A Brush with Shadows Page 25

  “It’s not so easy to define,” she began tentatively. Her gaze darted up to gauge my reaction, and then back to the scarred surface of the table. “I didn’t like him at first. I thought he was just another pompous, self-absorbed lordling out for his own amusement.” Her brow furrowed. “But after I got to know him better, I realized that wasn’t quite right. He was still a self-centered, vainglorious clunch,” she jested with a small smile. “But there was more to him than that. Much more.”

  It was apparent she didn’t quite comprehend it herself, but there was a softness that came over her features when she spoke of him that made one thing perfectly clear.

  “You genuinely do care for him,” I remarked, trying to keep any trace of my disbelief from my voice.

  I must not have succeeded, for she laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. He’s not a monster. Even if he behaved like one toward your husband in the past.”

  I flushed. “It’s only . . . after all the things I’ve heard about him, I find it hard to believe . . . well, that someone like you . . .” I broke off, struggling to explain, and feeling I was only making it worse. “He just doesn’t seem very likable.”

  But she seemed to understand what I meant, and fortunately she didn’t take offense. “It’s true what they say. My mother was Lord Sherracombe’s chère-amie, and I am his natural daughter. But she chose to live here, just as I have. He wasn’t hiding us away. My mother was too ashamed to live in town, even though they loved each other until the day she died. She could have wed a wealthy squire or a minor baronet, but instead she chose to follow her heart, and it had fallen in love with a married man.” She sat taller, showing me she was unashamed of her mother’s decision. “My father’s marriage was an arranged one. The contracts were drawn up before he was even out of short pants. And it was not happy. So he and his wife amicably agreed to find their contentment elsewhere. No one was hurt in the arrangement. Lord and Lady Sherracombe never had children. His title will pass to a nephew.”

  She claimed no one had been hurt, but I could see the faint lines around her eyes that indicated otherwise.

  “What of you?” I murmured.

  She stared at me, as if surprised I’d given her that much consideration.

  A shrill whistle broke the silence, and she rose from her seat to fetch the kettle.

  “I cannot complain,” she said. “There are many whose lives are far less ideal than mine. At least I had a father and mother who loved me, and a warm home to grow up in. One that is now mine.” She crossed to the cabinet, rising up onto her toes to lift down a delicate teapot painted with yellow roses and two cups. “I’m grateful for what I have, and I’ll not begrudge the rest.”

  I studied her profile in admiration as she spooned tea leaves into the pot and poured the boiling water over them. Hers was an example I could follow. For I’d struggled for some time to reconcile myself to the events of my first marriage, and to accept the knowledge that had been forced on me and turn it to good. Only recently had I truly begun to come to terms with it, and yet this woman had so humbly reconciled herself to a past that had not been of her making, determined to make the best of the present. Perhaps the events of her life had been less tormented than my marriage to Sir Anthony, but it didn’t make her acceptance any less commendable.

  It saddened me to think of how she was shunned and belittled purely because of the circumstances of her birth. I knew such was typical treatment of all by-blows, particularly those living in the countryside, and not Lorna specifically. It was society’s way of discouraging such behavior, even if men of a higher rank were given leniency for keeping mistresses and their children in London. But it still galled me to see her derided thusly.

  “As for Alfred, I’m not sure he’s made himself very likable to most.” She sat across from me again as we waited for the tea to steep. “He’s certainly handsome and charming. Though, he hasn’t the reputation your husband does. But those traits are superficial, aren’t they? One can be handsome and charming and still an utter wretch.”

  I smiled, having met several such men. “True.”

  “And Alfred undoubtedly has a terrible habit of trying to dodge his troubles rather than face them.”

  “You know about his grandfather pressuring him to wed Lady Juliana?”

  She tipped her head. “Among other things.” She frowned at her hands folded before her. “But that’s just part of who he is. Believe it or not, beneath all that bluster and past debauchery is a decent man he’s rarely been forced to show.”

  “Until you?” I guessed.

  “Well, I doubt I’m the first and only. But yes. I won’t tolerate nonsense.” She frowned. “I never intended to like him. I certainly never intended to welcome his company or the possibility of . . . something more. My parents were devoted to each other, but I also saw the way it tore my mother apart when my father had to leave us and return to his life, to his wife.” She shook her head. “I never wanted that for myself. I’m still not sure I do.” Her gaze strayed toward the window. “And now there may no longer be a choice to make.”

  It was evident whatever had happened between them, Alfred had made no promises to her. Which made his refusal to wed Lady Juliana all the more confusing. I would have thought Alfred was the type of man who would’ve been content to wed the duke’s daughter and still visit Lorna here in her cottage as long as she continued to welcome him.

  However, it might explain something else that had puzzled me.

  “Did Alfred’s brother Rory know about the two of you?” I asked. “Is that why he’s taken such a decided disliking to you?”

  Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she picked up the teapot to pour. “Mr. Trevelyan has never liked me. I suspect for the obvious reason—my being born on the other side of the blanket. But his aversion only increased after I sent him away with a sharp refusal.”

  “He made advances toward you?” I gasped, seeing now how that made perfect sense.

