Suzanne Robinson (26 page)

Unfortunately, spending so much time in her presence kept him from forgetting his unhappiness. The drawing room further enhanced his mood, shrouded as it was in black crepe. The windows, mantel, pictures, mirrors, and doors were smothered in black.

Never had he expected Lady High-and-mighty to agree to the terms he had set for their wager. Perhaps
he’d been more right about her than he thought. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, only she was ashamed of her desire for the likes of him. This humiliating thought kept circling around in his head, exploding whatever peace of mind he managed to garner. Each time it happened, his misery provoked a desire to make Georgiana as wretched as she made him.

In this foul mood he lurked nearby while Georgiana cornered poor Lady Augusta and asked questions about her activities the day of Threshfield’s death. As he’d expected, the effort was wasted. Lady Augusta wasn’t about to confide in a French spy, and she scurried away as soon as she could.

“Ah, Ross, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Nick turned around to find Evelyn at his elbow looking like a scrawny black eagle in his mourning suit. “My condolences, Hyde.”

“It’s Threshfield now.”

“Right. I say, old chap. Terribly unexpected, the old earl’s death.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I wished to discuss.”

“I remember what I was doing that day. Tragedy always fixes these things in one’s head, wouldn’t you agree? I met the ladies while they were shopping in town. Do you remember what you were doing?”

“No.”

“Did you do any shooting, drop by the game larder?”

“No. What I—”

“I bet old Threshfield had you ready to piss in your pants with his story about Lady Georgiana. Bet you thought you’d lose everything to an infant heir.”

Evelyn sighted down the length of his substantial
nose and said, “On the contrary. I never believed that ridiculous lie.”

As he spoke, Evelyn’s gaze drifted to Georgiana. His thin, tightly pressed lips went a bit slack, and he swallowed. Nick watched his throat muscles contract and a flush creep over his face. His gut contracted at the idea of Evelyn’s nasty mind contemplating Georgiana.

“Look,” Nick said. “Lady Georgiana is talking to Lady Prudence. Fine, upstanding wife you got there. She’ll take you far, I’m sure.”

“Who?”

“Your wife.” Nick nodded in the direction of Prudence’s stocky figure. “Remember her?”

Casting a glance of dismay at Prudence, Evelyn deliberately turned his back on her fishbowl crinoline and thick figure. “Don’t distract me, Ross. I wanted to ask you how long you’d be staying now that my uncle is gone?”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me?”

“I’m sure you won’t wish to remain in a house of mourning.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“When are you going, Ross?”

“In a few days,” Nick snapped. “As soon as Lady Georgiana leaves.”

“I’ve asked her to stay as long as she wishes.”

Nick said nothing at first. Then he moved closer to Evelyn and whispered, “You go near her, old cock, and I’ll put you in a vault right next to your uncle faster than you can say bleeding lecherous old sod.”

“How dare you, sir!”

“You sound like a wounded virgin. Just remember what I said.” Nick saluted Evelyn. “When’s the luncheon?
I’m hungry. Think I’ll join your wife and Lady Georgiana. See you, old toff.”

Grinning while Evelyn sputtered and gawked at him, Nick sidled over to where Georgiana and Prudence were sitting on a couch near the fireplace. On the way he picked up a cup of tea from a tray. The drawing room was crowded with relatives and friends talking in subdued voices. They clustered together in little milling groups like depressed and not very intelligent doves.

A life-size portrait of the old earl hung over the mantel. It was smothered with black, and Threshfield looked down on the assembly with that familiar expression of malicious amusement. Nick sipped his tea and stealthily edged his way around a clump of mourners until he was standing behind Georgiana with his back to the couch. From his post he could hear her conversation with Prudence.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Georgiana was saying. “But what about colic?”

“Oh, if it’s a bad case, you should use a little belladonna. It works excellently.”

“I was wondering,” Georgiana said. “Because when I establish the home, there may be quite a few infants.”

“Really, Georgiana, all that kind of thing is best left to a housekeeper or a superintendent. You must engage a suitable staff of good character, preferably people of experience.”

“I know, but colic is such a problem.”

“True,” Prudence said. She stirred her tea, clinking her spoon against the porcelain of her cup. “By the way, I was wondering how much longer you intended to stay at Threshfield.”

“Not long.”

