Gail Eastwood (5 page)

Gilbey rocked back as if the statue had kicked him. What the devil was that supposed to mean? The duke was smiling and Gilbey thought he had better say something to cover his involuntary reaction. “Lady Venetia, Your Grace?”

“Yes, my daughter the huntress. She will find herself a husband and one for her sister, too, I don’t doubt.” The smile disappeared suddenly and was replaced by a level stare. “I would be most displeased if she chose someone unsuitable, Lord Cranford. I’m certain that you understand my position.”

***

Fresh from this interview Gilbey had been obliged to join the party playing cards in the yellow drawing room. His attempts to catch Nicholas’s eye or have a word with him failed utterly, perhaps because he had to devote so much of his attention to keeping away from the twins. Periodically the groups would break up and regroup, specifically so that no one would play with the same partner all evening. Gilbey worked very hard to avoid being paired with any of the younger ladies.

Unfortunately, this strategy appeared to have given both Lady Norbridge and Lady Sibbingham the idea that he preferred the company of older women, specifically that of widowed countesses. They had flirted with him outrageously all evening. Lady Norbridge was no more than thirty-five and did have certain charms—large green eyes and an admirable figure, if only she would not flaunt it quite so openly. He had been unfailingly polite without encouraging them, he hoped. He doubted either of them had meant anything serious by their actions.

No, the biggest problem had been himself. Despite Lady Norbridge’s distracting green eyes, he had not been able to stop thinking about two pairs of violet blue ones that belonged to the golden-haired twins. He had not been able to stop watching them during the evening, even from across the room. He hoped that no one had noticed.

The contrast in their personalities was remarkable. Vivian had been determinedly modest, insisting that she had no skill at cards and warning all her partners of their handicap. Whenever she played well, a look of genuine surprise lit her sweet face quite delightfully in the warm glow of the candles. Gilbey was certain she had no idea that she had utterly charmed several of the gentlemen present. It struck him as odd that her father had barely mentioned her during the after-dinner interview in the duke’s study. Shouldn’t such a daughter, the very model of modesty and decorum, be the apple of her father’s eye?

Venetia, on the other hand, had challenged her partners to match her skill and had played with a reckless aggressiveness much like a man’s. Gilbey had been astonished at the size of the wagers she placed, encouraging others to follow her lead, quite careless of the results. She seemed vibrant—full of energy and passion. Gilbey was not surprised by the number of men who had been ready to worship at her temple.

Lying in bed now, he indulged in an dangerous fantasy. If he wanted a wife, if he were an eligible suitor, if he could have his choice—which sister would he prefer? He wrestled with the dilemma and finally gave up. How did one choose between a pearl and a diamond?

Poor Nicholas! Small wonder he was concerned about keeping an eye on the twins for two weeks! There were nine suitors, and only two of them could win. In the days ahead the competition among them was likely to become the very devil.

Chapter Five

Venetia and Vivian were up early the next morning and had already been out walking in the garden terraces and the nearby woodland paths before most of the house was awake. Morning mist clung to their bonnets and wool cloaks as they reentered the house.

“It will be interesting to see which of our guests come to breakfast this morning,” Venetia said, handing her red cloak to the footman who stood ready to receive it. “Some of them may have barely been to bed.”

“You do not think the prospect of attending church with us this morning will be enough to rouse them again?” Vivian answered Venetia’s sly grin with one of her own.

“We shall see.”

Breakfast had been set up in the tapestry room under the fixed gazes of medieval lords and maidens woven in cloth. The muted colors of the wall hangings and rich oak paneling gave the room a warm feel despite the coolness of the misty morning outside the casement windows. When the twins entered they were surprised to find Nicholas and Lord Cranford already seated at one of the several tables, happily munching on sliced smoked ham, a variety of breads, fresh honey, and early strawberries from the Rivington hothouses. A pained expression came across Lord Cranford’s face as soon as the twins approached, however. Indeed, as he and Nicholas arose from their chairs, he began to choke on the tea he had just attempted to swallow.

“Oh, heavens. Bones in the tea, sir? If so we must really speak to our cook,” Venetia teased him. “Good morning, Nicholas. And may I wish you a good morning also, Lord Cranford?”

Cranford was blushing bright red and still coughing. Nicholas moved to pound him on the back.

“Poor Lord Cranford. Are you quite all right?” asked Vivian with a good deal more sympathy.

The viscount nodded, but he remained standing even after the ladies were seated and Nicholas had returned to his chair.

“I do beg your pardon!” he finally managed to sputter once he had found his breath. “My appetite is apparently more awake this morning than the rest of me. Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian, good morning.”

Unfailingly polite,
thought Venetia. She was not sure she found that such a great virtue. She smiled sweetly. “We have been up and awake for hours, sir. Are you prone to city habits, staying up far into the night? I’m afraid we follow country ways here at Rivington. Perhaps you should try the coffee.”

At least he had the grace to laugh. He made no move to join them at the table, however. “I think I am quite finished trying anything this morning. I’ve already consumed a most generous breakfast. I hope you will excuse me. I was not up late last night—in fact, I retired just after you ladies. However, I have a few things to do to get ready this morning before attending church . . .”

