Beguiled (8 page)

As they moved onto the floor, she realized there was a light of amusement in his eyes.

She looked up at him questioningly, and he smiled and said, “You knew nothing about any of this until it happened, I believe?”

She flushed. “How did you know?”

“The way your jaw dropped, my dear.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Quite all right. But tell me, and tell me truthfully, are you dismayed or pleased to discover that you will one day be a countess, the wife of an earl?”

“I'm not marrying you, my lord,” she teased. “And you appear quite fit and healthy, not to mention that I wish you the longest life possible.”

“Well, thank you. But one generation must always give way to the next, and I admit to being quite grateful to have a son.”

“You are scarcely a tottering old oak, my lord. You could remarry and have many sons if you so choose.”

He lowered his head slightly, and then his eyes met hers. “I will never remarry. And you, my dear, have evaded my question. What do you think about this proposed union with my son?”

“Since I haven't met your son, I can scarcely have an opinion.”

She was surprised that he didn't immediately tell her that his son was a man held by all in the highest esteem or extol his virtues in some manner.

“That's true. I had thought that one of your guardians would have explained this situation to you,” Lord Farrow said.

“I believe they intended to, although not until today,” Ally said. “And then, well…it seemed there was one interruption after another.”

“Even without knowing my son, what are your feelings about this marriage? After all, many lasses would marry a doddering imbecile in order to become a countess.”

She smiled at that. “Am I honored to be considered worthy? Certainly. And do I deeply love my guardians and appreciate all they've done—and continue to do—for me? Yes.”

“Charmingly said,” Lord Farrow said, bowing his head slightly and offering her a very small smile of amusement. “Frankly, I was quite worried. It all has to do with a vow, you see, though I'm afraid I'm not free to speak about any of it, really.”

Ally shook her head. “Whatever vows were made to care for me, I have been raised in a manner that will allow me to see my own way in the world. Your son certainly does not have to marry me.”

“No, my dear, the future is sealed,” he told her.

She stared at him, frowning. Then she realized the music had stopped. People were beginning to leave.

“But—”

She couldn't say more, as guests were walking past, offering congratulations, applauding the union.

“My dear, I must leave,” Lord Farrow said. “No doubt we will speak again.” Then, and gripping her hands, he kissed her cheek, then made his exit. She watched him go, then felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned to see Lady Lavinia standing there.

“Mark is quite gorgeous and noble,” Lavinia told her. “What exquisite children you will have.”

Andrew Harrington, walking up behind Lavinia, laughed. “Good heavens, Vinnie,” he whispered, then shuddered playfully. “Sometimes the most gorgeous people have the most hideous children.”

“Andrew, that's quite horrible,” Lavinia told him.

“But true.” He gave a roguish smile and took Ally's hands. “Forgive me. I am speaking with a mouth full of sour grapes. I would gladly be your suitor. Unfair, I say, that Lord Stirling has kept you all but under wraps these many years, only to allow us all a sight of such exquisite beauty, then announce that you are to marry.”

“You're very kind,” Ally murmured. She could see that the journalist, Thane Grier, was nearby, busily writing in his notebook.

“Not kind at all—baldly jealous,” Andrew announced. “Ah, well…we will see what befalls, eh? Still, I'm but a lowly knight—you're being offered a future earl.”

“My deepest desire in life, sir, is to be a person who stands upon her own merits and needs no titles nor another's grandeur to make a mark upon the world,” she said.

“Bravo!”

It was Thane Grier who had spoken, as, pocketing his notebook, he hurried toward them. “So a humble man without so much as a ‘sir' before his name might have had a chance?”

“Might have,” Lavinia said sharply. “But Miss Grayson is now officially engaged to Mark Farrow.”

“Engaged is not quite married,” Thane said. Ally noted that he was nicely built, that his smile seemed genuine, and that his face was handsome. Then again, Andrew Harrington, with his wheat-colored hair, green eyes, superb stance and expertly tailored apparel was quite striking, as well.

