The Ideal Bride (41 page)

 
At her insistence, he harnessed his gig and drove her back to the fete in more conventional style. Leaving the gig in the secondary clearing, they rejoined the crowds still ambling about the stalls, now largely engaged in last-minute purchases and protracted farewells.

 
No one, it seemed, had missed them. Or if any had, none sought to remark on their mutual absence. Caro deemed that just as well; she had enough to do to appear normal, to keep a silly, far-too-revealing smile from her face. She kept banishing it, yet if she relaxed her vigilance, it crept back; on top of that, while she could walk well enough, she felt oddly exhausted, as if every muscle in her body had unraveled.

 
For the first time in her life, swooning delicately away—or at least pretending to—held considerable appeal. Instead, she applied her formidable skills to putting on a good show, chatting here and there as if she and Michael had, indeed, been present the entire afternoon.

 
Michael remained by her side, her hand anchored on his sleeve; although he was attentive to all those with whom they spoke, she was conscious that he was, if anything, being even more protective, alert to all around them as if on guard.

 
He confirmed that last when they moved away from the wood-carver’s stall, murmuring, “The Portuguese have left.”

 
She raised her brows. “The others?”

 
“No Prussians or Russians visible, but the Verolstadts are just leaving.” With a nod, he indicated the small group gaily gathering to one side. Together, they strolled across to make their farewells.

 
The Swedish ambassador and his family had been delighted with their day; they were effusive in their thanks and good wishes, promising to meet in town later in the year.

 
They parted; Michael again scanned the clearing. “No more foreigners, nor any of the diplomatic crowd.”

 
It had to be close to five o’clock, the accepted end of the day. Caro sighed happily, delighted that all had gone so well—on multiple counts. “I should go and help pack up the Ladies’ Association stall.” She glanced at Michael. “You can come and help.”

 
He raised his brows at her, but followed her without complaint.

 
Muriel appeared as they reached the stall. She frowned at them. “There you are—I’ve been looking for you for some time.”

 
Caro opened her eyes wide.

 
Michael shrugged. “We’ve been circulating—farewelling the foreign delegations and so on.”

 
Muriel somewhat grudgingly conceded, “They all came, as far as I could tell.”

 
“Indeed, and they enjoyed themselves hugely.” Caro was too happy to take umbrage; she was perfectly prepared to spread the joy. “They all sent their compliments.” She smiled at the other ladies folding unsold wares into baskets.

 
“And what’s more,” Mrs. Humphreys said, “they weren’t above buying things. Those two young Swedish misses were buying up presents for their friends back home. Just think! Our embroideries on Swedish dressers.”

 
A general discussion of the benefits of Caro’s novel idea ensued; she helped stack tray covers and doilies, agreeing that if she was in residence at Bramshaw when next year’s fete rolled around, she would consider hosting some similar dual event.

 
Standing a little behind Caro, Michael kept an eye on the clearing in general while scanning the thinning crowd. Eventually he spotted Edward and beckoned him over.

 
Stepping away from the ladies, he lowered his voice. “Earlier, someone shot an arrow at Caro.”

 
His appreciation of the younger man’s talents deepened when Edward only blinked, then returned, equally sotto voce, “Not an accident from the contest… ?” Reading the truth in his face, Edward sobered. “No—of course not.” He blinked again. “Could it have been Ferdinand?”

 
“Not personally. I doubt he’d have the skill and regardless, he’d be more likely to hire someone to do the job. The arrow came from the direction of the butts, but had to have been fired from within the forest.”

 
Edward nodded, his gaze on Caro. “This is starting to look very strange.”

 
“Indeed. And there’s more. I’ll come around tomorrow morning and we can discuss the whole, and decide what we need to do.”

 
Edward met his gaze. “Does she know?”

 
“Yes. But we’ll need to keep a close watch over her.” Michael looked at Caro. “Starting from now, and your journey home.”

 
He couldn’t drive Caro home; it would have looked too odd, what with Geoffrey, Edward, and Elizabeth all there, along with a host of Bramshaw staff—and the entrance to the drive was only across the village street. He did, however, keep a surreptitious watch from atop his gig, before, satisfied she was halfway down the drive, surrounded by numerous others, and no problem had occurred, he headed home.

 
On the one hand, he was thoroughly satisfied; on the other, anything but.

 
Next morning, he rode to Bramshaw House as soon as he’d breakfasted. Edward, seeing him striding up the lawn, left Elizabeth to practice the piano alone and came to meet him; together they went into the parlor.

 
“Caro’s slept in,” Edward informed him. A slight frown played across his face. “She must have been worn out by the fete—perhaps the heat.”

 
Michael suppressed his smirk and sat. “Probably. Regardless, that gives us time to revisit the facts before she joins us.”

 
Edward sat on the chaise and leaned forward, all attention. Michael settled in the armchair and recited the facts known to him, much as he had with Caro the previous day.