Venetia arched an eyebrow and gave her sister a significant look. If Lord Cranford had retired just after they had, he could have delivered the blackmail note. She saw that some sense of the idea reached Vivian, for a small frown suddenly creased her pale forehead.

“What nonsense, Gilbey,” Nicholas said. “You’ve no need to be ready any sooner than we are. We won’t be leaving for St. Michael’s until just before ten o’clock.” He smiled wickedly. “One might almost get the impression you wish to avoid our company.”

Venetia thought Lord Cranford looked as if he would like to strangle Nicholas.
Interesting.
Perhaps he truly was trying to avoid them. Why? Could it be because he had secrets to hide from them? Didn’t want them to guess he was really a blackmailer? Didn’t feel the need to court them because he already had another way to win one of them as a wife?

Now that she stopped to consider it, he had managed very neatly to keep apart from both her and Vivian last night. He had even been absent for a good part of the dinner.
He could have been writing the note then,
said the little voice in her head.

“One might not be surprised if I wished to avoid
your
company, Nicholas, since you are ungracious enough to make the suggestion,” Cranford said. “I can’t imagine that anyone would not wish to remain in the company of your delightful sisters, however.”

Bravo.
It was an admirable reply, one her brother richly deserved. Venetia studied Lord Cranford’s face with renewed interest. Telltale color still washed across his cheekbones, but a smile was lurking around his mouth. The light from the windows reflected off the lenses of his spectacles, effectively screening his eyes from her view. Something her brother had said the day before came back to her as she looked at the viscount:
Do not underestimate my friend Cranford, ladies.
Now she wondered exactly what he had meant.

“Surely you don’t mean to abandon us, Lord Cranford?” she said. “Why, you haven’t even finished what was on your plate.”

As he turned toward her the reflction disappeared from his spectacles, revealing his breathtaking blue-green eyes. She could read indecision there and in the way his smile wavered for a moment.

“No, not at all, of course not,” he said, fidgeting with his watch fob. “But you really must excuse me . . .”

“We have been out walking in the gardens, Lord Cranford. You might find a quick turn along some of the paths quite delightful at this time of day,” Vivian commented suddenly.

What in heaven’s name was she about? Venetia tried to kick her twin under the table but couldn’t quite reach without making an obvious effort. If they were going to investigate Lord Cranford as a suspected blackmailer, they would have to spend some time with him. Offering him reasons to absent himself was not the way to go about it!

Cranford looked relieved. “I truly do have a few things I must see to before we go off this morning. If I have a chance, Lady Vivian, perhaps I will try to steal a few moments to walk in the garden. Thank you for suggesting it. If not this morning, then perhaps tomorrow.” He bowed. “Ladies, Nicholas. Until later.”

Venetia watched him leave. He actually was a handsomely built man—she wasn’t certain why she had not noticed it before. Perhaps the chocolate brown coat he was wearing this morning was cut better than the one he had worn yesterday. She had to admit that she felt a little begrudging admiration for him. He had clearly meant to quit the table from the moment she and Vivian walked in, and despite her protests he had achieved his object without even being rude.

He paused in front of the carved and columned doorway to allow a small knot of guests coming into the room to pass him. The group included Lord and Lady Whitgreave with their daughter Georgina, Lord Lindell, Lord Newcroft, and Lady Duncross tottering along behind them on the arm of Lord Chesdale. Cranford greeted them quietly and went out.

Lord Chesdale lifted his quizzing glass and peered at the viscount’s retreating figure. When he turned back to the trio seated at the table he did not look at all pleased. “Good morning, Lady Venetia, Lady Vivian, Edmonton,” he said. “I see that Lord Cranford has already been here, well ahead of the rest of the pack.”

***

A string of carriages wound their way out of the park at Rivington later that morning, headed for the ancient little church at Yanworth. Gilbey remembered passing through the tiny hamlet with Nicholas. It amounted to no more than a handful of small estate cottages, but the church was older than even the oldest parts of Nicholas’s home, dating back to the twelfth century.

Nicholas had told him the church was decorated with interesting wall paintings, and Gilbey was looking forward to viewing them. All he had to do was keep to his own company and keep an eye on Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian from a distance. Since he had to share the drive to church with someone, however, he had sought out Lady FitzHarris. The plump, cheerful baroness had been a harmless enough dinner partner and Gilbey did not think anyone, male or female, could possibly misread his motives in accompanying her. They rode in Nicholas’s carriage, listening to Colonel Hatherwick rhapsodize about the fabulous trout fishing to be found just a short distance downriver. Venetia and Vivian rode in their father’s carriage up ahead along with the Duke of Thornborough.

The expedition proved blessedly uneventful. The wall paintings were indeed interesting, and Gilbey managed to evade the twins without losing sight of them. No one in particular tried to engage him in conversation. Few of the Rivington guests had failed to come along—Gilbey guessed that none of the suitors wanted to risk missing opportunities that could be used to advantage by their rivals. The Marquess of Ashurst was the only one of the single male guests who had not come.

