The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (12 page)

"Not sure you were going to make it," said Lieutenant Randleton.

"How do you take your tea?" asked the youngest sister.

"With a fair bit of cream," William answered politely.

The eldest sister—what was she, about thirty?—poured tea in a chipped cup and added the tiniest drop of cream.

He took it with a mannerly thank-you and found a seat in a chair that had seen better days. He didn't see a tray of scones or sandwiches and sighed. He could have used a bit of nourishment since he hadn't broken his fast yet. In fact, he'd overslept dreadfully.

He had been out quite late, gambling to win enough to buy himself dinner at an inn and rent a horse to get him here. Unfortunately, Lady Luck had only grudgingly smiled upon him last night, and only well into the morning hours.

He'd had to send a note telling the two officers that he would meet them at Lungren's house rather than ride out together as they'd planned.

He raised his cup of tea and leaned back in the chair.

The eldest sister turned up her glare until William wished someone would say something—anything. Unfortunately, his wish was answered in the worst possible way as he took a sip of his nearly clear tea.

"Do you have the title to our estate?" asked the eldest Miss Lungren.

William swallowed too fast and scalded his throat, which was another reason he liked a generous amount of cream in his tea. He managed to croak out a solitary "No."

Miss Lungren flounced back in her seat with a roll of her steely eyes.

William cast a glance in Major Sheridan's direction. How long did he mean to keep the secret of the paperwork?

"You still have not located it?" murmured Randleton. His gaze was on the eldest girl.

William had to bite the insides of his mouth to keep from answering.

"No doubt he just put it somewhere else for safekeeping," said the middle sister, Jocelyn. "It should hardly matter if we find the papers or not. Who would concern themselves with them? I'm sure you're wrong about his gambling the estate away, Rosalyn. He was such a good boy."

He was hardly a boy, and he was rarely good. The look passing between the major and his lieutenant mirrored William's thoughts.

"The war was so terrible," said Carolyn, the youngest sister. Although by William's calculations she must be twenty-four or more. Why weren't any of the sisters wearing mobcaps? They were all old enough to be past their last prayers.

"The war didn't kill him, madam," said Major Sheridan.

The eldest met his comment with a piercing look. William was starting to wonder if she knew how to do anything beyond glower. It was no wonder she was unmarried. A man would be lucky to survive supper with her, let alone a marriage.

"He never was a gambler, before," said Miss Jocelyn, with a belligerent cast to her chin.

"Why else would he have done what he did?" asked Miss Carolyn. She leaned forward and plucked at an unraveling thread in her lace mittens.

Probably concerned that she was on the verge of tears, Randleton leaned toward Carolyn and spoke to her in a low tone.

They weren't learning anything from the sisters except that they had a distorted view of their brother. William had heard innumerable tales of how Lungren had fleeced dozens of men after hinting that he was about to take their money. William was as fond of him as the next man, but he didn't suffer any illusions about Lungren's character. The man hadn't exactly been a candidate for sainthood. He'd been too clever by half, and extremely capable, which was what made his murder such a queer thing.

Major Sheridan rubbed his thigh and stared out a window.

"Perhaps he didn't feel he could adequately meet his responsibilities," offered Randleton after a glance at his superior officer.

"Of course he could. We told him what he needed to do. We went through all the books with him," protested Rosalyn.

"He was the baby of the family, but we were fully prepared to help him," said Jocelyn.

"He had some odd ideas. Certainly we could not manage with less than three upstairs maids." Rosalyn handed a cup of tea to her sister.

"Oh, no, we couldn't let Molly go. She's been with us for sixteen years." Jocelyn set her teacup on a side table.

"We had no assurance she would get another position." Rosalyn shook her head.

Jocelyn mimicked her older sister shaking her head, too. Good God, had Lungren had all his efforts to reduce spending met with this insidious resistance?

Major Sheridan's attention snapped back to the sisters. "He may have been young, but he was more than capable of running a small estate like this one. Devil take it, he was my best procurement officer ever."

