As Death Draws Near (2 page)

“Give the messenger some coin for his trouble, and send him on his way,” Gage instructed his valet.

“I can't,” Anderley surprised him by saying. “He says he's come all the way from London and must wait for a reply.”

Gage scowled at his dark-haired servant, but I knew his displeasure was not directed at the valet, but at his father.

“I hope he hasn't ridden that beast all the way,” I proclaimed, staring down at the lathered bay below. “It's a wonder the horse is not dead if he's ridden him this hard at every stage.”

Anderley pivoted to face me, his handsome face betraying no emotion. “I'm sure he's been trading out his mount every so many miles, my lady. Says he made the journey in three days.” His eyes flicked down toward the base of the hill and his mouth tightened. “Though I suspect he's ridden this particular horse a bit longer than is strictly good for him.”

“Then tell the footman to take him back to Brandelhow and see that he's fed and given a bed while the stable lads see to his horse,” Gage instructed him. “I'm sure between the two of us we can manage the picnic hampers and blankets. We'll wake the rider when I have a reply for him.”

Anderley nodded. “Very good, sir.”

Gage sat silently, watching as his valet descended the hill out of earshot, but even then he didn't speak. He wore a contemplative frown, as if still trying to decide what to do about his father's abrupt and rather rude directive. I suspected part of his worry was that he would disappoint me in some way, allowing his father to disrupt our wedding trip, but I remained quiet, waiting for him to speak first.

The footman and rider guided the horse back toward Brandelhow, soon rounding the bend in the path and disappearing beyond the high grasses. Anderley settled onto a large rock near the edge of the trail, facing out toward the lake to wait for us.

Unexpectedly, Gage chose that moment to tip me backward flat on the blanket and lean over to kiss me fiercely, stealing my breath. “Blast my father,” he growled as he lifted his
head to look down at me. “And blast this bloody girl for getting murdered.”

I smiled gently, recognizing the true source of his frustration. “I doubt she wished for such an outcome.”

“I know.” He heaved a sigh and then scowled. “Listen to me. I'm as bad as my father.”

“No, you aren't.” I brushed my hands over the silk of his silver blue waistcoat and up over his collarbone. “You have a legitimate reason for being irritated. I don't relish the interruption of our wedding trip any more than you do.” I quirked a single eyebrow. “Your father, on the other hand, is simply being a jackass.”

This startled a smile out of him, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Yes, well, jackass or no, what do we do?” His fingers lifted to toy with the strands of my hair near my neck that had fallen from my upswept chignon and now rested against the blanket. “The truth of the matter is, I don't think my father would have requested our assistance if he wasn't desperately in need of it, loath as he would be to admit that.”

“I had the same impression,” I confessed, trying to remain focused on what he was saying and not the brush of his fingers against my skin. His father's low opinion of me and my investigating abilities had been made abundantly clear.

“So he and Wellington must truly be in a pickle.” He scowled. “Which puts
us
in a pickle.”

His too-long hair flopped over his eyes as he hovered above me and I reached up to push it aside. “What will happen if we decline?” I ventured to ask for the sake of thoroughness.

He didn't reply at first, but from the tightness around his eyes, I could tell he was working through the implications himself.

“Your father won't go, will he?”

“Not if he can avoid it. And if he does, the inquiry will be rushed. Some Irish peasant will be charged with the crime. Or perhaps worse, a Catholic politician it would be expedient for the government to be rid of.”

“Your father won't be impartial?” I asked in surprise.

He looked away. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

His uncertainty was unsettling. I knew what it was to be charged with a crime I hadn't committed, to be tried and condemned in the eyes of the public if not the law. It was not something I could idly sit by and allow to happen to someone else.

I also knew, no matter the truth, if we declined to go, Lord Gage would blame me. He would consider his son's refusal yet another example of my unfortunate influence on him, and one more reason to disapprove of our marriage. Little as I cared for Lord Gage or his opinion of me, I cared greatly how they affected Gage, and anything I could do to smooth matters between them was for the better. There was also an element of challenge to Lord Gage including me in his request, almost as if he'd thrown down a gauntlet, daring me to prove him wrong. I had to admit, I wanted to meet and exceed it, and then flaunt my success in his face.

I pushed Gage away from me, so that I could sit up. The beautiful scenery surrounding us was unchanged. The colors were still brilliant, the sky scattered with down-soft clouds, the breeze lazy and alluring, and yet nothing was the same. Our idyll was over.

