Vengeance Delayed (Lady Mary Mysteries #2)

Chapter One

Lady Mary

It was a miserable night. For the hundredth time I was regretting accepting his invitation, familial obligation or naught, and I’d only been at his estate for two days.

Lightning blanched the faces of the guests in the sitting room, the rumble of thunder following like a slow-moving rock slide.

“I think the storm is moving away.” Miss Walker turned up the wick on the oil lamp next to her chair, her voice brimming with more hope than confidence.

Our host, and, unfortunately, also my brother-in-law, rolled his eyes. “It has been coming on us, steadily closer, this entire evening. One would think a country mouse would be more familiar with such tempests.”

My two days’ acquaintance with the ‘country mouse’ had left me an unfavorable impression of her person, but I disliked my husband’s brother even more.

“Truly, Perrin, we are all feeling imprisoned by this weather, but it is no reason to act boorishly. I’m certain Miss Walker has better things to do with her time than study storm patterns. ”

The little I had learned about the woman made me wonder if this were true.

Miss Charlotte Walker, a plain but agreeable looking woman in her thirties, was the nearest neighbor to the Earl of Perrin.

At least the nearest with any significant social standing.

She was the only child of a sickly baron and apparently had never wed in order to take care of her father.

She had proven a dull conversationalist and an atrocious partner at whist, but neither of those conditions earned an insult from her host.

“Oh, it’s all right.” Miss Walker tittered, the uncomely curls that framed her face jiggling. “I should know more about the natural world having lived in the country all my life. The earl is perfectly correct.”

I ground my jaw. The woman was also insufferably ingratiating in her behavior to Perrin. I would have thought my brother-in-law would have liked her better for it.

“Well, I for one have never seen the like of this storm.” Lord Havenstone stood and stretched.

He was a baron from the north of the country who had apparently attended Eton with Lord Perrin.

From our two days’ acquaintance I’d learned he was subject to bursts of joviality which were quickly dampened by his wife.

“Lady Havenstone and I had hoped to do some riding on your southern lands, but it looks to be raining the entire week of this house party.”

His wife looked up at him from the settee. “The riding on our property isn’t much different. Our estate is quite as large as Perrin’s.”

“Yes, but we don’t have those lovely sea cliffs,” Lord Havenstone said wistfully.

“My lord does have an impressive estate,” Mr. Taylor agreed.

If there were a contest between who could be more obsequious to my brother-in-law, I wasn’t sure who would win, the neighbor Miss Walker, or Perrin’s secretary, Jeremiah Taylor.

Mr. Taylor had drawn up a chair next to another guest, Miss Smith, and when he wasn’t paying the young lady compliments, he was doing everything in his power to bolster his employer’s ego.

Not that it needed further bolstering.

“Shall I continue reading from where I left off last night?” Miss Smith lifted the Mary Shelley book from her lap. She tucked a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. “It’s a good story for a dark and stormy night.”

“That will be a strong inducement for me to join your father in the billiards room.” Mr. Bertram Withers shifted in his chair, a frown creasing his face.

He’d arrived this morning and said little all day.

He was of a stern, taciturn disposition, and I wondered at his accepting an invitation to anything so merry as a house party.

But Bertram had always had a core of kindness.

He must feel the same sense of familial duty as I did.

He was Perrin’s brother-in-law, as well, his sister having married the earl.

I wasn’t quite sure what that made us, his sister’s husband having been my husband’s brother.

No direct relation, certainly, but there was a connection.

I rubbed my breastbone. One that had grown thin over the years.

There had been a time when we used to see each other often. Lord and Lady Perrin, Bertram and his wife, Martha, me and Cavindish. We’d come together for holidays. Enjoyed each other’s company. Well, as much as our differing personalities would allow.

But then my Cavindish had died, much too young. At least he hadn’t suffered through a protracted illness like Bertram’s wife had. The last time I’d seen Martha, the pain had clouded her mind. And she’d grown so thin, had trouble feeding herself, and was too proud to want help.

And then Lady Perrin had left us not two years past, and from such a stupid cause. Falling off a ladder while tending one of her climbing vines in her garden.

One would have thought that as Bertram, Perrin, and I were all widowers and widow connected by family, our common grief would have brought us closer.

One would be wrong.

“Mr. Withers, that is most unjust.” Mr. Taylor leaned closer to Miss Smith. “Miss Smith’s readings are most compelling.” He turned to her. “You speak so well, you know.”

Miss Smith angled her body away from the secretary. “Yes, I’d always heard that was one of my more admirable features. Some women can paint masterpieces. Others write works advocating for universal human rights. I can talk.”

Mr. Taylor furrowed his forehead. “Uh…. Yes. Quite.”

I smothered a snort.

Bertram removed a deck of playing cards from an inside coat pocket. He plucked a card from the top of the deck and rolled it between his fingers. “We could play a round or two of faro. I know Perrin is always eager for a chance to recoup some of his losses.”

Perrin grunted, digging the knuckle of his thumb into his chest. “Not tonight.” Another wave of thunder rattled the windows.

“Damn this storm. Not only will it trap us all indoors together, but I fear it will keep my remaining guest away, and I had so wanted him to join us.” He accompanied that last remark with a significant look to myself, one I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

I frowned. Perrin and I had few acquaintances in common, and none that would make me uneasy. He was up to something, and not knowing what it was annoyed me.

Lady Havenstone cleared her throat. “Have you heard anything about Cook Clem, Lord Perrin? Is he recovering his strength?”