Bedford winced for Major Sheridan's cursing in front of the sisters. The youngest blinked as if surprised. The eldest turned her glare toward Sheridan, the middle resumed looking out the window. Sheridan leaned as if to see what the middle sister was watching. His eyebrows drew together.

William leaned over to see if there was something outside that had caught Sheridan's attention. Only an overgrown garden lay beyond the glass.

"We never would have got the library clean if not for Molly," said Jocelyn.

William stood, the thought of what the maid had needed to clean jarring him to his feet. Molly might have preferred to be let go.

"He really didn't need to do anything. Ros and I have been managing the estate for quite some time."

William paced over to the empty fireplace. The room was chilly. All three of the girls wore heavy wool shawls. The tea was weak and bitter, obviously made from used leaves, so they were not totally unaware of the need for economy.

"It occurs to me that since you no longer have any brothers to escort you about town, Randleton, Bedford, and I could perform that service for you. I am sure Lungren would have wanted us to help you get settled," Major Sheridan said.

William felt suddenly queasy and hastily took a noisy sip of his tea. The youngest sister, Carolyn, leaned forward, her expression taking on a hopeful gleam.

The two elder sisters looked, well, rather disgusted—however, probably not nearly as disgusted as William felt.

"Not that you would want to go about town right away," added Randleton. "But after Easter, when the season picks up."

"Your brother did express a wish to see you all find husbands," added William, doing the pretty in spite of his reluctance. Surely escorting the sisters about must be part of a master plan of Sheridan's. He must think there was some information to be had from them, although William couldn't see it. They had just blindly accepted that their brother died by his own hand, without questioning it once.

Suddenly that struck him as strange. The family should be the last to accept the truth of the matter in a death by suicide.

Rosalyn's glare made William fidget like a rabbit.

"I'm sure we can continue on, much as we have. There is no need for us to marry." Jocelyn almost spit the word.

What was it with the women nowadays? With half the men gone to war in the past decade, had the fairer sex decided in their absence that they didn't need husbands?

The sister who had the best chance of landing a husband, Carolyn, looked down at her hands.

"I beg to differ, madam," said Randleton. "You might not want a husband, but I would wager that at least one of your sisters might. Beyond that, I do not think this estate can support the three of you and three upstairs maids for very much longer. What will you do then?"

Rosalyn drew in a sharp breath. "We shall sell the lower pasture."

"Just who is buying all the pieces of the estate?" Major Sheridan asked.

"Lord Carlton," said Carolyn. "He has been quite fair with us."

"And what will you do when there are no more pieces you can parcel off?"

William resisted the urge to speak, hoping to learn more by silence. Rosalyn stood and paced to a window, forcing the two sitting men to their feet. "I hardly think our financial affairs are any of your concern."

"Do you have any male relatives to look after you?" asked Randleton.

"No," answered Carolyn. "We do not."

"Then I suggest that you heed my advice," said Major Sheridan. "As your brother's superior officer, I am offering what assistance I can."

The room grew so silent that William's growling stomach was unfortunately heard by all.

"I think it is time we took our leave. We have a dinner engagement." Randleton stood. "Truly, ladies, we want only the best for you."

The major bowed. "We shall return." He strode out of the room with Randleton fast on his heels, and William nearly ran to catch up.

They stood on the front steps, waiting for their horses to be brought to the drive.

"I say," said William. "I don't recall agreeing to escort them about town."

"We discussed it on the ride over. Doesn't look like you'll have to worry much about it, though." Major Sheridan rubbed the back of his neck. "They are obviously not on the hunt for husbands."

"Well, they ain't put on mobcaps, either," answered Bedford sarcastically. Couldn't trust a spinster who hadn't put on her mobcap and consigned herself to the shelves. They were prone to desperate acts in order to land a husband, and an escort was likely to be a prime target of these.