I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for my reaction, perhaps for my blessing. I knew he didn't want to make this decision alone, to dictate where we needed to go, as his father so often tried to do to him. His willingness to not only listen to but oftentimes heed my opinion meant much. In fact, it was one of the reasons I had agreed to marry again, despite the unhappy memories of my first marriage.

I picked up a blade of grass that had fallen on the skirts of my russet brown walking dress and tossed it aside. “I suppose Lord and Lady Keswick will be returning from London soon anyway. The season usually draws to a conclusion before the heat of mid-July arrives.”

“True.” His hand captured mine where it rested on the blanket between us. “Does that mean you think we should go to Ireland?”

I allowed myself one more moment of indecision before
nodding my head once determinedly. “Yes. If not us, then who? Besides, we'll still be together.”

“Yes.” He drew me closer, wrapping his arm around my back. “I'm not sure I'll be able to let you out of my sight, wife.”

I smiled at his playful protectiveness. “I must admit, I'm also somewhat intrigued by the whole thing. Who murders a nun? And why? Aren't they normally sequestered away in some dank abbey? Singing, and praying, and absorbed in silent contemplation of God and His holy word.”

“I suspect they still fall prey to the same sinful thoughts and emotions we do, just to a lesser degree. They may have cloistered themselves away from the world, but they are still of this world, no matter their vows.”

I tipped my head, resting it in the crook of his neck with a small sigh. “I'm sure you're right. Either way, we shall find out soon enough.”

Gage held me closer, as if feeling just as acutely as I how our time was suddenly slipping away. It left a bittersweet ache in my chest recalling how much I had enjoyed this place, and yet knowing tomorrow our time here would be over. I supposed it wasn't uncommon for people to experience this after a particularly lovely holiday, but I was unfamiliar with the emotion. It was almost akin to loss, which I had experienced plenty of. The similarities rattled me.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Gage I'd changed my mind. That I didn't want to go to Ireland. But the moment passed, like a cloud's shadow scuttling across the landscape. There was nothing to fear. Whether we went to Ireland or not, we would have to leave the Lake District soon anyway. It might as well be on an adventure, doing what we did best.

If only I'd recognized then exactly what that chilling sense of dread had meant, perhaps I wouldn't have dismissed it so readily. Perhaps the distress that followed might have been mitigated.

T
hat evening I sat before the dressing table, watching Bree in the mirror as she plaited my hair. Though, I didn't know why I let her bother. I woke each morning with my tresses spilling across my pillows in a tangled mess, courtesy of Gage's wandering fingers. My maid must have known it was not an accident that my braids came undone, for they had rarely done so in the months prior to my marriage, but she never mentioned it.

It was long past time that I should have said something, but I rather enjoyed the soothing bedtime ritual, the feel of my maid's deft fingers weaving through my hair. It was comforting somehow. Perhaps because my most vivid memories of my mother were of me resting my head on her shoulder while she reclined in bed, her fingers combing through my unruly chestnut curls while my siblings bounced on the counterpane around us, telling her about their day. She died when I was eight, but if I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine it was her fingertips brushing across my scalp and not Bree's.

However, I must also admit I was a bit self-conscious. Gage and I were too recently married, and nothing from my first marriage had prepared me for the startling intimacy of being alone with Gage. Sir Anthony Darby had been cold and distant at the best of times, and outright cruel at the worst. Gage
was nothing like that. In fact, he was nearly my first husband's opposite in every way. What happened between us—what was spoken and done in the privacy of our own chamber—meant too much. It was all too fresh and new for me to speak of it elsewhere, even with Bree. I'm not sure I could have put it into words had I tried.

So I didn't. Instead, I chose to focus on more mundane things. Such as our upcoming trip.

“Have you been able to finish the packing?”

Her gaze flicked up to meet mine briefly in the mirror. “Aye, m'lady. All 'cept what you'll be needin' in the morn.”

I would have nodded except for the tight grip she had on my hair. “Thank you. I'm sorry for giving you such short notice.” My eyes dropped to the remaining brushes left on the table, and I absently reached out to straighten them. “I suspect this may not be an uncommon occurrence, given the manner of my and Gage's business.”

Bree's eyes lit with a smile. “No' to worry, m'lady. If e'er there were a lady equipped for expediency, it would be you. I wager it takes longer to pack your art supplies than it do your dresses and such. An' you willna let anyone help you wi' that.”

