One More Kiss (38 page)

Please no, not before she had the chance to talk to Jess.

Jess saw her first. Beatrice was not sure what she expected. Not a loving greeting, but surely not the distress that caused him to rub his brow and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. Just as quickly he was himself again, at the back of the group, with a noncommittal expression on his face.

“Miss Brent, there is no need for you to be out in the rain.” Lord Belmont took her arm in a more forceful gesture than usual and she had no choice but to turn and allow him to escort her back to the house.

“I want to speak with Lord Jessup.” Beatrice decided that a direct approach was best.

“In a while. I want you to go inside, find Nora and your sister, and stay with them for now.” As he told her what he expected, he escorted her one way and the others headed in the opposite direction. “Miss Wilson and her mother will join you, I am sure. They will have all sorts of questions for your sister and she will need your support.”

“Was that other man with you the coroner? How did he arrive so quickly?”

“No, it was the land manager. The coroner has been sent for.”

“Then I need to speak with Jess, my lord, right away.” She tried to pull her arm from his.

“No, you do not, Beatrice.” His firm tone of voice left her no option until he added, “Unless you do not trust Lord Jess’s honor.”

“Of course I do. I don’t care what anyone says. He is innocent.”

That stopped the earl in his tracks. “Innocent of what?” he asked, his expression hard and not at all forgiving.

Realizing her mistake, Beatrice tried to think of something Jess could be innocent of besides Lord Crenshaw’s death.

“He was with me.” She was not going to have hysterics, so she did her best to lower her voice to a reasonable tone. “I don’t care what he tells you. He was with me for a good bit of time before Crenshaw was found dead.”

“Thank you, Miss Brent.” The earl bowed to her quite formally. “I will bear that in mind.”

“You believe me, do you not?”

“Yes, I do, Beatrice. But I am not the one who needs to be convinced. Let me see what is needed, and I will come back for you if necessary.”

Beatrice let the earl go and went back into the small salon. All the ladies were gathered there now, though the countess was not among them.

With a nod to the others, Beatrice walked over to sit next to her sister. “You’ve told them everything.” Beatrice was sure she had, given how pale Cecilia was. She wished her sister would take a little more tea with brandy.

“Yes.” Cecilia shook her head. “It was very difficult.”

Beatrice nodded and was sorry that she could not have been in two places at once. “The countess is not back yet?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That means that she and Papa are trapped somewhere by the rain, or traveling back to the house in an open cart.”

“They will be fine. The countess is not nearly as delicate as Mama was. A little rain will do no more than dampen her dress.”

Beatrice nodded. Still, it was one more thing to worry about.

They all sat in silence. The only person crying was Mrs. Wilson. Katherine Wilson sat very still, staring into some future that was entirely different than it had been a few hours ago.

“If her heart was engaged,” Cecilia whispered, “then she is behaving far more stoically than one would expect.”

“Everyone is different. But it could be that Lord Jess’s conversation with her last night has made her see things differently. As awful as his death is, it did rescue her from a difficult choice.”

“Oh, did you find Lord Jess?”

“Actually, I talked to Lord Belmont and hope that will suffice.”

“Why? What was so important?”

“I was alone with Jess before the start of the race. For quite a while, actually.”

“Beatrice! What were you doing? No, wait, don’t tell me. I do not want to know.” She covered her ears, which drew the attention of everyone else in the room.

Beatrice did not look away, well aware that this was probably the beginning of the end of her London Season. And Cecilia’s.

“T
HE CORONER IS
in Scotland and will not be back for a month.” The land manager spoke directly to Lord Destry but his voice was loud enough for the rest of the gentlemen to hear. Jess wondered if they would have to wait for the coroner or if someone else could conduct the investigation. It was absurd to think they all must remain until he returned.

He assessed the group. Garrett was still attending to Lord Crenshaw’s spiritual needs, whatever they could be, given that the man was already dead. That left him, Belmont, and Des with drinks in hand and death very much in the room with them.