  “Not very subtle ones either.”

  “Did Alfred know?”

  “At the time, I don’t know. But since then, yes.”

  She didn’t share who had told him or how he reacted, and her firm answer did not invite questions on the matter, so I decided not to ask. Not when there were other topics to discuss.

  My eyes lifted to the bouquet of herb bennet over the door. At some point since my first visit, it had been replaced. A fresh bundle of the flowers now graced the wall. “Did Alfred suspect he was being poisoned or did you?”

  Lorna’s hands stilled, and she followed my gaze toward the bouquet. “He did.” She handed me my cup of tea, holding on to it a moment longer than necessary to make me look her in the eye. “And knowing what I did about Mrs. Gage’s poisoning, and that of Alice Trevelyan before her, I had to agree.”

  My skin prickled, sensing the importance of what she was trying to impart. Lorna didn’t say anything further, but I could sense that she was urging me to make the connection myself.

  “You think they’re related?”

  She shrugged, lifting her own cup. “Three poisonings in one family? Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

  “I do.” I frowned. “Though . . . Mrs. Gage’s maid was proven responsible for hers.”

  She sipped her tea. “Yes, but did someone give her the idea?”

  I wanted to ask her about her mother’s possible role in that incident, but I struggled to find a tactful way to do so. Fortunately, Lorna knew what I was thinking.

  “Perhaps someone has implied otherwise,” she remarked coolly, “but my mother had nothing to do with it. I know because I remember that maid calling here and asking my mother for such a concoction, but when she couldn’t give my mother a satisfactory answer for why she needed it, my mother refused.”

  Relief flooded through my veins. There was always the possibility Lorna was lying, but I didn’t think so. W
hat reason had she to do so? If I hadn’t held her responsible for her birth, I certainly wouldn’t hold her responsible for her mother’s actions when Lorna had been but a child.

  “Thank you for telling me that,” I said. “I didn’t want to think it, but it was mentioned.”

  “Of course it was. By Mr. Trevelyan, I wager.”

  I didn’t confirm this. I didn’t need to.

  “So if Alfred believed he was being poisoned, did he know by whom?” I asked, curious to hear what his opinion had been.

  “He didn’t know. But you have to ask yourself, who was alive for all three deaths?”

  I stared at her in astonishment as my stomach dipped, threatening to bring up my tea. “You think it was Lord Tavistock? But he’s been ill for months.”

  “Yes, but he has servants willing to do his bidding. And he’s desperate to have his heir wed to the Duke of Bedford’s daughter.”

  “Because of the mine partnership.”

  She arched her eyebrows meaningfully. “Is that all?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, scrambling to reconsider everything I thought I knew. “Do you?”

  “No. But it’s difficult not to wonder.”

  I nodded. How on earth I was going to suggest such a thing to Gage? That his grandfather might be in some way responsible for his mother’s death? It was horrifying.

  Something rubbed along my leg and I glanced down to find the orange tabby begging for my attention.

  Lorna leaned forward to see beyond the table. “Is that Sherry? If you don’t like cats, just shoo him away.” She smiled. “My father brought him to me. He thought I could use the companionship. And occasionally a good mouser.”

  I ran my fingers over his soft fur. “I didn’t see him the first time I visited.” I laughed. “So he startled me terribly yesterday when I stepped in to leave you a note. I heard a sound in the bedroom and thought maybe you were in need of assistance. When I opened the door, he shot past my legs.”

  But rather than joining me in laughing, Lorna stiffened. “Oh, did I shut him into the bedroom?” she remarked lightly. “It happens from time to time. The little devil is always underfoot, it seems.”

  “Yes, cats are like that, aren’t they?”

  I studied her face, trying to decipher what had unsettled her. She must have known I’d entered her cottage, for she’d gotten my message. Was she upset I’d done so? Particularly now that it appeared I wasn’t the only one who’d come inside her home without her present.

  I opened my mouth to apologize, but she cut me off before I could speak.

  “Did you bring your sketchbook?” She gestured toward the satchel at my feet.

  “I did.”

  “Then, if you’ve finished your tea, I’ll take you to some of my favorite vantages.” She rose to her feet. “I need to gather some fresh watercress anyway.”

  I gave Sherry one last scratch behind the ears and allowed Lorna to lead me from the cottage, though my mind was still puzzling over her uneasy reaction and her unwillingness to talk about it, as well as that missing button.

  * * *

  • • •

  Several pleasant hours later, though the sky looked no different to me, Lorna suggested I should return to Langstone. She insisted the weather would soon turn, and I wouldn’t wish to be caught out in it. Trusting her better knowledge of our surroundings, I obeyed, sticking to familiar paths I’d already trod lest I stumble into a bog again.

  The bright colors of a butterfly caught my eye as I was fording the River Walkham, and I paused to pull my sketchbook from my satchel. I had one last page on which to capture the image of the insect. Though I didn’t have my paints with me, in the margins I noted the vibrant hues and the approximate mixture of pigments I would need to recreate them later.

