Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (27 page)

She made her way around the edges of the room, through the forest of strangers
until she reached a green marble fireplace and saw Sir Neville on the other side of it on a settee. He stared at the floor beneath his feet, looking wearier, more lost, more fragile than she’d ever seen him.

This had been such an ordeal for him.
Tragedy on top of tragedy.

She still had no idea what to say to him, but she steadied herself, went over and sat down beside him. “Hello, Sir Neville,” she said quietly.

He lifted his head and blinked at her in surprise. “Ms. Steele.” He reached for her hands. “Thank you so much for coming tonight.”

She squeezed his hands and studied his crystal blue eyes, their color vibrant, their rims
deep red from too many tears. The emotion spilled out of her. “I—I failed you, Sir Neville. I’m so sorry.”

His expression turned to concern. “Oh, no, my dear. You did the best you could. You and Russell both. No one could have expected more.”

But this time, her best wasn’t good enough. She shook her head.

“No one could have known what Trenton was up to. I—I still can’t believe it myself. I had no idea how he felt.” The lost look returned to his face. He released her hands and patted her
arm. “No, if anyone’s to blame it’s me. I should have left that dagger where it was.”

That was a silly notion. “You were doing your job.”

“Yes. My job,” he said bitterly and stared out at the guests, not really seeing anyone. “It’s funny how something like this makes you stop and look at your life. Makes you see the mistakes you’ve made, the opportunities you’ve wasted.”

“Yeah,” she murmured and wondered if he was talking about Davinia.

“If I had it all to do over again—” He let out a heartfelt sigh. “Ah, but what’s done is done. We can’t change it.” He shook himself as if coming out of a dream. “Is Russell here?”

“Uh—” She glanced around the room, didn’t see him. “He’s parking the car. He should be
in here by now.”

“Why don’t you
go look for him, my dear? I need to steady myself a bit more before I speak to the guests.”

“Sure,” she said. She understood the need for alone time. Rising she patted his shoulder. “I’ll send my husband to find you as soon as I find him.”

“Thank you.” And he gave her that warm, sad smile that broke her heart.

She turned away and began hunting for Parker among the group. She’d made it all the way to the other side of the room when s
he caught sight of Lady Davinia.

Draped in a long black gown, with her elegant grace
, she floated from group to group. She looked like she knew just what to do and say, though her face was pale and her makeup thick with a futile attempt to cover her red, swollen eyes.

She spotted Miranda, politely finished her conversation and came toward her.
“Ms. Steele, it’s so good of you to come.”

“I felt I had to.” That wasn’t the right thing to say. She didn’t do funerals well. If only Parker
were here. He knew how to handle any situation with polish and sensitivity. “I’m so sorry.”

Davinia pressed her lips together and nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
Then she collected herself. “Let me introduce you to some of Gabrielle’s friends.”

She presented her to several dukes and duchesses, half a dozen countesses, and other friends and acquaintances of the family. Finally Miranda met
Albert DeVere, Marquis of Camden and Lady Gabrielle’s father.

Lord Camden
was a large man with an imposing figure and a deep bass voice.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,
Lord Camden,” Miranda told him as she shook hands.

“Thank you, Ms Steele.”
He looked back at the raised platform along the side of the room where the casket had been placed for viewing. “I think she would have been pleased with the turn out. She was such a social gadfly, my little girl.”

He was right. Gabrielle would have loved the attention.

“It doesn’t seem so long ago that I had to say good-bye to her mother. And now I must to her.” His eyes teared up. “Please excuse me.” He turned away.

His words tore at Miranda’s heart. That bastard Shrivel had taken so much, caused so much pain. How could they let him get away with it?

Beside her Davinia squeezed her hand. “I need to see her, Ms. Steele. Will you come with me?”

To view the body? She didn’t think she was up for that. “I wasn’t—
I’m not—”

But Davinia’s face was full of pleading. “Please.”

Okay. She could be strong for this woman who suddenly needed her. She couldn’t undo what had happened. She couldn’t bring Shrivel in. But she could do this.

She nodded. “All right.”

Two stairs led up to the platform where the elaborate coffin sat. The family standards hung on poles on either side. Wreaths of roses and lilies and carnations were symmetrically placed in the background and along the steps.

Miranda forced her gaze away from the surroundings and down. At Lady Gabrielle’s lifeless form.

She looked peaceful. Much better than when she’d found her yesterday. Undertakers were known for working such magic. But the life that had once brightened her girlish face was missing. The light in her glistening green eyes was gone forever.

Miranda noticed they’d put her in
the red lace dress she’d picked out on her final shopping trip.

“
I thought she’d want to wear that frock,” Davinia said, her grasp still tight on Miranda’s hand.

“
Yes, she would have.”

Then Davinia did the unthinkable. She leaned forward and touched the body’s red-gold curls. “Oh, Gabby, Gabby. Why did you have to be so headstrong? Why couldn’t you have talked to me? Why did you have to go to—?” She put a hand to her mouth and reached for Miranda as she straightened again.
“Oh, Ms. Steele I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Miranda
didn’t know either. And she didn’t have words for the woman. She didn’t have words for herself. All she knew was she couldn’t stand here another moment longer looking at the woman she hadn’t even known a week ago.

It was
as if Gabrielle were blaming her for what had happened. As if she were telling Miranda she “must” find her killer.

If only she could
.

“I need to sit down
,” Davinia said in a whispered gasp.

