The Wife He Always Wanted (23 page)

Even her mistrust was waning. Thus far, he’d done nothing to show that he planned to take a mistress, gamble away his fortune, or become a drunken sot. Outside of that one first lie, and it was hurtful indeed, he’d been an excellent mate.

And if he continued along in this vein, she would be forever a happy wife. Yet . . .

As their marriage was only weeks long, she still had to get past that last niggling doubt that the current contentment they were experiencing wouldn’t last. He’d become used to living an adventurous life. Would being a proper gentleman become dull? Would he seek excitement elsewhere?

Is that why Albert did not sanction the marriage? Had he known Gabriel was not the kind of man who could settle into an ordinary life?

How long could she hold his interest? He’d been with women from fascinating places, enticing women who had not grown up sheltered. What did she have to offer a man like Gabriel?

“Sarah? Sarah?” Noelle’s voice cut in. “I think she is woolgathering.”

Looking up to see the trio staring at her, Sarah smiled sheepishly. “I was. I apologize.”

“I said I thought we should move to the parlor where we will be more comfortable,” Gabriel said.

“Yes, of course.” Sarah led the way down the hall. The mess from the broken mantel had been cleared away, but the ceiling still drooped. “We have a leak,” she explained. “Once the roof is repaired the plaster will be fixed and the mantel replaced.”

Gabriel frowned. “Our workers were stolen this morning by the Duke of Worthington. He had a small kitchen fire, and as he is a duke, he used his power to gain an advantage. Mister Rice assures me that his workers will return in a few days.”

“You did not tell me of their departure,” Sarah said. “I’d hoped to get the work finished before the snow.”

“I only just heard myself.”

Brenna walked over and looked up. “There is no one else in all of England that can make the repairs?”

“Mister Rice and his workmen are the best, or so we’ve been told. If they do not return soon, I will have words with the duke myself,” Sarah said. “Tea, anyone?”

They spent a pleasant hour or so with Gabriel, Noelle, and Brenna telling tales of their childhood misadventures, and Sarah laughing at the images the trio conjured.

“What about the time you climbed the large oak in the pasture and you ripped your dress on the way down?” Brenna said to Noelle. “Your mother caught you sneaking back into the house with your backside exposed and that was the last of your tree-climbing experiences. She was livid.” Brenna laughed. “Your mother has no sense of fun.”

“My backside was not exposed,” Noelle protested. “My undergarments were intact. And yes, my mother is quite sour. I do not ever remember her laughing about anything.”

The three nodded. Then Brenna set down her teacup. “I hate to end this reunion, but I must save James from his grandmother, lest she spoils him beyond repair.”

They rose and walked Brenna and Noelle downstairs. At the door, Brenna turned to Sarah. “It was very nice to meet you, Sarah,” she said. “I look forward to getting to know you better next week.”

Sarah nodded. “I, as well. There are many stories you can share about my husband. I look forward to their telling.”

Gabriel’s lids narrowed. “Perhaps I should rethink Mother’s invitation. I fear for my sanity with my wife, sister, and mother all in one house. The torment will be intense.”

“Do not forget me, dear Cousin. Gavin and I are also part of the party. Aunt Kathleen issued the invitation last week.”

“Lord save me,” he grumbled.

Harris opened the door for the ladies, and Noelle and Brenna passed Mister Brown on the steps. He tipped his hat. “Ladies.”

Brenna and Noelle looked back, clearly curious about the Runner’s bruised face. Sarah shrugged slightly and they continued to their waiting carriage. She would inform them of the recent adventure at a later time.

Mister Brown walked up the steps to join Sarah and Gabriel in the open doorway. “I have news.” Busby took his hat and coat. They settled into the downstairs parlor.

The Runner’s face was grim. “There has been a murder.”

“Oh dear.” Sarah put her hand to her chest.