And yet neither man could quite compare to the highwayman….

She started, stunned and alarmed by her own thought.

“Are you all right, dear?” Lavinia asked.

“Indeed. Quite,” she replied quickly.

“Good heavens, you're not disturbed by that batty woman's curse, are you?” Andrew asked.

“She is far too sane and practical a young woman for such silliness,” Thane said, watching her with admiration and a glint in his eyes, as if he understood something about her she didn't understand herself.

As they stood there, Shelby came up to stand before Ally.

“Your pardon,” he said politely to the others. “Lord Stirling has suggested I take you home now, Miss Grayson. He fears the aunts will begin to worry.”

“Yes, yes, I must go. Good night,” she said, nodding to Thane, Andrew and Lavinia.

“Good night and God bless,” Thane called after her.

As Shelby led her toward the door, he whispered, “Camille said you refused to stay for the night when this evening was planned, that you were determined to get home to the aunts. You can still stay, you know. Your bedroom always awaits.”

“No, but thank you, and thank you for taking me home. When the aunts absolutely refused to attend, I knew I'd have to get back to them,” Ally assured him.

It was not an easy process to leave. Many guests were still milling about on the castle steps, awaiting their carriages. Sir Angus spoke to her again, giving his congratulations. Lord Lionel Wittburg, looking both old and exhausted, also stopped her, wishing her health, happiness and long life. As Shelby at last helped her into the coach bearing Lord Stirling's coat of arms, she saw that another of Brian's men—one of the strong ones who often guarded the gate—was seated on the driver's bench. Lord Stirling was quite determined that no coach of his would be held up again.

Seated, while Shelby climbed up to take the reins, Ally looked back at the castle.

She felt the strangest sense of déjà vu.

There was the journalist, Thane Grier, standing just a few feet apart from the others at the door.

There was the sheriff, Sir Angus Cunningham.

Next to him stood Andrew Harrington, and next to him, Sir Lionel Wittburg.

The light from the doorway framed the threesome, shadows seeming to fall around them.

Ally thought she saw a woman…in black.

She reminded herself that there had been several women in black at the party. Widows in mourning, daughters who had lost fathers, mothers who had lost sons.

Eleanor Brandon had been in black.

Eleanor Brandon, newly made widow of Giles, whose husband's body was scarcely cold. She should have been resting, sedated, in her own home, but for some reason she had ordered her coachman to bring her to the castle.

She couldn't have been the woman standing next to Andrew Harrington's cousin that morning, could she?

The murder had not even been known at that point.

Ally gave herself a shake. She was seeing things. Eleanor Brandon had been taken up to bed. She would have been given plenty of brandy by now, and if she had remained as hysterical and upset as she had been, Brian Stirling would have called for a doctor.

But when she had danced with Sir Angus, she had been startled by another figure in black, one who had uncannily reminded her of the morning just past.

She sat back in the coach, then looked out the window again.

Imagined or real…

In the shadows stood a woman in black.

 

M
ARK POURED
I
AN A WHISKEY
, which the detective accepted with thanks, then swallowed in a gulp. Smiling, Mark refilled the glass.

“The truth will come out,” he assured his friend.

Ian took the second serving and walked to the handsome daybed in the parlor, perching on the end of it, cradling the glass between his hands. “Not by legal and customary means, I fear,” he said.

“However it occurs, the truth will be known,” Mark said determinedly.

Ian looked at him morosely. “What if you are caught?” he demanded.

“I will not be caught.”

Ian shook his head. “Not even you are infallible, my friend.”

“Then I'll have to move very swiftly.” He took a sip of his own whiskey. “Three murders, all the same. Each man busy at his desk. Each man writing an opinion piece against the monarchy. No evidence of a break-in. As if the men were murdered by a ghost. We know better. In each case, there must have been a set of keys, either provided by someone in the household or stolen from them. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll go with you when you interview the housekeeper again.” He hesitated. “Ian, not only do I think the victims knew their killer very well, I believe the killer is an anti-monarchist himself. He—or she, but for the sake of semantics, let's say he—believes killing his own allies is the best thing he can do to further his cause of toppling the government.”

