Affair (14 page)

“Yes.” Baxter turned away from the fireplace frieze. “I no longer have any doubts at all on that point. When you meet her, you will understand.”

“If you’re quite certain,” Rosalind said hesitantly.

“There is little choice in the matter. She is as determined to track down Drusilla Heskett’s murderer as you are. I cannot talk her out of the business so I am obliged to work with her.”

“You intend to use this fictitious engagement as an excuse for the two of you to go about together.”

“It is the only way.”

Rosalind looked unconvinced. She rested one arm on the elegantly curved arm of the Zamarian green sofa and examined Baxter closely. “I do not know what to say.”

“As it happens, I don’t want you to say anything at all. Not even to your closest friends. No one must know that this engagement is a fraud, do you understand? Absolutely no one.”

“This is to be a conspiracy? Really, Baxter, you can hardly expect me to go along with such an outlandish scheme.”

“On the contrary, I know you very well, Rosalind. I suspect you will enjoy the whole thing very much. It’s just the sort of play-acting that should appeal to your taste for the melodramatic.”

Rosalind managed to look affronted. “What a thing to say to your own aunt.”

“Think of it this way: a gentleman in your circle of acquaintances may be a murderer.”

Rosalind shuddered. “Are you even sure that you are
searching for a man? The killer could have been a woman.”

Baxter shrugged. “Mrs. Heskett sent Charlotte a note saying that she believed someone was trying to kill her. She was concerned that one of her recent suitors might had become enraged when she rejected him.”

“I see. This could be quite a fascinating endeavor, Baxter.”

“I thought you’d come to that opinion. Charlotte and I must start somewhere, so we intend to begin our inquiries with Mrs. Heskett’s suitors. The last one to be rejected was Lord Lennox.”

“Lennox.” Rosalind frowned. “Drusilla was quite fond of him for a time. Claimed the man had stamina.”

“Stamina?”

Rosalind looked amused. “Drusilla liked stamina in a gentleman. She also liked it in a footman or a coachman or a groom. To be quite blunt, Drusilla was fond of any man who could keep up with her in bed.”

“I see.” Baxter removed his eyeglasses and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Assuming that it was one of her lovers who killed her, we could be looking at a very long list of potential murderers.”

“I doubt it. Few of her conquests would have had a motive for murder. Perhaps I could be of some assistance, Baxter.”

“I do have a favor to ask of you.”

“What is that?”

Baxter replaced his spectacles. “I would very much appreciate it if you would take my fiancée shopping.”

“
Shopping.
”

“And her sister as well. You may send the bills to me.”

Rosalind’s eyes gleamed. “Good God, Baxter, I’m
stunned. This is so unlike you. I do believe you are beginning to sound a bit like your father.”

“Thank you for the warning. I shall be on my guard.”

T
hree days later Charlotte stood at the edge of a crowded ballroom and smiled with unconcealed pleasure. “I must tell you, Mr. St. Ives, whatever the result of our venture, I shall be forever indebted to your aunt.”

Baxter glanced at her as he took a sip from his champagne glass. “My aunt?”

“Lady Trengloss has made my sister a spectacular success. I know that was not the point of the evening, but I am delighted, nonetheless. I vow, Ariel has had a partner for nearly every dance. Just look at her out there on the floor. She is a diamond of the first water, is she not?”

Baxter frowned as he searched the dancers for Ariel. It was not difficult to spot her. She was taller than most of the other women on the floor. He saw that she was whirling about in an exuberant waltz with a young man who wore a distinctly dazzled expression.

“She appears to be enjoying herself,” he said.

“Yes. My parents would have been so proud. Lady Trengloss was correct when she declared that Ariel must wear only blue and gold. The colors are perfect for her.”

It dawned on Baxter that Charlotte looked very good in the canary yellow satin gown that she wore. It set off the dark flames in her hair and emphasized the green of her eyes. The bodice was low and square-cut, revealing her creamy shoulders and a decorous hint of the gentle swell of her breasts. There was a dashing little confection of a cap trimmed with a yellow plume perched on her head.

This was the first time he had seen her in anything
other than a high-necked, long-sleeved day gown, he realized. He was no expert on fashion but in his opinion she was the most attractive woman in the room.

