'Til Death Do Us Part (32 page)

“L
ISTEN
TO
THIS
,”
Calista said.

She pushed her plate of eggs and toast aside, picked up the morning edition of the
Flying Intelligencer
, and read the story aloud to the others gathered at the table.

Andrew listened with rapt attention, as did Eudora. Trent, however, calmly continued to eat his breakfast.

A great house fire occurred in Cranleigh Square two nights ago. The blaze was set by a madman armed with a knife. He broke into the house with the evident intention of outraging the two respectable ladies who were in residence at the time. Both women were rescued, unharmed, by Mr. Trent Hastings, the well-known author of the Clive Stone novels, who arrived in time to subdue the madman.

Thanks to Mr. Hastings's heroic actions, not only were the two ladies saved, but also a pair of elderly servants. Many of those at the scene observed that Mr. Hastings appeared to be a real-life version of his fictional character, Clive Stone.

Unfortunately, a third person, a recently widowed lady who had called at Cranleigh Hall earlier that evening, was trapped upstairs by the flames and leaped to her death. The intruder was also killed by the inferno.

Eudora sniffed. “Well, the correspondent got part of the story correct. There was, indeed, a great fire. But most of the rest is nonsense. That dreadful man with the knife, Saxby, did not intend to outrage us—he came to murder you, Calista. And it was Anna Kettering, the
recently widowed lady
, who set the fire.”

Andrew set aside the paper he had been reading and gestured toward it with his fork. “Same mistakes in the other accounts. I suppose it is too much to expect the press to get the facts right.”

Calista smiled. “The reporter was correct on one point—Mr. Trent Hastings, well-known author of the Clive Stone novels, did indeed arrive at a most opportune moment. I suspect that the accounts of the incident in the press will sell a few more copies of the author's books.”

“One can only hope,” Trent said. He got up and went to the sideboard to help himself to more eggs. “But I believe you are all overlooking the most important aspect of the newspaper stories.”

“What is that?” Calista asked.

Trent heaped the eggs onto his plate and turned to face the table.

“None of the reports in the press mentions your introductions agency,” he said. “That means you don't have to be concerned that the public will form any unfortunate opinions about the precise nature of your business.”

Eudora brightened. “Trent is right. There will be no misunderstandings, Calista. You can relax.”

“I don't think so,” Calista said. “In case it has escaped your notice, my business burned to the ground.”

Eudora sighed. “There is that aspect of the situation.”

Calista drummed her fingers on the tablecloth, thinking.

“I can reconstruct some of my files,” she said finally. “And I expect that, when they learn of the disaster, many of my clients will get in touch to see if I intend to continue my services.”

Andrew met her eyes. “I can help you. I remember a great deal about the research I did for you. I still have some of my recent notes on your clients. They are in the same notebook that I was using to track Kettering.”

“My conservatory,” Eudora said suddenly.

They all looked at her.

“What about it?” Trent asked.

“It would make a perfect setting for a salon. You are most welcome to use it as often as you like, Calista. Trent can lock himself in his study. Isn't that right, Trent?”

“Certainly,” Trent said. He sat down and started to eat. “So long as none of Calista's guests expects me to pretend to be interested in their detailed critiques of my novels, I have no objection.”

Andrew laughed.

Calista's eyes filled with tears.

“I don't know how to thank you and Eudora, Trent,” she said.

“No thanks are necessary,” Eudora said. “You have changed my life for the better, Calista, by introducing me to Mr. Tazewell. Providing you a place to hold your salons is the least I can do. Isn't that right, Trent?”

Trent looked at Calista.

“The very least,” he agreed.

T
HE
RUINS
OF
the great house smoldered and smoked under a dull gray sky and a steady drizzle of rain. The stone chimneys still stood and so did portions of the outer walls but there was no salvaging the structure.

Calista contemplated the scene from beneath the shelter of the umbrella that Trent held. Andrew stood nearby.

“No point trying to rebuild,” Trent said. “The world is changing and so is the market for grand houses like Cranleigh Hall. Costs too much to keep them staffed and in good repair.”

“I agree,” Calista said. “But I must admit that Cranleigh Hall served a purpose when it came to my business. I could not have established my introductions agency without it.”

“Your clients are the most important aspect of your business,” Trent said. “You've still got them.”

“And more where they came from,” Andrew added cheerfully. “There's no lack of lonely people who want to meet other people for purposes of friendship, love, and matrimony.”

“True,” Calista agreed. “But I would remind you that you and I own that pile of smoldering rubble. What on earth are we going to do with it?”

“If I might make a suggestion,” Trent said.

“Of course,” Calista said.

“The property has considerable value,” Trent said. “It is large and well situated in a good neighborhood. It could be used to build some very fine town houses, the sale of which would bring a handsome profit.”

Andrew's eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Excellent notion. We could make a small fortune if we build elegant town houses.”

“But it takes money to build houses,” Calista pointed out. “We would have to convince someone to loan us the funds. I think the best thing to do is sell the property outright to an investor.”

Andrew grimaced. “Won't make nearly as much money that way.”

“Yes, but an outright sale would give us a nice profit and we will be able to invest the money in other ways,” Calista said.

Trent cleared his throat. “I would remind both of you that I have something of a knack for investing.”

“I could not ask you to undertake such a commitment,” Calista said. “You and your sister have done so much for us. It would not be right.”

“Rest assured that I consider this an excellent investment, not just a favor to you and Andrew. There is money to be made here. I see no reason why the six of us should not take the profits.”

“The
six
of us?” Andrew asked.

