Silver Splendor (40 page)

In the saloon Philippa swooped forward, hands outstretched like talons. “My dear Lady Hawkesford, you’ve come down for dinner! Are you quite sure you’re feeling well enough?”

The woman’s syrupy concern bothered Elizabeth. Did Philippa mother everyone? “Yes, I am,” she said politely. ‘Thank you for your interest, though.”

“After all you’ve been through, you must be a bundle of nerves,” Philippa said, plucking at her frilly tangerine skirts. “Perhaps you should take a tray in your room. I can ring for Mrs. Drabble —”

“Leave off, Mother. Lady Hawkesford looks in the pink of health.” Drew sauntered closer, his lean body impeccably clad in a double breasted coat and stiff white collar. “Lovely shade of lavender you’re wearing, my lady. Matches your eyes.”

With the grace of a courtier, he took her hand and kissed the back. Elizabeth felt Nicholas stir restlessly. She discreetly drew back her hand. “Thank you. And do call me Elizabeth. Since we’re cousins, it seems silly to be so formal.”

“Here’s to the absence of formality.”

Drew smiled lazily, and Elizabeth saw the appeal that attracted women to him. His aquiline features held the promise of reckless sport, the suggestion of sinful seduction. Why had he decided to be so charming tonight?

Taking firm hold of her arm, Nicholas escorted Elizabeth to the duchess, who sat by the hearth. In contrast to her image in the stables, Adelaide looked majestically feminine in a gown of Lincoln green silk. At the back of her head, black netting held the coil of sparse graying hair. She wore emerald drop earrings and a magnificent necklace of matching cabochon gems that glowed in the light from the setting sun.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Nicholas said. “How is Caprice faring?”

‘Tolerably well, thank you. It was merely a flesh wound.”

“That reminds me,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t feel right taking Caprice from you. Why don’t you give me her next foal instead?”

The duchess stared; her granite features seemed to soften. “As you like, then. Hawkesford and I will make the arrangements.” She paused. “I trust you’re feeling better.”

“Yes.”

Brown eyes hooded, the duchess tapped her fingers on the chair arm. “Someone shot at you, Lady Elizabeth. You didn’t see who?”

“No, I —”

“What’s all this about a shooting?” said the duke.

Elizabeth turned to see him hobbling into the saloon. Leaning heavily on his cane, he wore an old fashioned braided jacket with a large, knotted cravat. With the dusk light smoothing his fossilized features, his face bore a trace of faded handsomeness.

“Oh, Your Grace,” Philippa said, rushing to take his arm, “it’s nothing to excite yourself over. Let me help you —”

“Take your claws off me.” Yanking his sleeve away, the duke glared at the circle of faces. “Somebody shot at my daughter?” he said, wheezing. “Nobody saw fit to inform me. By Jove, I’m the master around here!”

“Please,” Elizabeth said anxiously, “don’t excite yourself. No one meant to keep the incident a secret.”

He arched his grizzled brows. “I trust you, girl, you and Hawkesford. Don’t know about the rest of these blighters, though. Have to start listening at keyholes, eh?”

“The shooting happened only this afternoon, Your Grace,” Nicholas said. “I’m sure it was merely a stray bullet from a hunter’s gun.”

“Hunter, bah!” Hugh Sterling banged his cane on the carpet, raising a puff of dust. “Poacher’s more the word. Ought to be strung from his bloody thumbs for venturing so close to the house.”

“If you’d spare the few pounds to hire a gamekeeper,” Drew said, “perhaps you wouldn’t have poachers.”

“Muttonhead,” snapped the duke. “You’re the one to give counsel on money. Left debts all over London. Gambling dens! Jewelers! Tailors!” His face reddened. “And who had to honor the bills, else besmirch the family name? Me, by Jove, me!”

“Please, Your Grace,” Philippa said, hovering at his elbow. “Arthur left us such a small stipend. Surely you’ll not begrudge my son the life of a gentleman. He spends so many long months here in Yorkshire.”

“Languishing in this musty rubbish heap,” Drew murmured.

“That’s all the thanks I get? Should’ve let the bailiffs haul you off to Newgate.” A cackle of laughter erupted from the duke. “That would’ve taught you some appreciation —”

“Dinner,” announced Mrs. Drabble, from the doorway.

Drew leapt to offer his arm to Elizabeth. “May I have the honor, my lady?”

The duke elbowed in front of his nephew. “You’ll come with me, girl. This flock of greedy vultures won’t prey on my Sterling swan.”

“If you don’t mind,” Nicholas said easily, stepping beside her, “I’ll escort my wife.”