I knew she was just teasing me. That no servant in their right mind wishes to be given more work, to be given responsibility for packing their employer's fragile and specialized art implements, as well as the pigments and the potentially volatile chemicals involved. But I felt a twinge of embarrassment all the same. It was probably past time I entrusted her with such a delicate task, and one day soon I would. Just not today. Not for this journey.

I studied Bree's dark eyes as she concentrated on the ends of my hair and finished the braid, wondering how she felt about our trip the next day. Perhaps I should have asked when I told her of our plans earlier that day. I'd already experienced the difficulties an anxious, unwilling maid could wreak when traveling. Though a well-meaning girl, my maid before Bree, a young lass named Lucy, had been ill suited to life away from
my brother-in-law's Highland estate. I did not think Bree suffered from any of the same naïve flaws of character, but it still seemed best to ask.

“Bree, do you have any qualms about going to Ireland?”

She glanced up in some surprise as she reached for a pale ivory ribbon to secure my hair. “Nay, my lady. Though I do thank ye for askin'. If ye remember, I told ye my granny was Irish.”

“I do,” I replied. It was not difficult to recall, as one of my grandmothers had also been born in Ireland. “Which part of the country did you say she came from?”

“County Mayo. In the west.”

“So nowhere near Dublin.”

“Nay.” She hesitated almost imperceptibly before adding, “Though I do have a brother who lives in Dublin. Works at the docks.”

“Do you?”

“Aye, m'lady.”

I swiveled to look at her, wondering at the note of uncertainty I heard in her voice. “Well, you should write to him then, to let him know you shall be so nearby. I would be more than happy to give you an extra day or two off so you can visit him. It must be some time since you last saw him.”

Bree's face did not brighten as I'd expected. “Three years, m'lady. And I thank ye, m'lady. I'll think on it.”

She must have been able to read the furrow of confusion between my brows, but she made no move to explain, so I did not press her. I knew as well as most how complicated family could be. Should she wish to tell me anything, she would.

In any case, Gage had rapped on the door from the connecting chamber he used to dress before entering. Bree gathered up my clothes from the day and left us with a soft “Good night.”

I stared after her a moment longer, still puzzling over her reaction, before I turned to Gage with a shake of my head.

He stood next to the bed with his hands tucked into the pockets of his burgundy silk dressing gown. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I replied, brushing the matter aside. “Has everything been made ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes. I told the staff we would be leaving at first light.”

“And Anderley? How did he react?”

Gage's eyebrows lifted at the question. I was well aware that I had always been a bit too familiar with servants, too concerned with their opinions, but it was a difficult habit to break, especially when I did not care to do so.

“He didn't object,” he said, as if that were answer enough. Which I supposed it was.

He smiled, crossing over to where I sat. “Do not look so troubled. I assure you that should Anderley not wish to do something, he would make it known. Our traveling trunks would have suddenly gone missing, or an inkwell would have been accidentally knocked over on my travel documents.”

My eyes widened. “Is he truly so underhanded?”

Gage chuckled. “Undoubtedly. Though his hands always come out looking immaculate. But rest assured. He is loyal to me. To us,” he amended, reaching out to toy with the end of my braid, which trailed over my shoulder. “And at times I find his clever underhanded ways to be useful.”

I narrowed my eyes, curious whether I had already encountered the valet's deviousness. “My gray serge painting dress. Is he responsible for it going missing?”

Gage would not meet my eyes. “He did mention how atrocious he thought it on you.”

“It wasn't meant to be fashionable,” I snapped. “What does he think I should paint in? A demure white morning dress? The thing will be streaked with paint and ruined within an hour.”

“I know.”

A thought occurred to me. “Oh, no. Poor Bree. She was terribly upset, thinking she'd misplaced it. I told her it was of no concern, but I knew she still felt horrible.”

“Well, I wouldn't worry about her,” he murmured obliquely.

I paused to look at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I'm fairly certain she uncovered the truth.” His mouth
creased into a grin. “At least, the manner in which Anderley was twitching the next day, desperately trying not to fidget and scratch himself, suggests so.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth. “What did she do?”

“Put itching powder in his shirt, I'd wager.”

I couldn't help but laugh. “Oh, poor, Anderley.”

“He deserved it.”

“I know, but still.” I shook my head. “How dreadful.”

