Lynne Connolly (26 page)

He meant that he knew we’d do it, and he wanted some information. I left the decision up to Richard. If the Drurys had killed John, or the man they’d substituted as he, then Fielding could have his witnesses with my blessing.

Richard obviously felt the same. “I can have that done, sir, and if I discover anything, be assured I’ll let you know.”

John Smith’s hand, which he’d clenched on his master’s chair until the knuckles turned white, finally relaxed. From that, I knew Fielding hadn’t felt sure he’d have Richard’s cooperation. And he needed it. Richard was right. He required more than the word of a street urchin to convict the Drurys.

Positions had been declared and drawn up. Fielding wanted to know where he stood with us. A shame for him that he’d never know for sure.

Chapter Fifteen

Arriving home, I tried to hide the fatigue swamping me. The events of the last few days and the increasing demands of my unborn child, plus the delightful but exhausting time I spent with my daughter every day, were taking its toll. My head throbbed from the bruise, healing but not yet gone.

Richard climbed the stairs with me, but when I approached the next staircase to the nursery floor, he took my hands and pulled me back, shaking his head. “I’ll go to her, but, Rose, you must rest. Must. You don’t think I see the shadows under your eyes? Come.”

Aware as ever of the flapping ears of near-invisible servants, I didn’t demur but went with him into the bedroom. We only employed servants from the box, the special servants who worked for Richard first and any other employers second, whose names we kept in one of three duplicate boxes, always locked up. But even then, even with utterly trustworthy, totally reliable servants, I sometimes felt uncomfortable revealing my deepest feelings. Growing up in a small manor house had taught me the value of privacy, precious and expensive, because to have it you needed space and the money to afford it. I treasured it now, even more than the fabulous collection of jewellery locked up in my personal safe. And I loved jewellery, a weakness Richard was only too ready to indulge. In my room he discarded his coat on a nearby chair and came to help me.

Relief swept through me when Richard removed my pearl necklace and bracelet, unhooked my gown from my stomacher and loosened my stays, before he led me to the bed and lifted me on to it, then carefully unbuckled and discarded my shoes and removed my garters and stockings.

He rubbed my feet, the sensation so blissful I could have slept from that alone, but thoughts kept revolving around in my head and I couldn’t sleep. I had lain awake recently, listening to Richard’s quiet breaths, the occasional masculine snore, and thought and thought.

At times like this I wanted to take all his cares away, convince him that he mattered. And I wanted to run away. I knew it wouldn’t solve anything, but our times in our house in Oxfordshire were the happiest for me. Our sanctuary, very private. Just us and Helen, where we could be a family. Go for walks when we wanted to, dress as we wanted, eat what we wanted and when. I loved it, but we owed too many people too much in terms of duty and honour to think of leaving. I let my mind wander on that theme until I realised he’d stopped rubbing and had crossed the room to use the washstand.

I opened my eyes. “Will you go to the coffeehouses?”

He turned around, wiping his hands on the towel. “Probably. I’ll go to the Cocoa-Tree and hear what the politicians are saying. As long as you promise to stay here all afternoon.” He cast the towel aside and came back to me, giving me a lingering, sweet kiss. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Nearly.”

“Will you sleep now?”

“I don’t know, but I promise I’ll stay here and rest.”

He smiled and bent his head, but as his lips touched mine, a gentle tap came on the door. With a scowl, he stood up. “Stay there,” he ordered, and went to the door. A murmured exchange with my maid followed, and he returned. He studied me.

“You might as well tell me.” I knew something had happened to curtail my nap. Maybe I could get one later, but it seemed my efforts were doomed for now.

“Steven and Julia Drury are downstairs. Do we see them?”

I sat up and reached for his hand. “It’s probably a good idea if we get it over with now.”

Sighing, he helped me off the bed and then assisted me to re-dress. He could hook and drape almost as fast as a lady’s maid, though usually it happened the other way around when he disrobed me.

After setting the pearls back around my neck, he touched my hair, tucked a curl up and smiled. “Artful disarray. You couldn’t have arranged it better had you spent hours trying to get that look. You should try it sometime.”

