The Spinster Bride (30 page)

Marjorie looked over her brother's head at Charles, horrified by the story George had just told. Jeffrey had tried to kill George. To actually hear her brother relay such an awful story was devastating. She knew how dear Jeffrey was to her brother. His only friend had arranged for him to be murdered. It was beyond horrifying. She wanted Jeffrey to suffer for what he'd done, and because George was alive, he certainly would. The law would not protect her cousin because he didn't have the safety of the title.

“Are you certain that's what happened?” Marjorie asked, knowing even as she said the words that her brother was certain. He never embellished and never lied.

George nodded, tears falling, trailing into his dear, red sideburns.

“I cannot say how happy I am that some kind soul brought you here,” Marjorie said.

“Someone stole my clothes. My green jacket and yellow vest and my best pair of trousers. My hat, too, but I know where I can get another of those.”

“I'll buy you one today,” Charles said.

“And shoes. John Lobb, Bootmaker.”

“Yes, I'll stop by there too. I imagine they have your dimensions?”

“Father's watch is gone. It was a Longines.”

“We can check the pawn shops.”

The more George thought about all that was missing, the more agitated he became. Marjorie laid a hand on his uninjured shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “George, nothing is lost that cannot be replaced. The most important thing is that you're well.”

“But you'll try to find the watch, won't you?”

“Of course.”

George closed his eyes. “I'm a bit tired. My head hurts. When can I go home?”

Marjorie stood and found the nurse, who was across the hall tending to another man. “We'd like to take Lord Summerfield home if we could.”

“Let me go find the doctor and we'll see what we can do about moving him.”

One hour later, George was in his own bed being examined by the Summerfield physician, Dorothea hovering nearby, pretending not to be worried sick. When they'd come home, she'd been clutching the note from the hospital and said, “Of course I knew you were all right.” But her eyes had been suspiciously red.

With George resting, Charles, Marjorie, and Dorothea gathered in the house's main parlor for tea. “I don't think I've ever appreciated a nice cup of tea more,” Marjorie said, setting down her teacup. “I am exhausted.”

Charles sat across from Marjorie and her mother, wishing he could be alone with Marjorie. As tired as she was, she'd never looked more beautiful. Even after the strain of the day, her cheeks were slightly pink, her eyes bright and lively. He could hardly keep his eyes off her, but every time he looked away, he saw Dorothea frowning heavily at him. She'd made it quite clear that he'd overstayed his welcome, but he'd ignored her when she'd said, “Oh, are you staying for tea, Mr. Norris?” in a way that sounded much more like “Please tell me you're not staying for tea, Mr. Norris.”

“We need to decide what to do about Jeffrey,” Marjorie said after the three had gone through the ritual of tea.

Dorothea bristled. “We shall do nothing. Our family name will not be dragged through the mud by a trial or an arrest.”

“Mother, we cannot let pride rule us and ignore the fact that Jeffrey tried to kill George,” Marjorie said, incredulous.

“You mistake me, my dear. I am not protecting Jeffrey. I am protecting your brother.”

Marjorie looked at Charles then her mother in confusion. “I don't understand.”

“I think I know what your mother means,” Charles said, feeling that the tension between the women could result in an argument. “If we go to the authorities, George will be questioned. And he will relay the facts the way George does. And they will note how odd he is and I fear—and I think your mother does too—that they will disbelieve him. Do I have the right of it, Lady Summerfield?”

The older woman gave Charles a look of surprise that was everso-slightly tinged with admiration. “They would crush him,” Lady Summerfield said. “They would make him look like a fool and discredit him thoroughly. And Jeffrey would get away with attempted murder. I have a better plan.”

Charles, who had fostered a dislike for Dorothea, couldn't help but admire her gumption and intelligence. She was right, he realized. Any lawyer worth his salt would make George look like a fool on the stand. He need only ask George about his ancestry, and off the poor man would go, relating his lineage in excruciating detail.

“What is better than having Jeffrey be punished for what he did?” Marjorie asked.

“I remember taking one of my mother's rings as a child. I couldn't have been more than five or six. It was a large ruby and one of her favorites, and I admired it every time she wore it. When it turned up missing, everyone, including me, was questioned. Having that ring, fearing my mother would find it, became unbearable. After only a few days, I tearfully confessed. I suggest we do something of the same to Jeffrey.”

“I'm not certain I understand, Mother.” An instant later, Marjorie's face cleared. “Oh, what a wonderful idea.”

Dorothea smiled. “Precisely. Jeffrey will go mad wondering when and if George or George's body will appear. We will simply continue to act as if George has disappeared. It won't take long before he cracks.”

“And the beauty of it,” Charles said, “is that Jeffrey will be unable to claim the title unless he admits he knows George is dead. And the only way he would know that is if he confesses what he did. It's marvelous.”

“It's diabolical!” Marjorie said, and she and Charles exchanged a look, remembering another diabolical plan they'd hatched together. “Oh, this shall be the most fun I've had since, well, Charles and I cooked up our plan.”

Dorothea frowned heavily. “I hardly think this compares with the disaster you two planned. I've never heard of such a ridiculous scheme in all my years.”

“It very nearly worked, Mother.”

Charles cleared his throat, distracting the two women, who were now glaring at each other. “It's essential that you, Lady Summerfield, appear more irritated than worried by George's disappearance. And you, Marjorie, must appear to be worried sick. I'd like to see your cousin's reaction to all that.”