Elizabeth gratefully clutched his smooth sleeve. Already her head had begun to throb again. The last thing she wanted was to be the cause of more dissension between Drew and Hugh Sterling, to be forced to favor one relative over the other.

The duke looked disgruntled; then his lips formed a sly grin. “Honeymooners, eh? Can’t bear to see another man touch her, not even her own papa, by Jove.” He aimed a wily look at the duchess, who sat stone-faced by the hearth. “Brings back fond memories, eh, Addie?”

The Duchess Adelaide stared back with blank brown eyes.

“Get off your rump, dearest,” the duke added. “You wouldn’t want your dinner to get cold.”

The party trouped into the ancient dining room, where pale dusk light drifted through the tall windows. On the long, white draped table stood a pair of candelabrum, each supported by an ornate but unpolished silver swan. Candlelight flickered over the tapestried walls.

The duke insisted on placing Elizabeth to his right; Nicholas sat beside her. Throughout the meal Hugh Sterling doted on Elizabeth, passing her the most select tidbits, refilling her wineglass, and singing her praises. He had a look about him tonight that disturbed her, an expression of secret glee, as though he had something up his sleeve.

He lifted his wineglass. “You’re a lucky man, Hawkesford. My daughter’s quite the beauty.”

“I can’t argue that,” Nicholas said, flashing her a smile as he sawed at the ubiquitous mutton.

“Strong constitution, too, I’ll warrant. She’ll give you sturdy sons.” For an instant the joviality left Hugh Sterling’s face, his eyes darkening with memories. “Had two sons myself. Both died of lung disease. Caught it from each other.”

Compassion wrenched Elizabeth. Would the duke be pleased to have a grandchild someday? “I’m so sorry, bur Grace.”

“Save your sentiment — it won’t bring ‘em back.” Stretching forth gnarled fingers, the duke patted her hand. “But you came back to me, little swan. It’d make me happy to hear you call me papa.”

Elizabeth took a swallow of wine to ease her dry mouth. Somehow she could not bring herself to address him by the name she reserved for Owen. “Yes… Father. I’m glad we were able to meet at last.”

The duke looked pleased. “That’s my girl. So pretty and an accomplished artist, as well. Your pictures’ll hang in the National Gallery if I’ve any say in the matter.”

“I’m a sculptress,” she said, uneasy with his blandishments. “And I’m hardly well known enough to have my work displayed in a museum.” Thinking of Lord Buckstone, she added, “But I’m close to obtaining an important commission, I hope.”

“Be glad to help you any way I can. You’ve Sterling blood in you, by Jove.” He looked at Drew, who sat silently eating, his expression morose. “Though the family’s been known to sprout an occasional bad seed.”

“Root rot in the family tree?” Drew drawled, dropping his fork in melodramatic horror. “‘Tisn’t I who wastes hundreds of pounds on suits of armor, while the estate goes to wrack and ruin.”

“At least I have something to show for my money.”

“A collection of dusty relics that’ll end up being sold someday to the highest bidder.”

The duke’s lips drew back into a malevolent smile. “Sold, eh?” Drawing a quizzing glass from his pocket, he peered down the table at his nephew. “Can’t wait for me to kick off, can you, boy? Ten to one, you’re off to frolic in London the instant I’m laid in the grave.”

“Please, Your Grace,” Philippa said, the candlelight painting haggard shadows onto her cheeks. “My son means you no ill will.”

“Hah,” spat the duke. “Spends his days planning how he’ll waste the rest of my money. Deny it, Drew. Go on, let’s hear another lie.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll believe what you like.”

Drew slouched in his chair and toyed with the remains of his dinner. Elizabeth felt a flash of pity. Profligate or not, he didn’t deserve to be flayed in front of everyone.

She was casting around for another topic when the duchess said calmly, “That’s enough, Hugh. This baiting is bad for the digestion.”

The duke chortled. “You — trouble with your digestion? You’re as hale as those horses of yours.”

She gazed back, stone faced. “I was referring to our guests.

“They’re not guests, by Jove. They’re family. No need to whitewash what we’re really like.”

Nicholas cleared his throat. “In light of that thought, I’ve a matter to place before the lot of you.” He scrutinized each person in turn. “Despite what I said earlier, I don’t believe the incident this afternoon was an accident. Someone deliberately shot at Elizabeth. I suspect that ‘someone’ may be living in this house.”

Silence lay as thickly as the dust on the sideboards. A candle sputtered; a daub of hot wax plopped onto the tablecloth. Dismayed, Elizabeth tried to catch Nicholas’s eye, but he was looking around the table. Why hadn’t he warned her of his plan to confront everyone?