Just then the maid who had answered the door came bursting around the corner of the house. She scurried up the stairs, her feet moving quickly on each step, and a small tied bundle bouncing in her hands. She stopped on the step in front of William and spoke. "Please, sir." Her eyes contained desperation. "Take me with you."

* * *

Meg lay on the dimity counterpane, staring up at the tester overhead. The bedroom was the most luxurious she'd ever been in, yet Aunt Felicity had apologized for the meanness of it.

Meg told her it was much nicer than what she'd had at school and that she was more than pleased with it. Besides, the room was situated very near the servants' stairs on the third floor, and Meg wanted to keep her escape routes open. She was entirely sure her ruse would be discovered at any minute.

A soft tap on the door made her swing her head in that direction. For a second she held her breath, sure that the authorities had connected her to the body found in the Thames.

"Diana, may I come in?"

Meg swung her feet to the floor and sat. "Of course, Aunt Felicity."

The door opened gently.

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Felicity in a soft voice. Her unsolicited concern made Meg feel weepy. Nobody had ever really cared enough to inquire so gently after her health. But this was concern about Diana, she reminded herself.

"I'm feeling in prime twig."

"Good, then, I've sent for the mantua maker. She'll be by tomorrow to start your fittings."

Felicity crossed the room with a graceful glide that made Meg envious. Perching on the edge of the bed, she said, "We should talk about the coming season."

"I am looking forward to it."

Felicity took Meg's hand in hers. "You do understand what a season is all about, don't you?"

"I shall be trying to get a husband." Which was fine by Meg. She wanted to be respectably married. Besides that, the more distance she could put between Felicity, Charles, and herself, the better off she would be. Not that she didn't adore them, but she felt sure she would make some slip sooner or later. Even now she feared that the coarseness of her hands, which had known work, would give her away.

She had read and reread all of Felicity's letters to Diana, but what she didn't have were Diana's letters to her aunt. A husband would be even less familiar with her assumed background, and a slip even less likely to be found out—if this charade worked long enough to carry her that far.

Felicity had an odd look on her face. "If that is what you want."

"I want to be married and have a family. I want that very much."

Her aunt looked away at the flowered wallpaper. "Well, to that end I have arranged for you to have a dowry of ten thousand pounds."

Ten thousand pounds! Her heart was like to burst from her chest. That was a veritable fortune. She would be rich. The thought was incredible.

Felicity had continued talking, and Meg hadn't heard a word. She tried desperately to school her features into an accepting expression. As if a girl heard every day that she would have more money than Midas.

When she could contain herself no longer, Meg said, "Oh, thank you, Aunt Felicity."

Felicity squeezed her hand. "Well, I'm not so sure you'll be thanking me in a year or two."

Meg blinked.

With a man like Major Sheridan following her around, and Felicity wasn't keen on marriage? Admittedly, Major Sheridan seemed a little domineering, but that only served to make a man more interesting in Meg's opinion.

And Meg knew far too much about military life for a girl raised in a Swiss finishing school, which was why she should not even consider army officers. But then, she'd always had a penchant for military men. If she could find one who would be posted far away from England, she'd run even less risk of discovery.

* * *

Tony stabbed a piece of burnt meat with his fork at the Boar's Head Inn. The three men had leased a private room to have dinner. He wished he could concentrate on the matter at hand. Instead, he kept thinking about Felicity and her son—or rather,
their
son. "Did we learn anything today?"

Randy talked around a bite of food. "We learned Bedford here shouldn't dally with the maids."

"There was no dalliance."

"The maid is neither here nor there." Tony dismissed the brief encounter with the servant. If he made it back to town at a decent hour, perhaps he could call on Felicity. He had the excuse of needing to find a place for the defecting maid. She, much to Bedford's relief, had only wanted to be taken to London so she might find better employment.

"Although, if she had not been paid in two years, probably all the servants are a bit disgruntled," said Randy.

"But why shoot Captain Lungren? She said he had promised to catch up their wages," Bedford said.

"I think you were right to avoid involving Lord Carlton. What do you make of his buying the pieces of the estate?"