Jess tasted the wine, but then set his glass down and pushed it away. He, more than anyone, needed a clear head.

“Thank you,” Destry said to the land manager, speaking as formally as if he were seated in the House of Lords. “I would appreciate it if you would stay awhile, unless there are urgent demands on your time.”

Destry was very much in control of the situation. In fact, this was the first time Jess had ever seen him behave like a titled gentleman.

“I can remain as long as you have need of me, my lord.” The land manager moved away from the center of the room, hat in hand, and waited.

Destry paced as he spoke, hands behind his back. “It’s my understanding that we need only wait for the coroner if we suspect foul play.” He stared at the floor a moment. “Do I?” he said very quietly to himself and then shook his head. “I’m too close,” he murmured again, seemingly to himself.

He looked up and spoke to all three of them. “I believe we should ask the Earl of Belmont to investigate the incident, and to decide whether there is a need to inform the coroner.” Destry looked up at Belmont. “My lord earl, are you willing to take this on?”

“Yes, my lord.” Belmont bowed formally.

With a nod and a gesture, Destry passed the investigation over to Belmont. The earl and the land agent spent a few minutes discussing arrangements for the preservation of Lord Crenshaw’s body.

“What difference does it make?” Jess whispered to Destry, feeling as curious as Beatrice.

“If murder is suspected, the body cannot be buried until the coroner sees it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Part of the training to be a duke,” Destry responded
with a wry smile. “Never knew I would actually use this bit.”

They stood silent while the others talked, until Des spoke for Jess’s ears alone. “I told Cecilia that I love her.”

Yes, he was used to Destry’s inclination to change the subject without preamble, but this declaration gave him a moment’s pause.

“What did you say?” Jess held up his hand. “I heard you. I heard you. Des, that’s tantamount to a proposal. What were you thinking?”

“I was looking at Crenshaw and thinking how death can come knocking any minute and that there’s no time to waste. It was not impulse. I do love her and I would be delighted if she considered that a proposal.”

“You’re right about how life can change. When we came here we both wanted nothing more than a few weeks of gaming, fishing, and flirting. Now you are ready for marriage and I am the prime suspect in a death.” That, if anything, would drive Beatrice away. What had she been doing walking up to him like that? Her curiosity must be driving her near mad.

“No one has said that, Jess.”

“Belmont will. Crenshaw and I have had two confrontations since the house party started, and last night I said I should have killed him. And I said it in front of witnesses.”

“But you didn’t kill him,” Destry said with conviction, then compromised that by asking, “Where were you anyway?”

This was the moment when he had to make a choice. If he told the truth, Beatrice’s reputation would be in
tatters. Hell, it could be so ruined that a London Season among the ton would be impossible.

For Beatrice, then, he decided.

“I was walking down by the river. I told you that.”

“That makes no sense, Jess. You never go for walks and we were in the middle of one of the better gaming opportunities of these few weeks.”

“I know it’s odd but that is where I was.”

“Where was Beatrice? She was missing, too.”

“Do you think she could push a man to his death?” Jess imbued the question with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“No, of course not, but it is odd that the two of you were missing at the same time from an event that should have been of keen interest to you both.” Destry looked away, shook his head, and then added, “Unless you were more interested in each other.”

Before Jess could find the words to distract Destry from that truth, Belmont came to them. “If you two gentlemen would join the ladies, I will make a few other inquiries and come to you shortly.”

“What ‘other inquiries’ is he talking about?” Destry asked as they trooped down the passage to the salon where the ladies were gathered.

“I would guess he wants to talk to the servants. The footmen are everywhere. It was not only you and Beatrice who heard me wish Crenshaw dead the night of the ball. At least one footman was standing nearby.”

“Yes, the footmen. I don’t even notice them in the normal course of events.”

“Which, I do believe, makes them valuable sources of information.”

One of said footmen opened the door to the salon.

Destry paused and gave the servant his full attention. “How many footmen are employed here?”

“I think you would have to ask the majordomo, my lord.”