  So absorbed was I in the task that the shift Lorna had warned me about began to happen. One moment the blue sky was streaked with wispy white clouds, and the next a dark gray ceiling slid into place over them. Tendrils of hair lifted from my temples in the blustery wind, and I realized I needed to hurry if I was going to escape getting soaked.

  I scrambled up the bank of the river, stuffing my charcoal case and sketchbook back into my satchel as I went. My book tumbled to the heath, but before I could bend to pick it up, another hand grabbed it for me.

  I gasped and whirled around. “Rory! You startled me.”

  He gazed down at the drawing the book had fallen open to. It was a rendering of one of the views from Great Mis Tor, though I hadn’t been able to resist including Lorna in the foreground, staring pensively out at the landscape before her. “My apologies,” he murmured as he passed it back to me.

  He didn’t sound very apologetic.

  He fell in step with me as I resumed my hastened trek back toward Langstone Manor. Studying him out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but note this was the second time he’d snuck up on me unawares. I’d speculated he might be following me, and now I really had to wonder if it was true. But why? Because of Lorna?

  “Miss Galloway warned me, but I’m still amazed by how swiftly the weather changed,” I observed, curious how he would respond.

  “Yes. Even the most experienced can be fooled.”

  “Does that include you? I had no idea you were so fond of the moor.” In fact, I would have wagered he was more like his brother, rarely venturing this far out into the heath.

  “I don’t know that I would say I’m fond of it.” His eyes slid sideways to meet mine. “But those of us who are more conversant with its hazards have an obligation to look after those who are not. After all, we wouldn’t want something unfortunate to happen.”

  I nearly tripped over a rock, and by the time I recovered my footing he was already several paces ahead. Had I just been warned? Or was he rather clumsily trying to say he was concerned for my safety?

  Either way, the swelling wind wasn’t the only thing that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  We returned to the manor just as the first drops of rain began to splutter from the sky. However, Rory didn’t follow me inside; instead he peeled off to circle the house toward the stables. I didn’t wait to see where exactly he was going, but scurried inside to keep dry.

  With the storms rolling in, effectively trapping me inside, and Gage still gone in the carriage, I set about amusing myself for the remainder of the day as I waited for him to return. I explored the remaining rooms in the manor, and then sat with Lord Tavistock, sketching while he dozed. I’d not forgotten the portrait he’d commissioned me to paint, and so diligently worked on a number of drawings of Gage in different poses. Not that drawing my attractive husband was any hardship.

  Several hours later I’d filled the front of the new sketchbook I’d retrieved from my room with various images of him, but I was no closer to puzzling out Lord Tavistock. Lorna’s suspicions continued to circle around in my head. Could the viscount be responsible? Was it really possible he’d helped poison three people—his sister, his daughter, and his grandson? I didn’t want to believe it, but the particulars were too troubling to be ignored. And Lorna was right, he was the only person connected to all three incidences, even indirectly.

  However, I was not looking forward to raising that specter with Gage.

  He returned to the manor just in time to dress for dinner, saving me from an awkward meal alone with his relatives. Unfortunately, Rory had elected not to join us, leaving us in Lady Langstone’s chilly company. What she did with her time, I didn’t know, for I rarely saw her during the day. I suspected she avoided us as much as we avoided her. But she almost always appeared at dinner elegantly attired and armed with more sly insults.

  As such, Gage was not in the most amenable mood when we retired to our chamber. It didn’t help that Mr. Glanville had given him poor directions to the home of a mutu
al acquaintance of his and Alfred’s. Not only had the coachman wasted precious time searching in the driving rain, but the carriage had also become mired in the acquaintance’s muddy lane and had to be pushed out.

  “What of Endsleigh House?” I asked as I rubbed a hand consolingly up and down his arm. “Was the steward able to tell you anything about the Swing letters?”

  The furrows in his brow deepened. “The puffed-up peacock kept me waiting for nearly an hour. And when he did finally deign to see me, he denied their having received any. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. But as supercilious as the man behaved, I doubt he would have admitted it if they had.” He exhaled heavily, sinking deeper into the cushions of the fainting couch. “Regardless, I think we need to set aside the Swing letters as the reason for Alfred’s disappearance. There’s been little indication of violence otherwise, and as has already been pointed out, it’s quite precipitous to jump from written threats to deadly assault or outright murder.”

  I turned to the side, curling my legs up under the skirts of my bright rose evening gown with white lace trim before reaching over to cradle my warm teacup between my hands. The turn in the weather had brought cooler temperatures, making the stone manor’s rooms even colder than usual. “I agree. That doesn’t preclude the possibility they were used as an excuse for carrying out their own agenda. But I don’t think they’re the real motive.”

  He pulled at the ends of his cravat, loosening it so that it dangled around his neck. “I hope your visit with Miss Galloway was more fruitful. What is it?” he asked, reacting to my sound of disgust.

  “This tea.” I set the cup aside with a cringe. “Either the milk is curdled or Cooper is playing another prank on us.”

  “Do you want me to ring for another pot?”

  I waved it away. “No. I’ve had enough today as it is. I don’t know if my visit was fruitful, but Miss Galloway did give me some interesting prospects to consider.”