When I glanced in the mirror, I saw tousled hair, the unruly curls swept up in a haphazard arrangement. Much as I used to wear it every day before Nichols came into my life. But if I called her in, she’d spend much longer getting it right again. I decided to go with Richard’s assessment of artful disarray.

I snatched a kiss before we left the room, and he caught my hand and squeezed it. “Later,” he promised. I warmed, knowing Richard always made good on his promises.

He swung his coat up from the chair and over his shoulders, thrusting his arms through the sleeves as we left to go downstairs.

Steven and Julia waited for us in the small parlour. I wondered why the butler had decided to show them in there, but when I saw their expressions, I understood the reason for it. Both appeared drawn and strained. This wouldn’t be the kind of interview that would benefit from other visitors.

Julia seemed almost respectable, her fichu tucked firmly into her bodice, her hair neatly confined under a linen and lace cap. Belatedly I remembered that I’d left my cap, a mere scrap of lace, upstairs, but it was too late now.

Steven stood when we entered. I noted his worn expression and the dark shadows under his eyes. I’d thought his recent appearance not improved by signs of debauchery, but today the pale face and lines around the eyes and mouth made his handsome features almost ordinary.

He bowed over my hand in an almost perfunctory way. “I beg your pardon for interrupting you at such a time, but we needed to speak with you.”

Julia tutted. “We need to know where you stand, what you intend to do.”

Richard swept her with a cold look. “I intend to see my wife seated. Then we’ll talk.”

Out of sight of our visitors, he raised a brow. I kept my face blandly interested. Richard chose to stand beside my chair, on guard, I thought. Since Richard had caught Steven trying to rape me at Hareton Abbey, he’d never trusted him again, and from time to time I had to remind him that Steven’s act was one of stupidity and desperation, not pure evil. But Richard never forgot. Although he’d removed his sword when he entered the house, I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t call for it now.

“To what do we owe the honour?” he asked now in a tone that indicated their visit was everything but an honour.

Julia spoke while her husband was still getting his thoughts together. He sat next to her instead, disposing his arm elegantly along the arm of the chair. “We didn’t do it. We’ve come to tell you everything about that night so all is clear between us.”

Julia Drury would have made a very good fishwife. I’d seen them gutting the fish at the quayside, brought in by their husbands that day, shrieking and laughing with each other. But while fishwives had an honest trade, Julia attempted to prey on others.

“We’re listening.” Though Richard didn’t sound very giving. “You cannot expect us to intervene with the authorities for you. They’ve established that the youth died from a stab wound to the heart and not the injuries to his hands and face.”

Steven heaved a heavy sigh. “So it’s murder.”

“Yes.” Richard gave him a bland expression. He stood where I could see him, his hand grazing the arm of the chair where I sat.

“I’m sorry. The boy didn’t deserve that,” Steven said with every sign of sincerity.

“Did you kill him?” Julia’s voice gained a sharper edge, probably from nervousness, or bravado even. She must know that Richard didn’t take kindly to impertinence.

But Richard gave her a straight answer. “No.”

Did they know that the youth wasn’t Kneller? Did they care?

Tears misted Julia’s eyes, and she found a handkerchief and dabbed the corners. Very theatrical. “He was so like you.”

“Are you saying that’s why you took him to your bed?” Richard didn’t sound interested, only bored.

“Yes.” She dabbed her eyes once more. “You cannot deny he was your son.”

Richard stared down his nose at her. “I can. He claimed it, but the certificate he produced was laughable, as was his assertion that I’d married his mother. He did his best to promote trouble between my family and myself, but failed to understand the imperative that drives my mother.”

“Which is…?” Julia enquired quickly.

“None of your concern. Suffice it to say that he wouldn’t have succeeded.”

“But he was a threat to you,” Julia persisted, refusing to give up her point.