Everyone in the room leant forward to better hear Perrin’s answer.

A large inducement to travel to Perrin Manor had been the well-earned reputation of its chef.

Perrin had discovered the man in some unknown village near the border of Wales and plucked him up.

The meals at Perrin Manor were held in great acclaim. Cook Clem was a master in the kitchen.

The chef was not yet thirty. While Perrin Manor was a step up from some country hamlet, the nearest village of Modbury was hardly a lively metropolis.

Tucked away in the remote southwest of England, it lacked the verve and vigor a young man might desire.

I wondered if the chef had ever considered a move to London.

Perrin slapped his hand down on his thigh. “I wish everyone would stop pestering me about him. Clem has merely caught a chill in this dratted weather. He’ll be back in the kitchen soon.”

Like we were all a part of a collective bladder, the guests in the sitting room sagged back in their chairs, deflated. Soon wasn’t soon enough.

“It isn’t as though I don’t miss his cooking, too,” Perrin grumbled. He rubbed a stomach that had gradually expanded over the years. “The assistant cook’s meals give me colic.”

I looked heavenward. Dinner hadn’t been that bad, merely completely lacking in flavor. But Perrin always found any opportunity to gripe about his situation. Though if I went this whole trip without tasting one meal from Clem, I feared I would match my brother-in-law’s ill temper.

Lady Havenstone sat forward in her chair. She was a slender woman with a turned-up nose which gave her the appearance of disapproving of everything she saw. “I have a tonic that might help Cook Clem. When I catch a chill, it straightens me right out.”

“He is being well taken care of,” Perrin nearly shouted. He glared at the baroness.

Lady Havenstone glared back. If she had any tonics for the colic Perrin had mentioned, I noticed she didn’t offer those to him for any relief.

An uncomfortable silence reigned, with only the heavy pelting of the rain sounding in the room.

After a moment, I raised one shoulder. “We could always—”

“No.” Perrin sagged back in his chair. “We will not be entertaining another of your suggestions.”

I glowered down at my boots. If more of my suggestions were entertained, this would be a much livelier party.

My scowl deepened when I examined the lace trim on the hem of my gown.

The trim newly acquired to hide the small tears one of Perrin’s beasts had inflicted upon my Mornine gown.

There was no good food at this house party, a pesky animal was always underfoot, and I had to suffer through dull company.

I never should have come. I lifted one boot to bring the lilac trim closer to the light.

The needlework of Perrin’s maids was excellent, however.

Miss Walker stood and went to the sideboard. She poured a glass of wine from Perrin’s amber decanter and brought it to Perrin. “Being forced to remain indoors isn’t such a bad thing when the company is good.”

There existed another awkward moment.

“I don’t know how you drink that rot,” Bertram said, nodding at Perrin’s glass. “You must have a stomach of iron.”

“Wormwood is good for the digestion.” Perrin took a large swallow as an example.

Miss Walker tugged on one of the poorly-cut curls that framed her face.

Whichever maid had done that to Miss Walker’s hair should be barred from ever holding another pair of shears.

“Have you thought about refurbishing Perrin Manor, my lord?” She poured a drink of her own, a small glass of sherry.

“My father and I recently repainted the first floor of our home. It makes such a difference. You should come by soon for supper and see.”

“My paint colors are fine,” Perrin said. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.

“Yes, but even rearranging things can make such a difference.” Miss Walker pointed to a portrait above the mantel.

It was of the Lady Perrin, commissioned soon after her marriage to the earl.

She’d had the same dark eyes as her brother Bertram, but a much cheerier disposition.

“I’ve always thought that picture would look so much better in a west facing room. The library perhaps.”

A room Miss Walker most likely didn’t enter, and therefore a place where she wouldn’t have to see the portrait of Perrin’s late wife.

All of the neighbor woman’s flutterings and flatterings toward Perrin, a most undeserving subject, led me to the conclusion that she desired to be the Lady Perrin.

Reminders of the past countess could only be displeasing to Miss Walker.

I looked toward Miss Smith. That young lady’s presence here must be a similar cross for Miss Walker to bear.

Perrin scowled. “What does the direction of a painting matter? No, it stays put. Besides”—Perrin gave me a sly look from the corner of his eye—“it’s a good reminder of how fortunate I was in my marriage.

I’ve always said a good wife makes or breaks a man.

When disloyalty is found in a home, you can be sure the man is miserable. ”

And there it was again. A poisoned-tipped dart Perrin seemed to have aimed at me.

One I couldn’t understand. While our relationship had never been what one would call amiable, it had always been civil.

He was my husband’s brother. I respected that connection.

I’d thought he did, as well. Ever since I’d arrived at Perrin Manor, however, I’d felt a sort of malice directed at me, almost as if… .

My stomach cramped. No. That made no sense. There was no way he could know.

“Well, if my wife doesn’t find it too disloyal, I think I will leave her and all of you to join Mr. Smith at billiards.

” Lord Havenstone ran his fingers over his wife’s shoulder.

“Be careful what you and the other ladies get up to, my love. On a night such as this, one never knows what sorts of monsters and ghosts will want to steal away fair ladies.”

Frowning, she brushed his hand from her person. “Stop being foolish. The only monster here is the storm.”

The casement doors that led to the back terrace whipped open, making everyone jump. Wind rushed inside, blowing out every candle. In the threshold, a figure loomed, black against a flare of lightning. It looked human in form but it was misshapen. Wrong.

The men jumped to their feet.

Miss Walker screamed.