“The man was Horton Hughes,” Brown continued. “He was a tenant in Westwood Park, Lord Avery’s property. Hughes came to see me last week hoping I would be willing to buy some information he had about a secretive meeting that took place on a road just off the park. Late at night, three days ago, he was walking back from the local inn when he saw a group of six men on horseback congregating in the middle of the road. Curious about the lateness of the hour and that they were strangers, he darted off into the trees and crept closer. He couldn’t clearly make out all of the conversation, and only spoke rudimentary French, but understood enough to figure out what they were plotting.”

“And that was?” Gabriel asked.

“They were on their way to kill Lord Avery and his family.”

Chapter Twenty-two

A
t Gabe’s insistence, he and Sarah rode out to Westwood Park with Brown. If there was even a remote chance the plot was connected to Sarah’s father, he wanted to be there when Brown spoke to Lord Avery. Anything to move their sluggish investigation forward would help.

“Horton contacted the Runners after rushing to warn Lord Avery about the assassination plot,” Brown said, filling them in on the murder. “His Lordship managed to get his family to safety with friends who live nearby.”

The weight of an alternate outcome to Avery’s situation hit close to Gabriel and burned hot in his chest. He felt a kinship to His Lordship. His wife was also in the path of killers. Perhaps the same killers.

“They were fortunate Horton was out drinking that night and decided to be a hero,” Gabriel said. “Avery has three children and a wife. Imagine the horror if the killers had gotten to the park before Horton.”

Sarah shuddered. “How could anyone want to hurt children? They are truly evil men.”

“Soulless bastards,” Brown agreed.

“How did Horton die?” Gabe said before the topic took another path. They must remain focused.

“It appears as if someone knew of Horton’s visit to Bow Street and killed him for his selfless act.” The Runner scowled. “Returning home, he was about ten minutes from the park when he was attacked. They left him at the side of the road. A farmer found his body. The local constable knew him and contacted Lord Avery. His Lordship contacted us.”

“How dreadful,” Sarah said. “He gave his life to save others.”

“He did indeed,” Brown said. “He was a good man.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “Why would anyone want to hurt Avery and his family? I’ve heard he is a decent sort, and his wife, sweet natured and well liked.”

Brown drew in a deep breath. “According to what we understand, Lord Avery was involved in the capture of a French spy during Napoleon’s reign. Though he had no part in the hanging of that man, and his identity was kept secret, we suspect there is a traitor in our midst. The spy somehow became privy to some documents and passed them on. There is a furtive investigation under way at Bow Street.”

“So the plot on Avery was to avenge the death of the spy?” Gabriel said. He glanced at his wife. She was pale, her eyes wide with worry. He hated that she was involved with this case. His protective nature wanted to shelter her. Sarah would not have it.

“We believe so.” Brown scrubbed a hand on his bristled cheek. He appeared to have neglected his toilet over the last day or two. With the healing cuts on his face, shaving had to be painful. “Thus far we’ve found nothing to indicate a traitor at Bow Street. However, everything indicates there is something amiss there. How could the killers know about Avery and Horton otherwise?”

Sarah pushed back her hat. “How is all this connected to Father’s case?”

“Lord Avery worked briefly with your father,” he said. “Anyone connected to Henry has to be investigated. Although I do not believe your father was involved with the arrest of the French spy, we do think a member of the same group these Frenchmen worked with also killed Henry.”

With the news, Gabriel watched pain flicker through her eyes. Still, she remained outwardly stoic. She had remarkable strength, his wife.

“Then your Solange may have killed both Father and Horton?” she asked, her voice strong and unwavering.

Brown nodded, his face grave. “It is possible.”

Gabriel wondered what it cost Brown to admit the culpability of his wife in such despicable acts. Gabriel wondered how he himself would feel if it were Sarah in her place and Sarah was a traitor.

Could he take her life if it meant saving others?

“You cannot blame yourself for her actions,” Sarah said softly. “I do not find you culpable for my father’s death. Solange is responsible for her own behavior.”

“Thank you. However, if I’d had her arrested when I discovered she was spying for France, your father would still be alive.”

