The Unwanted Heiress (28 page)

“Really? I fail to see the relevancy,” Charlotte said.
Her heart thudded in her chest, but she gave him her best look of complete incomprehension.

Mr. Gaunt stared at her, apparently nonplussed. He shook the note in his hand. “You mentioned you were being kept in an attic by a large, red-haired man by the name of Red
and a woman named Rose. Did you not?”

“Yes.” She studied Red briefly. He stared down at his feet, crushing his cap in his hands and rocking from foot to foot. Her heart went out to him.

The poor were always punished for the actions of the rich.

“And is
this not the man you described?” He pointed to Red.

“No, it is not,
” she said, her chin rising.

“But you described him perfectly! You indicated he was a large, red-haired man with scars on his face.”

“I am well aware of what I wrote. However, this is not that man. I am sure there are many, if not hundreds, of tall, scarred, red-haired men in London. In fact, wasn’t Henry the Eighth just such a large red-haired man, albeit without the scars?”

Mr. Gaunt choked, but he recovered swiftly. He eyed Charlotte with a sardonic grin that made her take another hasty sip of her tea. She sputtered and coughed when the warm liquid went down the wrong passage. When she glanced up, everyone was staring at her.

She aimed a cold frown at Nathaniel who flushed uneasily.

“I suppose
it is unnecessary, then, to ask if this ‘Rose’ is the maid you described?” Mr. Gaunt asked.

“Of course
it is unnecessary. She is not.”

“
So you have never seen her before?” Mr. Gaunt asked with dogged persistence.

“Well, of course I
have seen her. Did I not attend a ball here the very night I was kidnapped? I distinctly recall this young woman helping me with my hair in the retiring room.” Charlotte noticed Rose surreptitiously grinning at her before casting her glance down again.

Mr. Gaunt sounded almost dispirited when he asked,
“But you have not seen her since?”

“
No.”

“And Josephine?
”

“
Who is Josephine?” she asked, widening her eyes innocently.

“The dog,” M
r. Gaunt replied. He sighed. “I don’t suppose that white, scruffy, three-legged dog is the dog you described in your missive?”

Lord Dacy leaned over and grinned at the animal, scratching its ears.

She eyed the dog and dismissed it with a curt wave. “No. That is not the dog. Did I not mention that I thought the dog’s name was Jo?”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that.” He folded the note up and placed it back in his pocket. “This is quite beyond me,
I am afraid. We found a townhouse with phantom footsteps heard in the attic, a groom named Red, an upstairs maid called Rose, and a three-legged dog. We find you in said attic. And yet the groom, the maid, and the dog are not the ones you remember. Does this not strike you as odd?”

“Indeed, the entire thing strikes me as very peculiar,
I am sure,” Charlotte assured him. “It is quite amazing you managed to find me at all, considering you failed to correctly identify a single clue I detailed in my note. It is very discouraging, I thought I had been so clever and clear when I wrote it.”

“Well,
I am sure he did his best,” Lady Dacy said, setting her cup down. Her voice shook as if she were valiantly trying not to laugh. After a quick, steadying breath, she eyed Charlotte critically. “I am dreadfully sorry, as well, and hope you don’t think we had ought to do with this. I am just relieved we have found you safe. I do wish it had not been in my attic, though.” Her gaze flashed to the servants standing by the door. “You may go, Red. And Rose, bring another pot of tea.”

“Yes, Lady Dacy.” Rose curtsied.

When the pair glanced at Lord Dacy, he nodded and waved them away.

However, Mr. Gaunt stopped them at the door.

“Just a moment, Mr. Smythe. About that hoof knife….”

“What hoof knife?” Red Smythe stared at Mr. Gaunt, puzzlement clear in his blue eyes.

“The one missing from Lord Dacy’s stables.”

“
There ain’t no knife missing.”

“Really? Not even the one used to murder Miss Mooreland?”

The puzzled look on Red’s face gradually tensed into fear. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

“You were using that knife the afternoon of the Dacy’s ball.”

“Yes, I was. I put it away as always before the ball in the tool box kept by the door.”

Mr. Gaunt stared at him in silence, but Red just stared back.

Charlotte knew he was innocent. She just knew it. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Gaunt?”

“
I am not suggesting anything, Miss Haywood. I am simply trying to discover the truth.”

“I
‘ave already bespoke the truth,” Red replied.

“We
shall see,” Mr. Gaunt said.

“Look
at him,” Charlotte said, standing. She struggled to find a way to defend Red Smythe without admitting she knew him. “He is obviously telling the truth, and I, for one, believe him.”

“Indeed
?” Mr. Gaunt turned his dark gaze back to Charlotte.

“Yes.”

“You may go, Red,” Lord Dacy said. “He is innocent, you know. I know him. He often gets up to a lot of nonsense, but he would never murder a woman.”