“Eudora and Harry will want to invest in the town houses, as well,” Trent said. “And then there is Mr. Pell. I do believe we will all come out of this quite nicely.”

Andrew grinned. “In that case, I trust you will both excuse me. I have an appointment with my first client.”

Calista looked at him, startled. “You have a client for your detective services?”

“Rebecca Hastings referred her to me,” Andrew said. “Her name is Mrs. Foster. Evidently, her housekeeper has gone missing. Everyone is saying that the woman left for a post that paid better. But Mrs. Foster is convinced that the housekeeper would not leave without giving notice.”

“Congratulations,” Trent said. “You have a talent for detective work.”

“For heaven's sake, be careful,” Calista said.

“I will,” Andrew promised. “And don't worry, I will always be available to research the backgrounds of your prospective clients.”

“I am glad to know that.”

Andrew loped off to a waiting hansom and jumped up into the cab. Calista watched the vehicle move off down the street. A wistful sensation—a mix of sadness and joy and understanding—swept through her. She smiled a little.

“It's time, isn't it?” she said.

“For your brother to find his place in the world?” Trent watched the hansom disappear around a corner. “Yes. A young man needs to maintain his own lodgings, make a few mistakes, and find his footing in life. But do not fear. He will never be alone because he has a sister he loves and who loves him.”

“I know. We do not need to share a home to be a family.”

“True.”

“I suspect that I am not the only one who will be learning to live without a family member under the same roof,” Calista said. “Eudora and Mr. Tazewell are developing what appears to be a very serious relationship. I would not be the least bit surprised if they announce plans to marry in the near future.”

“About time Eudora got a household of her own to manage.”

He sounded quite pleased, Calista thought.

“It seems we have fulfilled our responsibilities to our siblings at last,” she said. “We can both take comfort in that knowledge.”

Trent contemplated the smoking ruins of the house. “In that case, I think we are free to turn our attention to our own situation.”

“Are you afraid that you might be lonely once your sister has left your house?”

Trent turned to face her. “Not if you will do me the honor of consenting to marry me.”

She was suddenly breathless. “Are you asking me to marry you because you do not want either of us to be lonely?”

“No,” he said. “I am asking you to marry me because I love you.”

“Trent.” Her heart was suddenly overflowing with an intoxicating emotion.

“I am aware that I am not ideal husband material,” he continued. “I do not consider myself moody, but Eudora is right—I do tend to retreat into my study for long periods of time when I am working on a book, which is frequently. I keep odd hours, especially when I am nearing the completion of a manuscript. I am not inclined to be sociable, especially when I am writing. And some of my friends are, as my sister has pointed out, not the sort one invites to tea. But if you think you can put up with my eccentricities I would be the happiest man on earth.”

“I love you, Trent. Looking back, I'm quite sure that I fell in love with you that very first afternoon when I mistook you for a potential client. I will be happy to tolerate your eccentricities because you have proven that you will be tolerant of mine. Of course I will marry you.”

His eyes heated.

“Calista,” he said. “I promise you that I will love you until—”

She stopped him by putting one gloved finger on his lips.

“Hush,” she said. “I will marry you, but please do not say that you
will love me until death do us part. You are a writer, sir. Find other words that suit the occasion.”

He smiled slowly, caught her hand in his, and drew her into his arms.

“I was going to say that I would love you until the end of time. Always and forever.”

“Always and forever.” A glorious, effervescent sense of certainty sparkled through her. “Yes, I believe that will work very well, indeed.”

F
ROM
THE
LAST
chapter of
Clive Stone and the Affair of the Missing Bride
 . . .

Clive Stone propped his heels on the hassock and contemplated the fire while he savored his brandy. “It would appear that together we have successfully solved this rather odd case, Miss Preston.”

“Indeed, we have, Mr. Stone.” Wilhelmina took a sip of the sherry that Mrs. Button had poured for her. “The young lady is safely home with her new husband and all is well.”

“Thanks to your scientific analysis of the drug that Charlotte Bliss was using to keep the poor woman in a trance. You were the one who deduced that Bliss required a certain type of herb to concoct the poison.”

“Which enabled you to identify the apothecary who sold the herb to Bliss.”

Stone drank a little more of his brandy. “It occurs to me that we might work together again on another case. We are entering a new era
in crime detection, one in which science will play a major role. Your skills and knowledge would be invaluable.”

“I would enjoy consulting for you again, Mr. Stone. I find your investigation business quite fascinating.”

“And I find you quite fascinating, Miss Preston.”

Wilhelmina smiled.

It occurred to Stone that before the affair of the missing bride, he had been in danger of sinking into a state of ennui. That was no longer true. Now his future promised to be extremely interesting.

“An excellent ending,” Calista said. She tossed the copy of the
Flying Intelligencer
onto the nightstand and watched Trent come toward the bed. “You have set the stage for an intriguing relationship between Clive Stone and Wilhelmina Preston.”

“Unfortunately, not all of my readers will agree with you.”

“There will always be critics, of course, but you will ignore them.”

He stopped beside the bed and smiled down at her. “Will I?”

“Certainly. Just think of all the readers who will enjoy this ending.”

“I'll try to remember that when the editor forwards the complaints that will surely arrive in his office.”

She opened her arms. “Never fear, I will console you.”

He took off his dressing gown, pulled aside the covers, and got into bed.

“How, exactly, will you do that, Mrs. Hastings?” he asked.

She smiled and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down so that she could kiss him.

“Like this, Mr. Hastings.”

“Yes,” he said after a while. “That will work very
well.”