 
When, gowned for the summer day in a fluttery gown of pale apple-green muslin, Caro drifted downstairs after breakfasting—very late—in her room, she wasn’t at all surprised to hear Michael’s deep voice rumbling from the parlor.

 
Smiling, still serenely, dreamily content, she headed that way, noting that Elizabeth was flexing her fingers in the drawing room.

 
Pausing on the parlor’s threshold, she saw Michael and Edward, both frowning at their thoughts; they saw her, and stood. She glided in, smiling easily at Edward, then rather more privately at Michael.

 
His eyes met hers; she felt the heat in his gaze. Calmly, she sat on the chaise, waited until they’d resat. “What are you discussing?”

 
Michael replied, “The relative likelihood of Ferdinand’s being after something for himself, or having been sent after something for someone else.”

 
She met his gaze. “I have to own to great difficulty in believing that what Ferdinand’s after could have anything to do with him personally. He knew Camden, that’s true, but diplomatically Ferdinand’s a nonentity.” She looked at Edward. “Don’t you agree?”

 
Edward nodded. “I would assume with his background he’ll eventually step up to some post, but at present…” He looked at Michael. “I can only see him as a lackey.”

 
“Very well,” Michael said. “If he’s a lackey, who is he acting for?”

 
Caro exchanged a glance with Edward, then pulled a face. “I really couldn’t see him acting for anyone but his family, not in such a way—trying to seduce me, asking after Camden’s papers, arranging to have the Hall burgled, searching here.” She met Michael’s gaze. “No matter what else Ferdinand is, he is a member of an old aristocratic family, and Portuguese family honor is in some ways more stiff-rumped than English. He wouldn’t risk the honor of his house in such a way.”

 
“Not unless it was the honor of his house that he was seeking to protect.” Michael nodded. “That’s what I thought. So what do you know of Ferdinand’s family?”

 
“The count and countess—his uncle and aunt—are the only ones I’ve met in Lisbon.” Edward looked at Caro. “The duke and duchess are representatives of some description in Norway, I think.”

 
She nodded. “I’ve met a few minor members who hold lesser posts, but the count and countess are the two currently in favor at court. They’re close to the king…” She paused, then added, “Thinking back, they’ve been steadily advancing their position over the last decade, certainly since I first went to Lisbon. They were only minor functionaries then.”

 
“So it could be something that would damage their standing?” Michael asked.

 
Edward nodded. “That seems most likely.”

 
Caro, however, remained sunk in thought. When she continued to stare blankly at the floor, Michael prompted, “Caro?”

 
She looked up, blinked. “I was just thinking… the count and countess’s standing
might
be at risk, but I would have heard something from someone…” She met Michael’s gaze. “Even from the count or countess themselves.”

 
“Not if it was something horrendously damaging,” Edward pointed out.

 
“True. However, it’s just occurred to me that the count and countess are
not
the head of the family—and that position means a lot.”

 
“The duke and duchess?” Michael asked.

 
She nodded. “Ferdinand certainly gave me that impression, and the countess, too. I’d never met the duke and duchess before, not until this last Season in town, and that only briefly,
but”
—she looked at Edward, then at Michael—“I
should
have met them, sometime, at some function in Lisbon. But I didn’t, I’m quite sure of that.”

 
Edward blinked owlishly. “I can’t even recall them being mentioned.”

 
“Nor can I,” Caro said. “Yet if they’re the head of a house, and that house is close to the throne… well, something’s wrong. Could it be they’ve been quietly banished?”

 
A pregnant silence fell as they all considered the prospect, all wordlessly accepted it as a possibility.

 
Michael glanced at Caro, then Edward. “Which begs the question, if so, for what—and could that ‘what’ be in some way connected with Ferdinand’s obsession with Camden’s papers?”

 
“The latter isn’t hard to imagine,” Edward said.

 
“Indeed not,” Caro agreed. “Camden was in touch with virtually everyone. However, Camden would have placed anything pertaining to any sensitive subject in the official files, and they’re with either the Foreign Office or the new ambassador.”

 
“But Ferdinand wouldn’t know that,” Michael said.

 
“Possibly not. So that, potentially, explains his searching.”

 
Edward frowned. “It doesn’t, however, throw any light on why he might be trying to harm you.”

 
She blinked. “You didn’t seriously think… ?” Her gaze swept to Michael, then returned to Edward. “Even if these recent incidents are attempts to harm me, I can’t see how they could have any diplomatic connection. Especially not with Ferdinand’s family secret—that, whatever it is, most likely predates my time as Camden’s wife.”

 
Michael’s steady, rather stern regard didn’t waver. After a moment, he said, quietly but firmly, “That’s because you don’t know, never knew, or can’t remember—for whatever reason are not aware of knowing— whatever it is these people think you know.”

 
After an instant, Edward nodded decisively. “Yes—that could be it. In lieu of retrieving whatever it is from Camden’s papers, someone— presumably the duke if our theorizing is correct—has decided you might know his secret, and must therefore be silenced.” He paused as if turning his words over in his mind, then nodded again. “That makes sense.”