***

Venetia and Vivian also noted Lord Ashurst’s absence, and his defection from the ranks sparked a discussion once they returned from church. They took refuge in the gardens for a few minutes of privacy.

“You see, Netia, you cannot say that Lord Cranford is the only one making no attempt to court us,” Vivian said in a low voice, leading the way down a flagstone path between huge evergreen topiaries. “Lord Ashurst was pleasant enough at dinner last night, but he was not very attentive during the evening, and this morning he did not even come. It is quite probable that he took a dislike to me because I pestered him with so many questions. But according to your logic, he is just as likely to be the blackmailer as Lord Cranford.”

“Oh, heavens, Vivi! I’m certain that Lord Ashurst has not taken you in particular dislike. They say he dislikes everyone. And his case is considerably different than Lord Cranford’s.”

Venetia glanced about quickly to make sure no one else was in this part of the garden. “What possible reason could the marquess have for resorting to blackmail to make me his wife? He is high-placed, handsome and wealthy. Plenty of women would willingly wed a reclusive misanthrope like him for those other qualities. That reputation is less damaging than Lord Wistowe’s, and I doubt many women would balk at marrying him, either, even if he is such a rake.”

The path ended at a short flight of steps leading up to the next terrace. This was a rectangular rose garden enclosed by sheltering walls of yews. The scent of the early blooms washed over the twins as they entered. Vivian went to the fountain at its center and sat down on the edge, gazing at the bronze figure of a woman captured forever pouring water from an urn into the pool. The sound of the trickling water was comforting.

“Netia,” she said, “you are assuming that Lord Cranford has an interest in marrying you. Do you not remember what we said of him when he first arrived?”

Venetia patroled restlessly around the borders.

“I know, we said he was probably not meant for the list. But I have learned a little bit about him from Nicholas. He had an uncle who gambled away most of his inheritance before he came of age. He needs money to restore his estates.” Venetia stopped and looked directly at her twin. “Why would he not be interested in marrying me?”

She went on before Vivian could reply. “The best way to determine whether or not he could be the blackmailer is to spend more time with him, Vivi. That is what I was trying to set up at breakfast. Why did you help him by offering him an excuse to be elsewhere? I could have kicked you—I tried, to be honest.”

“Well, I like that! My own twin. But truly, Netia, I do not believe he could be the blackmailer.”

“You are blinded by the paleness of his hair, or mesmerized by the sea color of his eyes.”

“So, you have noticed his eyes, too, have you?” Vivian got up again and moved toward her sister. “Well, I am not blinded. I know you were thinking after breakfast that because he retired just after we did last night he had the opportunity to deliver the blackmail note. But you said yourself that the blackmailer probably had one of the servants deliver it. The fact that none we questioned this morning had done so does not mean it is not true. Whether he did or not, don’t you think that the blackmailer would make certain his time was accounted for all evening, to avoid our suspicion? I think the fact that Lord Cranford has no alibi, as they call it, is a sign of his innocence.”

It was a long speech for Vivian. That alone told Venetia how deep her sister’s feelings ran.

“If it isn’t Lord Cranford, Vivi, then who can it be? He has a motive, and surely he must be aware that he has no chance of winning one of us any other way. If nothing else, Father would never approve of him. Why would it be anyone else?”

“That is what we must try to find out, Netia. If we determine to focus our efforts only on Lord Cranford, the real culprit may be completely overlooked.”

Venetia had been toying with a pink blossom she’d plucked from the border and now she threw it into the fountain. It swirled about for a moment and then the petals began to separate. “All right. I agree we must look closely at everyone, not just Lord Cranford. We cannot afford to fail in this—we have far too much at stake. But I do not agree that he should not be a suspect.”

Vivian turned toward the steps at the foot of the garden. “Come. If we do not go in, we will not have enough time to get changed for the picnic.” With a mischievous smile she added, “Netia, I think you simply can’t accept that Lord Cranford might be immune to your charms.”

***

The Duke of Roxley’s idea of a picnic was quite different from anything Gilbey imagined. Wagonloads of servants had been sent ahead to prepare the site, and as the guests who had chosen to walk there set off through the garden, more servants were leaving with what looked like supplies for an entire army. The rest of the guests would arrive by carriage.

The walkers constituted a sizable group, including all the young guests and a few who could not bear to be classified as anything else, such as Lord Amberton and the intrepid Lady Norbridge. Eight ladies and nine gentlemen in all made up the group. Lady Elizabeth, Lord and Lady Upcott’s daughter Lady Caroline, and Miss Whitgreave had successfully won permission to join the walking party without their parents, so there was a spirit of joyful rebellion in the ranks. The twins’ Aunt Alice, Lady Colney, had promised to serve as chaperone.

Nicholas led the way up the central path through the gardens, pointing out the branching paths and walkways that led to individual terraces designed with their own themes. He raised his voice to reach the ears of his audience, who had quickly become a disorderly line strung out behind him.