Charlotte lifted her chin triumphantly. “I agree.”

“We shall see,” Mr. Gaunt repeated.

“Now,” Lady Dacy said, folding her hands in her lap. “I suppose we must discuss where you
have been for the last week to avoid rumors. The papers have already been very tedious. We don’t want to encourage them any further.”

****

Nathaniel sat in frustration. He wanted to drag Charlotte out of the room and talk to her, in private.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to will her to look at him. His gaze locked on her face. He couldn’t stop gazing at her. With a sort of hopeless fatality, he realized he loved her more than he thought possible
, and he ached with the desire to put an arm around her shoulders and make her smile.

And instinctively, he knew his situation was hopeless. She certainly did not appear
grateful to him for finding her, quite the reverse.

He’d mangled his previous proposal to her, and there was no reason to think she had changed her opinion about marriage in general or him in particular. She probably still thought he was a useless anachronistic relic from a bygone
era with no purpose in life except to rot his brain with alcohol and mortgage his children’s future through excessive gaming.

In three years, if not sooner, she would depart for Egypt, and he would never see her again.

He had to stop her.

When he finally spoke, his voice grated like an old, iron gate. “We
will announce our betrothal, of course. That will take care of any gossip.”

“We will not!” Charlotte stood and glared down at him.

He stood to face her. “Of course, I realize this is not what you had hoped for. However, you have been locked away. You don’t realize what has already been reported in the newspapers.”

“On the contrary,
I am well aware of current events. My captor provided me with the newspaper. It seems you have been a very naughty duke. Two dead debutantes and a missing heiress, was it not? Indeed, they have even given you a new sobriquet, ‘The Deadly Duke’.”

“Then you must realize, well, we
will announce our engagement. Don’t worry, I will do my best to make your life as comfortable as possible.”

“While I can appreciate your position, I fail to see any necessity for me to become engaged to you.”

“You have been compromised. Surely you—I thought….” Nathaniel stammered.

“I beg your pardon
, but I have not been compromised. I suppose you are just annoyed at having your kidnapping plot uncovered by Mr. Gaunt—I assume you did discover it, did you not?” She glanced at Gaunt who nodded. “Thankfully, Mr. Gaunt and Lord Dacy prevented you from doing anything worse. No one has been compromised., and certainly not I.”

“
You are free to think whatever you wish,” Nathaniel said stiffly. “However, you will marry me. I will not have the responsibility for your ruined reputation on my shoulders.”

“Then let me clarify my position, Your Grace.
I would rather get down on my hands and knees and scrub the floors for eternity in Hades than marry you. My reputation, such as it is, is perfectly capable of surviving this ridiculous adventure without these histrionic declarations. Now, if you feel such an overwhelming desire to be wed, I suggest you ask a more appropriate female. I am sure the Lady Beatrice would be grateful for a proposal. She has an ample fortune, as well, and she would doubtless be more than happy to throw herself into the breach and marry you. It might even prove you are not a danger to the young women of England,” she added.

“I
have no desire to marry Lady Beatrice or any other woman! You are all a damn nuisance!”

“Then be happy I have
not accepted your gracious proposal. And in the future, I would suggest that a simple refusal would be just as effective in expressing your distaste for women as killing them.”

“I have
not killed anyone. I told you that. Damn it, it ought to be obvious to you!”

“The only things obvious to me are that you have a regrettable temper and are conceited enough to believe
I would enjoy being engaged to you. Now, this discussion is at an end.”

Archer, who had been lounging on a settee, bestirred himself to snort after her last statement. “My ward is utterly correct. Besides, the solution to her dilemma is beautifully simple.” He turned to Oriana. “She has obviously been visiting you, niece. You two discovered you had much in common during the ball
, so you invited her to stay for a few days, as your guest.”

“But, I—” Nathaniel said.

Archer waved impatiently. “Of course, this does not address your situation. Although I should think you would be relieved that the tally of your victims remains at two and not three.”

“My victims
? My victims! Has no one listened to a word I have said? As far as I can discern, the only victim here is me! I am hounded by these damn women day and night, and as if that was not enough, they are accusing me of having killed two of them. And has this deterred any of them? No. No, it has not. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I think being branded a murderer is almost as attractive to females as being a duke. All I can say is: I applaud the spirit of the man who had the nerve to do them in!”

Libel and indictable slander
.—Libels upon individuals are malicious defamatory expressions, writings, pictures, &c., tending to blacken the character and expose them to public hatred, contempt, and ridicule. —
Constable’s Pocket Guide

Nathaniel glanced around at his family. They were all staring at him.

His sister, Oriana, recovered first. “I am sure whoever he is, the murderer would be pleased to hear you say you appreciate his efforts. Nonetheless, perhaps Miss Haywood would like to go home?”

Archer stood. “Of course.”