Before Ian could respond, the sound of a door opening and closing came from the front entry.

Joseph Farrow, doffing his cloak and trusting it to Jeeter's waiting hands, entered, thanking his valet as he did so.

He didn't appear at all startled when he saw Mark and Ian in the parlor. Ian stood immediately, nodding his head in respect.

“Well?” Joseph demanded, then caught himself. “Forgive me. Hello, Detective Douglas. I hope my son has made you welcome?”

“Of course,” Ian murmured.

“We have a few theories, Father,” Mark said, and explained.

“That's outrageous!” Joseph said. “Why would an anti-monarchist kill his own kind?”

“He's creating martyrs—and trying to cast the blame on the monarchy,” Mark said.

Joseph poured himself a whiskey and paced the floor. “There were those who tried very hard to blame the whole Jack the Ripper horror on the monarchy,” he said, shaking his head. “Ridiculous! The queen has endured such slander before and remained unbowed. They will not get away with this.”

“No, Father, they will not,” Mark assured him.

“So…?” Joseph queried.

Ian looked guiltily at Mark, then told Joseph, “Lord Farrow, I sincerely believe that the killer is a man of some means. I believe the only way he is escaping so easily is because he has a carriage awaiting him each time he commits one of his deadly deeds.”

Joseph said, “There were many who believed the Ripper made his escape by carriage, and that is why no one saw him. Then again, the Ripper moved through neighborhoods where slaughterhouses were abundant, and it might well have seemed half the populace wore aprons covered in animal blood. In this instance…” He lowered his head for a moment, shaking it. “In this instance, Detective Douglas, I believe you may be right.”

“So we must keep following every path until we find the right one,” Mark murmured.

Ian Douglas set his glass back on the cherrywood brandy table. “I thank you for your hospitality. I will take my leave now.”

“Thank you, Detective, for your aid,” Joseph told him.

“It's my job,” Ian said simply. Jeeter appeared, ready to show him out.

When he had gone, Joseph Farrow looked at his son. “You haven't asked yet about your engagement ball.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sure it was an elegant occasion.”

“Alexandra Grayson is quite charming, not to mention exquisite,” Joseph said.

“I know.”

“Of course you do. She had a meeting with the highwayman, after all,” Joseph said, frowning.

“Father, I didn't know who was in the coach, I didn't see the coat of arms until we had stopped it. And the highwayman, to maintain his credibility, could hardly have ignored such a rich prize.”

Joseph didn't look pacified. “Miss Grayson was hardly charmed by a fiancé who could not quite manage to make an appearance.”

“There was nothing I could do.”

“I think we should push forward with all haste to finalize this marriage.”

“What?” Mark said, astounded.

“You will lose her otherwise,” Joseph said softly.

“Father, you have told me about this vow you and Lord Stirling made between you, and though you know I find the entire concept ridiculous and outdated, I will honor it because I honor you. But I can hardly lose a woman who is mine only through the machinations of others.”

Joseph turned away from him, staring at the fire. “I'm afraid her life may be in danger in the future. And though you've yet to really know her, I cannot tell you what a tragedy her loss would be.”

“Father, why—”

“I can't tell you. You must simply believe me.”

“Father—”

“I learned something from Angus Cunningham tonight, Mark. You have heard of Lady Rowenna? She is the daughter of Lord Carnarenfew.”

“Yes, yes…she has land and a manor past the western forest area.”

“She was nearly killed yesterday.”

“How?”

“A bullet fired into her house.”

Mark shook his head. “Perhaps a hunter was lost, misfired—”

“I believe it was an attempt to kill her. She is known to be an illegitimate grandchild of the queen's uncle.”

“Father, I admit to being completely lost.”

“Miss Grayson lives in a cottage in the woods. With three doting aunts and not even a guard dog.”