“Because you do not know or would rather not be talking to me?” Destry warned, but with a smile.

“Both, my lord.” His face reddened.

“Is that so? Very good.” Destry watched him a moment more and then walked into the room with Jess. “Now the question is are all the footmen as honest as this one? I’m going to find Belmont.”

“Des, he told us to stay here.”

“Yes, I know,” Destry replied blithely, and headed down the passage.

Jess watched him go, thinking he could be hell to live with. Destry needed someone to tamp down his impulsiveness. He wondered if Cecilia Brent was up to that challenge.

Once in the salon, he looked for Beatrice and found her seated next to her sister, with Mrs. Kendrick nearby. He saw the fear in her eyes and tried to think of a way to organize a private moment so he could reassure her.

Jess headed across the room, taking stock of the rest of the guests. Mr. Garrett was already there, talking with Mrs. Kendrick. Lady Olivia sat next to Mrs. Wilson, who was twisting a handkerchief and dabbing at tears.

Cecilia and Beatrice both rose as he came farther into the room.

Jess explained to everyone what was happening and they all sat down again or found seats, except for Beatrice, who wandered over to a window, away from the others.

He wanted to talk to her more than anyone else and she wanted the same, he could tell that, but he decided it would attract too much attention if he went directly to her. He approached Garrett first to ask about Crenshaw’s body and was assured that it was being preserved in the icehouse until it could be returned to his estate for burial.

How many times had the icehouse been used for something like that? He made a mental note to avoid any ices for the rest of his stay.

He paused to tell Cecilia where Destry was, which he phrased as “conducting some inquiries of his own,” and to ask Nora Kendrick if Belmont had given her any special directions. He had not.

Finally, Jess wandered over to the window where Beatrice was waiting with barely concealed impatience.

“I told them I was walking by the river. You have nothing to worry about, Beatrice. You will not be compromised.”

“Jess, listen to me.” Beatrice spoke quietly, with a sad smile as if she was seeking comfort instead of discussing perjury. “You will not lie for me. I will not allow it. You know they will suspect you. It is inevitable. I urge you to simply tell the truth.”

“No. It will make your chance for a Season very difficult to manage.”

“Oh, what does that matter?” She glanced over at Mrs. Wilson. “Cecilia’s beauty is all the entrée she needs. And the only reasons I was hoping for a Season were to have fun and to help Cecilia find a match.” She took his arm. “Do not lie to save me.”

He closed his eyes. Not seeing her intense blue eyes
would make it easier to think clearly. But the feel of her hand on his arm reminded him that she was watching and waiting for him to answer.

“Dear friends!” The countess and Mr. Brent burst into the room. “I am so sorry!” The countess was dressed in the same clothes she had worn out that morning. She had not even taken time to change or freshen up. She went from one guest to another expressing sympathy and affection while Mr. Brent stood at the door looking awkward and very wet.

“Go to your father,” Jess said. “Do not let him see you standing here with me.”

“No. I want him to know that you have my complete support.”

“But I do not want your support, Beatrice. It only makes life more complicated.”

“Yes, I know, but I expect I am going to spend my life under my father’s roof and I want him to understand that it will be on my terms.”

Her words shocked him. She did not expect an offer of marriage in exchange for his ruination of her? Did this woman think of everyone’s best interests but her own?

The countess left the room, promising she would return as soon as she had changed. Jess did not know how significant it was that the countess did not even look at Abel Brent.

Mr. Brent watched the door close without expression. If ever there was a fish out of water it was Abel Brent caught with his secret out. He and the countess had been gone for most of the day. Jess guessed it was one of the rare moments in his life when Brent was not in command of a situation.

Brent turned to have a few words with Cecilia, who had run to his side and was urging him to change before he caught a chill. Garrett offered Mr. Brent a brandy, which he accepted gratefully and drank in one swallow.

Fortified by the drink, he seemed to realize that there was one situation he
was
in command of. He came up to Beatrice with Cecilia trailing behind, her face full of anxiety.