“I will ask Lansbury to bring the coach around,” Nathaniel said.

Charlotte glared at him. He returned her gaze with a directness that made her drop her eyes to her lap. Her hands nervously plucked at the coarse threads of her dress.

Oriana gazed at her husband and shook her head, infinitesimally.

Dacy took his cue and stood, “I think it would be best to use our carriage for Miss Haywood,” he said.

“Thank you,” Charlotte replied.

Nathaniel turned on his heel and walked down the stairs before he said anything further that might cut away
what little ground remained beneath his feet. His footing with Charlotte was precarious enough.

He couldn’t understand how he had handled the situation so poorly. Where had his customary
savoir
faire
gone? Love must have addled what remained of his wits.

When he heard a soft step behind him, he turned to find Archer’s brown eyes appraising him.
“That was, without a doubt, the worst proposal I have ever been privileged to witness.”

“Despite what you might think, having an audience does not improve a man’s performance.”

“Then it might have been wiser to wait until you were in a more private situation.”

“Do you think I don’t realize that?” Nathaniel rounded on him. “In fact, if it was
not for your positively brilliant suggestion that I propose to Miss Haywood, and the subsequent plan to kidnap her in order to earn her gratitude after our noble rescue, I would not be in this appalling situation.”

“I fail to see how my simple suggestions are to blame for your
failures,” Archer said mildly.

“You—never mind.” Nathaniel sighed.

“At least your friend appears to be adept at finding things. Perhaps he will be able to locate whoever has murdered these poor women.”

“I certainly hope so, or
you are likely to be the next Duke of Peckham.”

Archer laughed. “Hardly.
However, have you stopped to consider why these specific ladies suffered their accidents?”

“Yes. I have considered little else over the last few weeks.” Except when he was worrying about Charlotte.

While they spoke, Lansbury finally brought the carriage to the front door. Nathaniel and Archer climbed inside, settling back into the gloomy depths—though not before the interior was thoroughly checked. The coach smelled strongly of wet leather and lye and heavy swaths of waxed cotton covered the seats.

Death seemed to sit in the shadows around them, perfuming the air with rottenness. Nathaniel felt trapped in a nightmare from which he could not extricate himself.

When the carriage door closed, Archer continued. “I find this impossible to believe—I have known you since you were a babe—but might someone wish to see you suffer?”

“Other than Miss Haywood?” Nathaniel bit off a sharp laugh. “No—yes—
I am sure there are some who dislike me.” He glanced out the window. “Politics….”

“But can you think of any in particular? Any who would hate you enough to hope you
would hang as a murderer?”

“No one. Have you considered that whoever is killing these women just does
not like them?”

“I have. However, I
cannot believe that two young females, who were both less than one-and-twenty years of age, would have had the time to make such deadly enemies. Or that two would make the same enemy. The odds are against it.”

“I consider the odds to be against someone killing two women just to see me hang.”

“Then what possible reason can this madman have?”

“
The hell of it is, I cannot imagine.” But something— some idea—tickled the back of Nathaniel’s mind. He scratched his shoulder and gazed at the crowded streets.

He needed time to think.

The only person who would immediately profit if he hung—assuming the Crown did not make the title and entailed properties forfeit—was John Archer. Archer was the fourth boy fathered by the last Duke of Peckham, and Archer had been the one who proposed these ridiculous schemes. But no matter how he tried, Nathaniel could not truly believe his uncle randomly selected and killed two women, despite his love for convoluted schemes.

And Archer had obtained the assistance of Cheery. Surely, he would not have done that if he hoped his nephew would hang for murder. Nathaniel dismissed his doubts and tried to concentrate on the wisp of an idea hanging at the back of his mind.

When they finally arrived at the Archer residence, his uncle stepped down lightly and turned back to Nathaniel. “Never fear, nevvy. We will find our way out of this tangle. Your friend, Mr. Gaunt, is remarkably perspicacious. I have no doubt he will find the man responsible for these crimes. In the meantime, strive to look a little less like a hounded ruffian if you wish to woo Miss Haywood.”

“I ha
ve given up there.” Nathaniel tapped his long fingers on the window frame. Despite his words, his mind raced over ways to catch her attention. Flowers. Poetry. Another kidnapping…. “Frankly, I am relieved things turned out as they did. I cannot for the life of me imagine how galling it would be to become engaged to such a woman.”

“Particularly since you love her.” Archer sighed. “I suppose
I will have to bend my mind toward another plan.”

“Good God, no! Absolutely, not! Do not, under any circumstances, even consider anything involving either Miss Haywood or me in another scheme. Is that clear?”

Archer laughed. “Get some rest, nevvy, your nerves are shattered. By morning, the cards on the table will be reshuffled. We will see what hand can be dealt, then.” Still grinning, Archer sprang up the stairs and disappeared into his house.