Marjorie waved a hand at him. “He won't care about my worry. The only thing he likely cares about is whether George is dead or alive. If he's dead, Jeffrey is earl. If George is alive, my cousin will know he's in deep trouble.”

Charles clapped his hands together, startling the two women. “My apologies,” he said, grinning widely. “But my dear, you are a genius.”

“I am?” Marjorie asked, looking adorably confused.

“Jeffrey needs to see George. Everywhere. At least he needs to think he sees him.”

Marjorie furrowed her brow. “I'm not certain what you mean.”

“Have you ever read a story called the ‘Tell-tale Heart'?”

Marjorie shook her head. “I confess I'm not much of a reader of fiction.”

Dorothea also shook her head.

“In the story, a man commits murder and hides the body beneath the floor. After a while, riddled with guilt, no doubt, he thinks he hears the old man's heart beating, beating. It's a rather gruesome tale, and at the end of it, the man who committed murder goes quite mad.”

The two women looked horrified by the tale.

“That's what I want to do to Jeffrey. I want to drive him mad, drive him to confess what he did. He'll think he sees George, but we'll act as if he's seeing things.”

This time Marjorie clapped her hands together. “Oh, Charles . . .” Dorothea glared at her. “Mr. Norris,” she continued, “that is a marvelous plan. What do you think, Mother?”

“I think I am going to very much enjoy the next few weeks. Only one thing—how are we going to convince Jeffrey that he's seeing George, Mr. Norris?”

“He will see George. Brief glimpses here and there that will require quite a bit of planning on our part. And, of course, we'll have to begin only when George is up to the task.”

At that moment, the butler appeared and announced a Miss Lilianne Cavendish was waiting in the small sitting room. “Should I bring her in?” he asked.

Marjorie stood. “Of course. Please do. She must be worried sick.”

“What is that girl doing here?” Dorothea asked.

“I wrote a note to let her know George had been found. She was worried sick, Mother, and as his fiancée,” Marjorie stressed, “she has the right to see him.”

Dorothea stiffened but said, “Very well, but you must accompany her. They are not to be alone.”

Charles nearly chuckled out loud because he could almost see the strain Marjorie was under not to say something to her mother about how silly it was to chaperone the couple.

“I'll be going now,” Charles said, walking with Marjorie to the parlor's exit. “Lady Summerfield, may I kiss Lady Marjorie's cheek?”

“No.”

Charles grinned at Marjorie and she smiled back, evoking a sound of disgust from the older woman.

“Before you go, Mr. Norris, I would like to thank you.” It seemed as if the words were forced from her throat, like scraping the last bit of preserves from ajar.

“You are very welcome, Lady Summerfield. I like George very much, and I love your daughter. I would do anything in my power to make certain they are well and happy.”

Dorothea gave him a withering look, as if she knew he was being overly nice to get into her good graces. Which he was, of course.

When they left the parlor, Charles gave Lady Summerfield a polite nod, and acted for all the world as if he weren't going to kiss Marjorie the moment they were out of sight. He must have done a good job of pretending, because when he pulled Marjorie into his arms, she let out a small sound of surprise, which he quickly stifled with his mouth.

“I think your mother is trying to kill me,” he said roughly, kissing her again. Marjorie pressed herself against him, and he nearly wept with the relief of having her in his arms. If they weren't married soon, he truly believed he would expire. He kissed her, deep and hard, as if trying to get a week's worth of kisses into one. It was frantic and wild and wonderful, but far, far too brief. Footsteps sounding behind them forced them apart. These quick embraces were sweet torture for Charles. “Damn.”

“Yes, damn.”

He chuckled as they both turned to walk toward the entrance. “Why, Lady Marjorie, such language.”

“Sneak into my room tonight,” she whispered. “Mother will be exhausted from the excitement of the day and—” She stopped herself. “Why didn't we elope?”

“We'd be married now. I'd have you in my bed every night, warm and soft.” He lowered his voice even more. “And wet.”

“Stop, you awful man.”

“Lady Marjorie,” Lilianne exclaimed, coming toward them. She gave Charles a quick, curious look before continuing. “Is George all right? I know you said so in your note, but one cannot always be completely truthful in a note.”

“He's fine,” Marjorie said, reassuring the frantic young woman. “He did get hit on the head and has an awful-looking bruise on his shoulder, but he's perfectly well.” Marjorie turned to him. “Should we tell her of our plans?”

“I'll leave that decision up to you. But it can go no further. Your cousin mustn't suspect a thing.”

Lilianne looked from one to the other, her eyes wide. “I'll tell her,” Marjorie said.

Next to her, Lilianne smiled. “Perhaps we can have a double wedding?” she asked.

Marjorie let out a small laugh. “That would be wonderful, but Mother is opposed. Men have so much more freedom than we do. And the truth is, I don't want to hurt my mother. She'll come 'round, though.”

“I don't think she'll ever approve of me,” Lilianne said without inflection.

“Probably not,” Marjorie said with complete honesty. “I know she seems like a hard woman, and she is, actually. But she does have a soft heart. Somewhere.”

The two women laughed, then bade farewell to Charles.

As he made his way out of the foyer, he heard Marjorie say, “Let me take you to George. I know he'll be happy to see you.”

 

Dorothea walked up to her rooms, past where Lilianne was visiting George. She paused, hearing only the soft murmur of female voices, and suspected that George was sleeping again. Their doctor said it was common for those injured on the head to sleep and that it would help with the healing. Then she heard a low rumble of laughter and her heart gave an unexpected lurch before she forced herself to move on toward her rooms.