“Don't pity him too much. He's also the one who informed Lady Westlock's maid of your involvement in our inquiry at Gairloch Castle.” Our first investigation together. “And the maid undoubtedly told Lady Westlock, not her husband.” Whom we had blamed.

I gasped in outrage. “Why, of all the rotten . . .”

“Yes.” Gage pulled me to my feet. “At the time, he thought he was helping me. But, of course, he only made matters worse.” He spread his fingers through my hair at my scalp. “And pushed me closer to you.”

It was only then that I realized he'd already pulled out the ribbon Bree had used to secure the ends of my hair.

“Sebastian,” I protested weakly as he leaned in to kiss me. I sighed as he brushed his fingers down through the intertwined strands, loosening them. At the sound, he deepened the kiss, interpreting it as encouragement, and I didn't correct him. Because, of course, it was.

•   •   •

T
he next morning as dawn crept over the eastern fells, painting pink and yellow streaks through the clouds and tinting the dark water of the lake lavender and mauve, we set out for the coast. There was no direct route to the town of Whitehaven through the western fells, so we were forced to go around. Though the road north and then west was by no means an easy one, bouncing and jarring us inside the carriage, so that it was impossible to sleep. Fortunately, the spectacular sights more than made up for the discomfort. In this more rural part of Cumberland there were few
villages, and little to interrupt our view of the gorse-strewn hills, tumbling rock formations, and sparkling streams.

As we neared the coast, the road swung south again. The land gradually flattened into fields of wheat and barley, and homes and shops began to dot the roadside. Even with such an early start, by the time we reached the port of Whitehaven, the sun was well on its way to its zenith. So while Bree and I refreshed ourselves at a dockside inn and purchased a few additional provisions for the journey, Gage and Anderley went to see about chartering a boat to take us across the Irish Sea. We were seated at a corner table in the front room, nursing small glasses of ale, when they returned.

“We're in luck,” Gage proclaimed. “I've managed to hire the crew of a fishing schooner. Normally they would just be returning with the day's haul, but they had some trouble with their equipment and had to remain in port last night. They said they'd welcome the extra wages, and still have the chance to bring back a catch with them when they return.” He leaned over to pick up my still half-full glass, nearly draining it in one swallow. He offered the glass back to me, but I shook my head. “They said the seas are favorable, so if you both are ready.” He arched his eyebrows in question as he finished the ale.

“Yes.” I rose to my feet, smoothing down my straw yellow and rose striped silk carriage dress. “I believe we have everything.”

Before we could take a single step toward the door, a familiar voice drawled from across the room near the stone hearth. “It
is
you. I thought it might be, but it was difficult to tell with your head tucked up primly beneath that bonnet, and your maid guarding you like some Scottish terrier. But now that I see Sebastian Gage, I realize it must be Lady Darby.”

For a moment, I stared in surprise at the man lounging in his chair, his foot propped on the bench opposite as he smirked in satisfaction. Until I remembered how much he enjoyed inciting just such a reaction from people. Particularly me, for some reason. I flattened my expression as best I could.

“Marsdale,” Gage replied tightly. “What on earth are you doing here?”

It was a legitimate question. The Marquess of Marsdale was the dissipated son and heir of the Duke of Norwich, and had played a somewhat unsavory role in our first inquiry at Gairloch Castle during a house party my sister was hosting. From what I'd gathered, he spent most of his life trawling between London and various house parties, drinking, gambling and bedding numerous women. Because of his title and his dark good looks, he was allowed to behave so without being entirely ostracized from society. A portside inn in the small town of Whitehaven seemed as dubious a place to find him as I could imagine. Though, the fact that he was seated in the tavern area, drinking a pint, was somehow less astonishing.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He slanted us a sly look. “Running off to Ireland, are we? Don't tell me you mean to elope?”

Considering the fact that I had been a widow, and we were both well beyond the age of consent, the question was absurd. But I suspected that had been his intention. Marsdale loved nothing so much as tweaking our noses.

“Actually we're already wed,” I told him. “Two months past. So I'm Mrs. Gage now.”

I expected to see some sort of reaction from him, but he barely gave us one. His smile merely deepened. Either he was better than I realized at hiding what he did not want to be seen, or he already knew.

“Well, well,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His steps did not yet weave, but his sallow skin was flushed, making me suspect this glass might not have been his first.

He reached out a hand to Gage, who reluctantly accepted it. “May I kiss the bride?” He flashed his teeth in a wolfish grin, which made it clear he would not be aiming for my cheek.