A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery. ANNIE BURROWS
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can you be so unkind? You, of all people, must know how devastating she found her brother’s death. Is it surprising if she acts a little...awkwardly around his former friends?’
‘The surprising thing,’ he said, slipping the Bible into his pocket while Miss Carmichael’s friend was too busy berating him to notice, ‘is that she is attending such a joyous occasion during what ought to be her period of mourning.’ He couldn’t resist putting a slightly contemptuous tone into the word joyous. Everyone here must surely share his opinion regarding his exalted half-brother’s ridiculous, hasty marriage to an unknown. Especially Lady Elizabeth, who’d been one of the leading candidates for the position of Duchess herself.
‘It isn’t the least bit surprising,’ she said heatedly. ‘She needed to get out of that gloomy little house she lives in and well away from that gorgon of a guardian who is enough to give anyone the fit of the dismals even if they weren’t missing the brother who provided the only bright spots in her existence through his daily visits,’ she said without drawing breath.
Daily? He’d gone there as often as that? Hmm...he’d always thought of Herbert as an exceptionally devoted brother, from what he knew of sibling relationships. Nick’s own sisters rarely did more than give him a nod of recognition, should their paths happen to cross while they were all in London. And it never occurred to him to visit them in their sumptuous town houses, either. Not without an invitation to some sort of formal event. Let alone every day.
They had, it was true, been making a great deal of fuss over him since they’d come to Theakstone Court. But that had more to do with showing their half-brother, the present Duke, that although they’d accepted his invitation to attend his wedding, they’d done so out of deference to his title, not because they’d forgiven him anything, or now considered him a part of the family. Because in contrast to the way they cooed over Nick, they were always icily formal with the Duke.
Not that Nick could blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of the swarthy, sullen brute himself.
‘Without those visits to give her thoughts a positive direction,’ Lady Elizabeth was saying, ‘she was in danger of going into a decline. I thought a change of scene might lift her spirits. Or at least help her to get over the worst of her unhappiness. Her brother’s death devastated her, as you ought to know, being one of his closest cronies.’
Yes, he supposed he should have considered that. But then, his own family were so distant from each other, it was hard to imagine any of them being devastated should anything happen to him. His sisters would express regret and go into black gloves, but a good deal of their regret would be at having to forgo many of their pleasurable pursuits during the period when they were supposed to be mourning him.
Also, whenever he’d thought about her and wondered how she was coping, he’d always come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do for Herbert’s sister was to stay well away from her. She’d never seemed to have that shiny, brittle coating which every other woman donned like armour whenever they went out in public. She was open and unaffected in her manner. Which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he could easily tarnish her.
But...had Herbert perhaps been doing more than merely visiting his sister? Was he, perhaps, supporting her? Financially? Now he came to think of it, Herbert had mentioned something along those lines, just after he’d abandoned the attempt to bring her out into society. Something about their fortunes being linked.
Which made a huge difference.
If any other operative had died during the course of an investigation, he would have gone straight round to their dependents to make sure they were not going to suffer financially. He had access to funds to make sure of it.
‘But, as usual, men like you don’t see anything past the end of your own nose!’
With her own nose stuck in the air, Lady Elizabeth flounced off. And in this case, he could hardly blame her. He’d assumed that Miss Carmichael must have an income of her own. Assumed, without double-checking.
He’d blundered there. Possibly rather badly.
He should have gone to visit her, to make sure she was provided for, he could see that now. Only...she was of gentle birth. And a man with the reputation he’d cultivated could not simply call upon a single lady of gentle birth, not without raising eyebrows. Not even if her brother had been his closest colleague.
Though what good would it have done, really? He could easily arrange a pension for a widow of a certain sort of man. But he couldn’t just offer to support a woman of Miss Carmichael’s status. If it ever came out that he was supporting her financially, it would be as good as ruining her.
‘You will, I hope, find it in your heart to forgive my daughter’s manners,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, sidestepping along the pew until she reached the aisle. ‘This week is terribly hard for her, considering the hopes we had...’ She left the rest unsaid. The shake of her head expressed her disappointment that the Duke of Theakstone had passed over her own daughter and chosen instead to make a mere Miss his new Duchess.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said, giving her the smile he reserved for women of her age and station. ‘It does your daughter credit that she leaps to defend her friend with such...loyalty. And such vehemence.’
The Dowager Marchioness narrowed her eyes to see if she could detect a hint of criticism in his statement. He kept his smile in place, looking directly into her eyes with as much innocence as he could muster. Which wasn’t all that hard. Because, actually, he did admire Lady Elizabeth’s loyalty. Not many people went against the prevailing current to voice an opinion that ran counter to it. And she had drawn his attention to a facet of the case he’d overlooked. He was grateful to her for jolting him out of his own personal malaise and reminding him that there was at least one other person who missed Herbert just as much as he did. For whatever reason.
‘That is so generous of you, Devizes,’ trilled his sister Mary. ‘To overlook such extraordinary behaviour. And I do not mean,’ she said, laying a languid hand on his sleeve, ‘that of Lady Elizabeth, of course.’ She shot an arch look at the Dowager, for everyone knew about her daughter’s shrewish nature. Nick had actually been a little surprised when his half-brother had, apparently, included her on his list of possibilities. And not at all surprised when he’d as quickly crossed her off it.
‘I was speaking of that strange little companion of hers,’ Mary continued. ‘Fancy storming off like that!’
He could understand Miss Carmichael doing so, now, if she was experiencing financial hardship.
Perhaps what she had wanted to say about Herbert related to the way he’d supported her. Perhaps she was finding it hard to make ends meet.
He would ask her, when he returned her Bible to her.
As well as finding out why she had a sketch of Janus in between the pages of her Bible. Had Herbert not been as discreet as he’d claimed? Had he been so close to his sister that he’d let slip some things which should have been kept secret?
Or had she merely stumbled across the picture when she’d been going through his personal effects? He thought he’d cleared Herbert’s rooms thoroughly, but perhaps there had been some papers hidden in a place that only she knew about.
Which changed everything. He’d been determined to carry on shielding her from the people who’d killed her brother, by persuading anyone who might care to see that he had no interest in her and, therefore, no connection to her whatsoever, now that Herbert was dead.
But if Herbert had let something slip...
He had to warn her that if anyone suspected she had information, of any sort, relevant to Herbert’s work, then she would be in danger. Dammit, somebody had killed her brother rather than let him pass on whatever it was he’d discovered that last night.
And Herbert would never forgive him if Horatia became the next person on that assassin’s list.
Dammit, he wouldn’t forgive