He took a swallow of champagne. “Blue and gold are all very well. I prefer yellow.”

“Yellow would have been quite atrocious on Ariel.”

He slid her a sidelong glance. “I was referring to your gown.”

“Oh.” Charlotte gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you. You look very nice in black and white, Mr. St. Ives. It suits you.”

He did not know whether that was a compliment or not. He suddenly felt compelled to explain his limited selection of evening attire. “As I told you, I don’t go into Society very often.”

“You did mention that you try to avoid the Polite World.”

“No logical reason to order a great many evening coats when one has a limited social life.”

“Very practical of you to stick with black.”

“Haven’t paid much attention to the latest fancy cravat knots.”

“I see.”

“Damned silly for a man to tie his neckcloth in such a tricky way that he can’t even turn his head.”

“There is a lot to be said for simplicity,” Charlotte agreed politely.

He was sinking deeper by the second. Baxter glanced around, searching for inspiration, and was, for once, inordinately relieved to see his aunt on the horizon. Rosalind had Lord Lennox in tow.

“Time to go to work,” Baxter said softly. “That man coming toward us with Rosalind was Drusilla Heskett’s last suitor.”

“That gentleman with the bald head and the bushy whiskers is Lennox?”

“Yes. Would have thought you’d recognize him on sight.”

She frowned. “I never actually saw him, you know. It’s not generally necessary to know what a gentleman looks like in the flesh in order to discover whether or not he is a rakehell or a gamester.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “Nevertheless, I had imagined him to be a younger man.”

“Whatever gave you that notion?”

“Mrs. Heskett’s description of him, I imagine.”

“What did she say about him?” Baxter asked.

“Something to the effect that Lennox resembled a stallion in the bedchamber. She said he had stamina.”

Baxter coughed on his last swallow of champagne. “I see. Why did she reject him?”

“She felt he was too old for her. She was uncertain how long his stamina would last.”

“He’s no youngster. Lennox has got two married daughters. His heir, who is the youngest of the brood, is twenty-one or so. I saw him a short while ago at the buffet table.”

“Lennox’s heir?”

“Yes. Norris is his name, I believe. He was talking to Hamilton. They’re close friends.”

“Who is Hamilton?”

“I beg your pardon.” Baxter deliberately set his empty glass down on a passing tray. “I should have said the fifth Earl of Esherton.”

“Oh, yes. Your brother.”

“My
half
brother.”

“Whatever.” Charlotte turned to greet Rosalind with a warm smile. “Good evening, Lady Trengloss.”

Rosalind beamed as she came to a halt. She caught Baxter’s eye and winked. He stifled a groan. As he had anticipated, his aunt was thoroughly enjoying herself.

Rosalind dangled Lennox triumphantly in front of Charlotte as though awarding her a prize.

“My dear, allow me to present an acquaintance of mine, Lord Lennox.”

“My lord,” Charlotte murmured.

Baxter barely managed to conceal his surprise as he watched her sink into an elegant little curtsy. The graceful dip was accented with an equally gracious inclination of her head. It all spoke volumes about her past and her upbringing. She had, indeed, been bred for a much higher position in the social hierarchy than the one in which she moved.

“Well, well, well, this is a pleasure, indeed, m’dear.” Lennox bent his gleaming head over Charlotte’s gloved hand. “Allow me to tell you that you look lovely. A vision, indeed. As bright as Spring itself.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Charlotte murmured.

Lennox shot Baxter a knowing look from beneath his bushy brows. “It’s about time you found yourself a wife, St. Ives. A man your age should have more interesting things to do than spend his time mucking around with a bunch of chemicals in a laboratory, eh?”

“Indeed.” Baxter avoided Charlotte’s eye.

“Volatile things, chemicals.” Lennox leaned close to Baxter and lowered his voice so that Charlotte and Rosalind could not hear. “If I were you, I’d avoid ’em entirely now that you’re about to get married. Never know when you might damage something vital in an explosion. Be a shame to crawl into bed on your wedding night and discover
you’d accidentally blown off your ballocks in some damn experiment.”

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Baxter said.