Miranda nodded. “I need to find a ladies
’ room.” She gave the woman’s hand another squeeze and turned away.

As Davinia went in the opposite direction, s
he hurried down the platform steps, searching for a hall to a bathroom or somewhere she could pull herself together. She couldn’t last another minute. As soon as she found Parker and he finished making his condolences, they were out of here.

She passed a circle of young men gathered under a gold framed landscape.
They parted as she approached and she saw Lionel on a tufted bench, his head in his hands.

She stopped in her tracks.
She didn’t even like the guy and her heart went out to him, just like the rest of the family.

Not seeing her, he raised his head and stared at the coffin as if he didn’t know how he could ever let it go.

She couldn’t run off. She had to speak to him first.

Get this over with and get out of here,
Miranda told herself. She took a deep breath, straightened her jacket and strode toward him, hand extended. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lord Eaton.”

He frowned and
squinted at her as if he couldn’t figure out where she’d come from. Then he came to himself and stood. He knew who she was. “Thank you, Ms. Steele. It’s kind of you to be here.”

Again, s
he didn’t know how to reply to that so she just nodded.

The bereaved husband was wearing a meticulously tailored black suit
, his Van Dyke beard expertly trimmed. Only his demeanor and the hitch in his perfect British accent told her he was truly grieving.

He let out a long, helpless sigh.
“A room full of people and I feel completely alone. Even my best friend has abandoned me tonight.”

The dude who
had been with Davinia at the polo match. “Isn’t his name Sebastian...something?”

His manicured brows rose
as if he was surprised she knew the name. “Yes. Sebastian Fairfax. He called earlier and gave me his condolences. He apologized profusely, said he had to be out of town on business. He’s a moody chap. I think he simply couldn’t face...all this.” He gestured around the room.

Miranda drew in a breath. She didn’t want to think about whatever Davinia
had been doing with Sebastian. She was tired of secret trysts and betrayals. But still she felt for the man. “I know it must be very hard on you.”

“I deserve it. I should have gone to the police.”

“What do you mean?”

He cast an uncomfortable look around the room. “It’s no secret that I’ve never approved
of my mother’s marriage to Neville Ravensdale.”

“No.”
His snide remarks the night they’d had dinner would have told her that if everyone else hadn’t.

“
Two nights after the Marc Antony dagger was stolen, Gabrielle tried to console me. She told me I’d be happy soon because the theft might make my mother leave him.” He closed his eyes. “I brushed off her words. I thought she was being foolish. I was riding in the match the next day and I didn’t want to think about it. Then when that incident happened with my horse...I wondered if she could have been involved in the theft somehow. I should have gone to the police and told them. If I had, she might still be alive.” He pinched his nose between his fingers to stave off tears.

Miranda
reached out and patted the grieving man’s arm. She wondered how much he knew about Jewell and his letter. Surely he was aware the barrister was dead.

“She was
already involved,” she reminded him as softly as she could. “I’m afraid she got in over her head. I don’t think anyone could have saved her at that point.”

He nodded, and jutting out his chin with fierce control,
slowly turned his head as if he were forcing himself to look at the platform again. “My poor, poor, childish wife. I neglected her. I treated her so badly and she just kept on loving me. Why is it you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone?” He put his hand to his mouth to stifle another sob. Control was fleeting when you were in that much pain. “Please excuse me. I must collect myself.” He turned away and marched down a short hall and into a room, closing the door behind him.

The room she’d been heading
for.

With a sigh Miranda looked around the
chamber again. There was no one left to speak to. She certainly wasn’t in the mood for small talk with strangers. Her gaze wandered to an elaborate antique clock against the wall. She blinked.

Was that the right time?
It was past nine. Where the hell was Parker? She spun around and circled the crowd, searching for him.

He wasn’t at the casket. He wasn’t speaking to Lady Davinia or Sir Neville or the Lovelaces or
the Duchess of Oxham. She slipped down a few of the adjacent halls where guests had broken away to talk. He wasn’t in any of them. She began asking total strangers if they’d seen a good-looking man in a dark blue suit. An American.

No one had.

She left the viewing room and made her way back to the front door where she found a doorman. “Did Mr. Wade Parker come in this way?”

“The investigator from America?”

At least he knew who Parker was. “Yes.”

“
I say, you’re Ms. Steele, his partner, aren’t you?”

That damn
ed reporter’s story again. “Yes,” she snapped. “Have you seen Mr. Parker?”

He blinked at her and pulled at his coat awkwardly.
“No, m’um. As far as I know he hasn’t arrived yet.”

Hasn’t arrived yet? Hasn’t arrived yet? He’d arrived with her over an hour ago.

She turned away, stomped back down the hall and into the main room, barely seeing where she was going. Her chest started to heave. Her head started to pound. It was all she could do to keep the lid on the rage bubbling over inside her.

Let
’s see, she thought. Where could Parker be right now? Taking an evening stroll along the Thames? A visit to Westminster? An audience with the Queen?

Hell, no. She knew damn well where he was. He went to Tottenham—w
ithout her.

He wasn’t going to let this
case lie. He didn’t think it was over. He didn’t think they’d done all they could. No, he felt the same way she did. He was going to see this through. He was going to finish it. He was going after a killer.

He was putting himself in danger and he didn’t want her in
on it. He was protecting her again, sheltering her, dropping her off in a safe place while he went out to do battle. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him for that.