“Of course, propriety dictates that your withdrawal not be precipitous.”

“Of course,” Georgiana said.

“But, after all, this is a house of mourning.”

“Indeed.”

“A week, perhaps?” Prudence asked.

“Perhaps.”

Nick heard Prudence’s cup rattle. “I’ll tell the housekeeper, then.”

Prudence excused herself and went to meet Evelyn, who was announcing luncheon to his guests. Droves of black-clad funeral-goers milled toward the saloon, intent on filling their stomachs at the new earl’s expense. Out of the corner of his eye Nick saw Georgiana rise. He set down his teacup and nipped around the couch.

“Did you expect her to take fright and blurt out an admission?” he said.

Georgiana gave a startled cry and whirled around to face him. “Why must you skulk around and spring out at me like that?”

“She wouldn’t admit being familiar with belladonna if she was guilty.”

“She would if she was trying to appear innocent.”

“Right,” Nick said with a roll of his eyes. “And that was clever, trying to question a silly old bird like Lady Augusta.”

Georgiana glanced around at the fast-emptying room before replying, “Well, Mr. Know Everything, I found out she takes what she calls her elixir. The doctor prescribed it for her nerves, she said. If we ask the doctor what’s in it, I’m sure he’d say belladonna.
No doubt Augusta thinks it’s an antidote for French poison.”

“Shh.” Nick glanced behind Georgiana as Ludwig approached with Lady Augusta on his arm.

“Aren’t you two coming in to dine?” Ludwig asked.

“In a moment,” Georgiana said. “Lady Augusta, I was just telling Mr. Ross of your marvelous elixir.”

“It makes me invincible against poisons, so don’t try to kill me that way, Madame Spy. And Ludwig told me he knows all about you and how you sneak around gleaning secrets for Napoleon, and he’s going—”

Ludwig patted Augusta’s gloved arm. “Now, Auntie, is that the way to talk on the day we buried dear Uncle?”

“Oh, poor, dear Threshfield,” Augusta said on a sob. She sniffled into a black lace handkerchief and cast suspicious glances at Georgiana.

Ludwig said, “What you need is some food and a bit of sherry.”

“Yes, sherry, a great deal of sherry. For my nerves, of course.”

Augusta trotted off in search of a footman to bring her a bottle. Ludwig inserted his round body between Nick and Georgiana and took Georgiana’s hands in his. Nick felt a stab of irritation at the familiar way Ludwig touched her.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ludwig said as he gazed into Georgiana’s eyes. “She’s terribly upset about her brother, and she’s imagining things more and more.”

Nick snorted, but they ignored him. His irritation began to smolder into something greater as the two moved close together.

Georgiana kissed Ludwig on his cheek, and Nick’s muttered curse went unnoticed.

“I know it’s not your fault,” she said to Ludwig. “You look tired. You should rest tonight instead of working so late.”

“I will, thank you, dear Georgiana. You’ve such a kind heart, oh, my, yes.” He returned her kiss. “Perhaps tomorrow you might help me with one of the mummies. Its bandages are rotting off, and I’ve got to do something to preserve them. Did you know that the ancient Egyptian embalmers removed the brain of the deceased through the nose? They had this long tool with a hook on the end.”

“Jesus!” Nick cried. He shoved his way between Ludwig and Georgiana.

Georgiana drew herself up to a regal height. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Ross.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m a hedgehog tracking muck on the carpet. You two make me sick with your kissing and your talk about mummies and brains.” He turned on Ludwig. “You just watch who you slobber kisses on, Hyde. And keep your paws to yourself.”

Georgiana took offense, but Ludwig only goggled at him, which made Nick even madder to think that Georgiana could harbor affection for this dusty, spineless little clerk.

“Oh, my heart.”

Nick thrust his hands into his pockets and gave Georgiana a derisive look. “He sounds like a bloody nun.”

“You should apologize to Ludwig,” Georgiana said.

“Oh, sod it,” Nick snarled as he watched her pat Ludwig’s arm.

Georgiana scowled at him and said, “Your language, sir.”

“Oh, my heart, yes,” Ludwig chimed in. He offered his arm to Georgiana, who slipped hers through his. “It isn’t mannerly, using such colored language to a lady.”

Nick put his fists on his hips. “You want to teach me manners, toff?”