“That’s the spirit, St. Ives.” Lennox clapped Baxter on the shoulder. “I say, any objections to my having a spin around the floor with your lovely fiancée?”

Now that he thought about it, Baxter realized that he did have a few objections. The notion of Charlotte in another man’s arms, even the arms of a man who was old enough to be her grandfather, was an astonishingly unpleasant one. But he saw the gleam in Charlotte’s eye and knew he had better keep his opinions to himself.

“I have a feeling my fiancée would enjoy a little exercise.” Baxter adjusted his spectacles. “Is that correct, Charlotte?”

“I would be very pleased to dance with you, Lord Lennox.” Charlotte placed her hand delicately on his sleeve.

“Excellent.” Lennox led her gallantly toward the dance floor. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

Baxter watched as the pair was absorbed into the crowd of dancers.

“Do stop scowling so, Baxter,” Rosalind murmured. “People will think that you’re preparing to call out poor Lennox.”

“The day I challenge any man to a duel over a woman will be the day I cease studying chemistry and take up alchemy.”

“Sometimes I quite despair of you. Where is your passion? Your sensibilities? Your emotions? No, do not bother to answer that question.” Rosalind peered intently at the crowd. “Do you really believe that Lennox could have murdered poor Drusilla?”

“I doubt it. He does not have a financial motive, for
one thing. And in my opinion, he lacks the temperament for murder.”

Rosalind glanced at him in surprise. “Then why are we wasting time with this little drama tonight?”

“I explained that Charlotte is convinced that Drusilla Heskett’s note implicated one of her most recently rejected suitors. Lennox was one of those men. We must proceed in a logical manner.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Well, Lennox is all we have to work with for the moment. I discovered that Randeleigh and Esly are in the country for several days. They are not expected back until the end of the month.”

“I shall have my man-of-affairs make some inquiries in that direction.”

“I cannot picture either of them as murderers, either.”

“Neither can I,” Baxter admitted.

Rosalind gave him a considering look. “You know, speaking of logic, it would appear perfectly reasonable if you were to dance with your own fiancée.”

“I haven’t danced in years. Never was much good at it.”

“That is not the point, Baxter, I merely—” Rosalind broke off to gaze at someone coming up behind him. She smiled coolly. “Speaking of people who believe that they have a motive for murder, here comes Lady Esherton.”

He glanced around and saw Maryann coming toward them. He abruptly recalled the three notes he had tossed into the fire during the previous fortnight. “Bloody hell.”

“She cannot have any reason to speak to me,” Rosalind said, “so it must be you she wishes to corner. If you will excuse me, I believe I see a dear friend on the other side of the room.” She turned and swept off into the crowd.

“Coward.”

He was left to face his father’s widow alone.

Maryann was fifty-two years of age. She had been eighteen when she had married Baxter’s father. The earl had been forty-three. It was his second marriage. His first had been childless and he was desperate for an heir.

The reigning belle of her Season, Maryann had had her pick of the eligible men of the ton but, at the prodding of her ambitious parents, she had set her cap for Esherton. He, in turn, had needed a virgin wife with an unblemished reputation and an impeccable family background. Their wedding had been the match of the Season. Everyone, including the earl’s long-standing mistress, Emma, Lady Sultenham, had attended the festivities.

With her petite figure, gray eyes, and honey-colored hair, Maryann was Emma’s opposite in almost every way. Baxter sometimes wondered if his father had selected her to be his countess because she did not resemble his dashing dark-haired, dark-eyed mistress or simply because he liked the variety.

Two years after the marriage, Emma, who was thirty-seven and considered herself safely past childbearing age, gave birth to the earl’s first son. Esherton had been very pleased with Baxter. He had thrown a huge party to celebrate the event. Unfortunately, nothing could alter the fact that Baxter was a bastard and therefore unable to inherit the title.

Another ten years had passed before Maryann had finally managed to produce an heir for her lord. Baxter was well aware that those years had not been easy for her. The earl had never bothered to conceal his affection for his illegitimate son or his intense passion for Emma.

Baxter did not like the grim determination in Maryann’s expression tonight. It did not bode well. As always
when he was obliged to meet with her, he recalled the deathbed vows that had ensured that they could never ignore each other no matter how fervently each wished to do so.