Sarah leaned forward and laid her hand over his. “You do not know that Solange
was
his killer. As a spy, the French would have wanted Father dead. Or Napoleon might have found out about Father’s connection with the mistress. There were many reasons he was endangered. Solange was not the only person who was capable of the murder.”

Brown’s expression softened. “You are kind, like your father.” He patted her hand. “He would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”

They fell silent. Gabriel was taken aback by her kindness. By all accounts Brown’s wife had murdered her father, and yet, she showed him compassion that in all likelihood he did not deserve. Despite what she said, Solange had been his responsibility and he’d left her free to continue spying. For that, he should wallow in his guilt for eternity.

Sarah reclaimed her hand and sat back. Within the hour they were at Westwood Park. The house loomed large, unfettered by gilt and opulence. In fact, the plain stone façade signaled nothing to indicate Lord Avery’s great wealth or position.

It was like a monastery in simple lines and form.

“I asked Lord Avery to meet us here,” Brown said and climbed from the coach. “If His Lordship is being watched, we do not want to lead the killers to his family.”

Gabriel followed and helped Sarah down. She lifted her chin to examine the five-story manor as Brown led the way across the stone drive to the front door.

Once inside, the interior was as simple as the outside. Clearly, Lord and Lady Avery were not the kind of nobility that liked vulgar displays of wealth.

The butler indicated they follow. “Mister Brown. This way, please. His Lordship is waiting in the drawing room.”

As they walked down a long hallway into the bowels of the manor, Gabriel felt a growing sense of unease. Something was amiss in this house, in this case, in the murder plot. He felt it in his bones.

* * *

T
ension pressed down on Sarah, weighted by the feeling that something was not right about this story, this killing of Mister Horton. Even the comforting presence of her husband could not dispel her concern. She’d once seen a spider wrap a moth in its deadly silken webbing, and she could not help but feel much like that hapless insect.

Her steps faltered as they reached the drawing room.

“Easy, love,” Gabriel whispered as if reading her thoughts. He touched her arm. “I, too, am wary.”

Relieved that they were of the same mind, they followed the butler in. A man of medium height, and somewhat younger than Sarah expected, stood waiting near the fireplace.

He had to be little more than twenty or so when the French spy had been captured. Still a boy in many regards. And now his life, and that of his family, were endangered because he wanted to serve his country against a foreign foe.

Lord Avery walked over to them. Mister Brown made the introductions. His Lordship greeted Sarah warmly then turned to Gabriel. “I have heard from your father of your adventures,” Avery said, smiling. “He sometimes shared your letters over a glass of port. It is unfortunate we must finally meet under these circumstances.”

“Knowing my father, he likely embellished some of my antics for the enjoyment of his audience.” Gabe gave a slight bow. “Perhaps someday soon we will meet up at White’s, when this case is settled and danger is no longer shadowing us both.”

“Yes, let’s do.” Lord Avery offered seats and refreshments. Brown refused a brandy, but Gabriel accepted. Lord Avery turned to Sarah. “I understand the Runners believe the plot to kill me and your father’s murder are linked.”

“They do,” Sarah said. “If there is anything you know that may help us, we’d be appreciative to hear your thoughts.”

His Lordship sipped his drink. “There really is very little to tell. I was twenty-three when I ran away from home to join the army. My brother was heir presumptive, and I was a lad with dreams of adventure. As the son of a noble, and with a French mother, the government saw me as an asset and decided I’d be best used away from the battlefield.”

“They made you a spy,” Gabriel said.

“Fluent in French, I could move among French society without drawing much notice. Spying sounded like great fun.”

Sarah wondered if her father had once felt the same.