“That’s enough, sir!” Georgiana tugged Ludwig out of Nick’s reach. She hissed under her breath at Nick. “You should be ashamed of yourself, picking on a sweet person like Ludwig. You’re not fit to—to wash his linens.” She flounced away with her charge. “We’re going in to luncheon.”

“Going to cut his meat for him?” Nick called after them.

Only a few people were left in the drawing room, and all of them stared at him. Nick glared back, then stalked over to a window. He batted at a length of crepe that snagged on his coat, muttering to himself.

“Bleeding white-livered little field mouse. Just the type Georgiana would like to marry. No guts, pudding in her hands.”

Wait. Why was he so fizzed? He’d never have worried about the likes of Ludwig Hyde before. But, then, he’d never had to stand by and watch Georgiana kiss him before.

Bloody hell, he was jealous. The thought of Ludwig putting his damp, soft hands on her drove him into a killing rage. When the little toad had kissed her—Nick realized what a feat of self-governance it had taken not to grab Ludwig and toss him into the fireplace.

By God, he was jealous. What was it that Pertwee
had read to him by that old Roman fellow? Ovid was his name. Ah, yes. “Love that is fed by jealousy dies hard.”

Nick groaned and pressed a cheek against the cold windowpane. “Strike me blind. Love. Bloody, everlasting hell.”

Later that night Nick was lying fully clothed on his bed after assuring himself that Georgiana was locked in her room. She was still shoving furniture in front of her door, so he was confident of her safety. No one else but he could pick locks, or so he assumed. He had sent off the rabbit carcasses and stew to his doctor friend in London. He’d listened to Georgiana’s inquiries of her suspects, and he’d made his own concerning Evelyn and Ludwig.

In order to keep himself from dwelling on how much he would like to show Georgiana she still wanted him, he was reviewing what he knew. As usual Ludwig had spent his time among his antiquities the day Threshfield had died. He could have slipped out of the Egyptian Wing to poison a rabbit, and no one would have missed him. Evelyn had gone for a long walk and could have done the same. He could even have paid a hansom cab to run down Georgiana while she shopped. Nick still had his suspicions about that incident, although Georgiana put it down as one of Lady Augusta’s mischiefs.

Georgiana’s accidents had stopped. Nick thought it was because Threshfield had died before he could change his will or marry her. Georgiana thought it was because Lady Augusta was too grief-stricken to make attempts at the moment. Whatever the case,
time was running out. Both he and Georgiana would be leaving Threshfield soon, and if they didn’t find a murderer before they left, they probably wouldn’t find him at all.

He needed to question the servants about Evelyn’s and Ludwig’s movements on the day and evening of the murder. However, the separation between servants and family and guests was marked in gentle households. If he approached even a footman with such questions, word would quickly reach the butler and housekeeper, who would take the matter up with Prudence. Like Georgiana, he would have to work through his own servant, Pertwee.

Nick was making a mental list of the questions he wanted the valet to ask when he heard a single soft knock at his sitting-room door. It was dark except for the small glow of light from a candle by the bed. He picked up the candle and went to answer the knock.

Opening his door, he found a deserted hall. Was he hearing things? Not likely. As he shut the door, he felt something under his boot. He stooped and picked up an envelope. Within was a note on Threshfield stationery. It was printed rather than written in cursive and bore Georgiana’s name at the bottom. She asked him to meet her in the Egyptian Wing at two o’clock that night.

Nick put the note back in its envelope. Her Royal Pureness must think him barely literate to print the blasted thing. And she must have found the murderer! Why else would she want to meet him secretly when she obviously found his company so disturbing?

“Strike me blind,” Nick muttered. “If she’s found the prig, I’ll have to go back to Texas.”

He’d failed. No doubt Prudence had killed
Threshfield to assure her place in Society. He felt his heart sink, as though bound by the weight of a hundred sarcophagi. He would have to face Georgiana’s triumphant derision. No, Her Grace was too well mannered to jeer. She would present her discovery without flourish and politely request that he take himself across the ocean and never bother her again.

And he would have to go. The note slipped from his fingers to the floor, and he stared blindly at the candle he was still holding. Why couldn’t his love have been like Jocelin and Liza’s? His was more like that chap Othello and Desdemona’s—doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed. Only Georgiana wasn’t nearly so faithful as Desdemona had been.