A flash of light from one of Richard’s cut steel buttons meeting the sunlight showed me his slight movement, the only indication of his annoyance. “No threat. Merely an irritation. Except for his physical threats. Dead is dead, and if he’d managed in his aim of killing my wife last year, he’d have been dead a few months sooner. But his foolish attempt this year didn’t do more than anger me.”

“He tried to mark you in public, and he tried to take your wife.”

“It was the attempt to abduct Rose I spoke of. He said he wanted to speak to me. I’m guessing that he wanted more than that. He wanted to compromise Rose, show me as a libertine returning to his old haunts and turn society’s opinion against me. At the same time, he was trying to work his way into the Kerre family. He’d have accepted an allowance and perhaps a gift of an estate somewhere. I don’t think his attempt to prove himself legitimate would have survived very long. It would have cost him a fortune in court, and he was very unlikely to win the case. It didn’t form much of a threat.” He spun around in a whirl of coat skirts and headed for the window. “A foolish, headstrong child,” he said, staring out of the window for a moment before facing the room again.

I knew what disturbed him. John was too much like Richard as a youth. He had recognised the similarities—the intelligence, the looks, the shooting-star presence that made everyone stare. John lacked other qualities Richard showed in abundance, but that initial similarity could jar the senses. And he was Richard’s son. Richard had no choice but to continue to deny that, but it hurt him to do so, I knew. His innate sense of justice mitigated against it every time he was forced to it. As he was now.

“A man,” Julia corrected him. “A very virile, potent man.”

I glanced at Steven. Had he shown signs of flagging recently? Was that it? His high cheekbones flushed with an angry pink. That could have been because of his wife’s unashamed cuckoldry. No man would appreciate that. “I never thought him above the average.” I had to give him credit for a good face. Perhaps he was learning, at last, not to show all his emotions as he felt them.

“You shared intimacy with him too?” I nearly laughed at the expression on Steven’s face when Richard asked that question. Revulsion and horror, mingled with shock, I thought, from the widely dilated eyes and slightly open mouth. His jaw had dropped.

Richard gave him back a humourless smile. “What, you didn’t think I knew all his games? He gave his body to whoever asked as long as he got something out of it. His guardian, the original Sir John Kneller? John recognised his preference for men and indulged it.” Nice to see Julia disconcerted for a change. “Your desire for me? He indulged it by giving you the younger version. Persuading you that he was my son only increased the thrill for you.”

Julia found her voice. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll corrupt your precious wife’s ears by such talk?”

My turn for the humourless laugh. “You think we know nothing in the country? Believe me, Julia, the idea of bucolic bliss is much exaggerated by the town dwellers. I guessed how John got his fortune, and how he manipulated people, men and women. A man-whore.”

I enjoyed Steven’s discomfiture. He’d already taken me for an innocent provincial, as I was when he met me, so it was good to show him that even a provincial’s naiveté only stretched so far. Richard’s way of protecting me was to tell me the truth. He understood me far more than anyone else did, or ever would, and he knew I’d worry far more about nebulous assumptions than I would about the truth. “You know when he took us last year that he planned for us to die together, seemingly in adulterous congress. Can you really think that he’d balk at seduction to get his way?” I turned to Julia. “Did you give him any money?”

She flushed and avoided meeting my gaze. “Some. Only what he earned.”

“A lot,” Steven said quietly. “A great deal.” He met Richard’s gaze, dark, melting brown against steely blue. “You must know our financial situation.”

Richard gave a terse nod. “Dire. I don’t imagine the boy remained innocent of that, either. He sought out any weakness and used it. It was always his way. But you might not realise that his estate was almost extinct. He needed your money to fund his appearances in society.” He flipped the skirts of his coat, fine wool, decorated with silk braid, the buttons alone worth a good amount. “It isn’t cheap to appear this way. Once I decided to fritter away my inheritance, expensive clothes formed a part of it, but my father threatened me with instant penury. I started my own business in partnership with others. John took a different path. He inherited a tidy estate and a good business, albeit illegal, and spent it all in pursuit of revenge. He could have lived a comfortable life away from the public eye, provided for his sister, which is what he claimed.”