“Spying was not as I imagined. Being young and brash, I did not like to follow rules. Ferreting out secrets was difficult, trust hard to gain, and my arrogance did nothing to aid me. In a year, I had little to offer. Then my brother broke his neck in a fall from his horse and I was called back to England. It was on my last night before my ship sailed that I attended a—” He darted a glance at Sarah. “—party as a final farewell to Paris. I was out in a darkened garden with a lovely young woman when I overheard a conversation between two men. The information I gleaned led to the arrest of the French spy in London and thus ended my life as an agent of the Crown.”

Despite her best effort, Sarah couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Did you see the faces of the two men?”

“I did not,” he said regretfully. “The garden was dark, I was hidden behind a hedge, and their conversation was brief. They’d vanished into the night before I realized the importance of what I’d heard.”

“Damn.” Gabriel’s fists closed on the chair arms. “We are thwarted at every turn.”

Mister Brown pressed forward with questions, but nothing further was gained. His Lordship had been but a young man without the skills to undertake the job he was asked to do. An inexperienced spy made one contribution to his country then returned home to take his brother’s place.

“I am truly sorry I cannot be of more help,” Lord Avery said. The questioning came to an end. “I knew your father, not well, but enough to realize he was a good man.”

“Thank you,” Sarah replied, and they stood. Gabriel took her arm. Once the three were settled back into the coach, Sarah gripped Gabriel’s hand. He squeezed her fingers as the coach rolled down the lane.

“Do not lose hope, love,” he whispered. “We have avenues left to explore.”

With the Runner seated across from them, Sarah did not want to express her concerns, which were many. Although Lord Avery appeared to be an excellent source of information, the trip to see him proved a waste of effort.

“Every time a path appears in front of us, it ends in disappointment,” she said.

Suspicion grew. Could Mister Brown be trusted? Truly? Could he be the traitor inside Bow Street?

So many questions without answers whirled through her head. She looked forward to getting home and discussing the matter with Gabriel.

“I worry about Lord Avery’s family,” Sarah said. “I know what it feels like to be in danger.”

“Runners have been posted to protect them, and they have also hired a man named Jace Jones and his employees for further protection,” Mister Brown said. “It will be almost impossible for the killer or killers to attack him again.”

“That gives some comfort,” Sarah said. “I cannot fathom how my plan to discover information about my father’s death has become so far-reaching. Why attack the Avery family now? They’ve had many years to exact revenge.”

“Not unless the traitor at Bow Street was only recently turned,” Gabriel said. “Enough gold will tempt even the most stalwart of men. If they have accessed the information into your father’s death, then they could have access to other cases.”

“Then Lord Avery may not be connected to Father’s death, other than the killers may be the same French spies?”

“Spies, determined to right all wrongs.” Gabriel turned to Mister Brown. “I suggest your employers contact all agents past and present to inform them that their lives may be at risk.”

“I will see to it immediately.”

A loud crack rang out and the coach lurched.

“What is happening?” Gabriel called out. The coach sped up, wobbling on its wheels for a short burst, then rolled to a stop. Gabriel peered out then carefully stuck his head out the window. He looked toward the horses.

“Something has happened to the coachman.” He pushed the door open. A second crack sounded and a thump banged against the side of the coach. “Get down.” He reached out and pushed Sarah to the floor.

“Someone is shooting at us!” she cried. A third bullet zipped through the open door, past her head, and hit the seat above her! “Gabriel, duck!”

* * *

G
abriel swung away from the opening and onto the seat, his back to the wall. Another shot exploded from outside. He pulled a pistol from inside his coat, thankful he’d taken to carrying one since The Widow threatened to kill Sarah.

“Keep away from the door,” he said to Sarah. “Wedge yourself under the seat if you can.”

Mister Brown was already halfway beneath the seat opposite. He held a pistol in his hand. “Can you see the shooter?”

“I cannot, though I believe he is waiting for us to alight so he can kill us all.” Gabriel primed the pistol, knowing he had one shot. If his aim was true, it was all he’d need.

“What do we do?” Sarah said with her eyes wide.

“You are not armed. Stay inside.” He looked over at Brown. “I will try to get out and see if I can find the shooter. You stay and protect Sarah.”