Philippa’s spoon clattered to her plate. “Deliberately, your lordship? By one of us? That’s outrageous!”

“Outrageous, bah!” Hugh Sterling wagged a lumpy finger at her. “Hawkesford’s a sharp one. If he says one of you tried to murder Elizabeth, then it must be so.”

“But why — ?” Philippa said stupidly.

“For the money, you dunce,” the duke said, his breathing growing labored. “I’ll wager you’ve thought long and hard about that these past few days.”

Her jaw dropped. “Your Grace! Surely you don’t think I…”

“Who else here would see Elizabeth as a threat?” He sucked in a gulp of air. “You… you and that no good son of yours. Wouldn’t surprise me… if you put him up… to killing my daughter!”

Philippa’s mouth worked like a bird’s beak. “I would never — !” she sputtered. “I cannot believe this!”

“Speak up, boy,” the duke said, wheezing. ‘Tell us … where you were this afternoon… when the shot was fired.”

Drew glared, his eyes demon dark, his fingers curled around the silver handle of his knife. “In my room,” he said, his words dropping like stones. “By myself.”

“Hah! No alibi… should’ve known.”

Gasping, the duke sat back in his chair.

The duchess rose to tug on the bell rope. “Don’t be an ass, Hugh. You’re making yourself ill.”

“He’s not ill, he’s mad.” All pretense of civility slid from Philippa’s face, leaving it sharp as a hawk’s. “Imagine, accusing Drew and me of such an atrocity! And all because that… that American bastard waltzed in here to curry the duke’s favor.”

“That’s quite enough,” Nicholas snapped.

The ball of tension in Elizabeth’s stomach tightened. Pushing back her chair, she stood. “Stop this, everyone. I’ve not come here to lay claim to any inheritance. I wanted to meet my father, that’s all. It’s time each of you accepted that.”

Philippa made a spiteful mutter. Drew ran his fingers along the knife blade. The duchess arched a regal eyebrow.

Nicholas wore a fierce frown; Elizabeth suspected he didn’t approve of her drawing attention to herself. Deliberately she turned her gaze from him as she sat back down.

“That’s my girl,” the duke said, his breathing less raspy, his eyes more focused. “Knew you weren’t greedy like the rest of the riffraff in this family.”

Into the shadowed doorway came Mrs. Drabble, huffing and puffing, her pudgy hands laden with a silver tray. “Ain’t no need t’ ring, Yer Grace. I was bringin’ yer curd tarts in a minute.”

Adelaide motioned the housekeeper to the table, to set down the dish. “Fetch Dr. Marsh, please. And be quick about it.”

Beady eyes widening, Mrs. Drabble obeyed.

The duke rubbed his knobby hands. “You come back here with him, Drabble, but tell him I’m fine. I’ve another reason for wanting his presence tonight.”

Adelaide passed around the tray. What did Hugh Sterling have planned? Elizabeth wondered, toying with her tart and sickened by the delight he took in needling everyone. In a way she couldn’t blame Philippa for her venom, Drew for his sulkiness, or Adelaide for her aloofness. How could Lucy Templeton have loved such a man as the duke? Perhaps he hadn’t always been so malicious; perhaps the loss of his true love had soured him —

“You needed me, Your Grace?”

Startled, Elizabeth looked up from her plate to see Gilbert Marsh standing beside tne duke. Dressed in the same plain brown suit he’d worn earlier, the doctor carried a small leather bag. His eyes flicked over hers just long enough for her to otch the glitter of emotion. No doubt he was displeased that she hadn’t taken his medication and remained abed.

“His Grace had a spot of the asthma,” Adelaide said.

Marsh made a move to open his satchel; but the duke waved impatiently. “No, no. Damned tonic’ll put me to sleep. Got to keep a clear head, tonight of all nights.” Grinning, he gazed around the table.

“Get on with it, Hugh,” the duchess said flatly. “There’s no need for melodrama.”

The duke snickered. “Practical as always, that’s my Addie. Make yourself useful, Marsh; help me up. Bones get rusty from sitting so long.”

The doctor extended a bracing arm and the duke levered to his feet. He looked so frail that Elizabeth felt a surge of sympathy. Mrs. Drabble rushed to take his plate. He flattened both palms on the tablecloth; the candlelight etched every line on his face, so that he looked like the sculpture of an aging warrior.

“Decided on a bridal gift for my daughter,” he said. “Added a codicil to my will just this morning. Marsh and Drabble signed as witnesses.” He paused, his violet eyes gleaming. “Except for what’s entailed, I’m leaving the whole lot to Elizabeth.”