, breaking into Nate’s thoughts. “I must talk him out of this madness. To subject Mrs. Groby’s children to this horror—why, it’s too much!”
“No, I’ll do it,” Nate said. “You have your plans already set for this afternoon with Mrs. Groby, and I think you can do better here with her.”
“Oh heavens, what am I to say to her?” Bridget cried.
“You’ll need to break the news to her gently if she hasn’t heard already. And if she cares for children at all, she will do all she can to be honest with you and prevent this atrocity from taking place.”
“You’re right.” Mrs. Harley said. “Few women would put their love for a man over their love for their children.” She caressed her belly and smiled lovingly down at it.
Nate nodded. He only hoped that was true for Mrs. Groby.