The Scandalous Lord Lanchester. Anne Herries
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‘I have not said I suspect you, Lanchester. Curb your pride, man. If I wished, I could take this to headquarters and have you brought to a court-martial—but I am as certain as it is possible to be that whoever took the silver meant to implicate you. My opinion is that you have an enemy. Think carefully, Andrew—who hates you enough to want you brought down?’
‘I have no idea. As far as I know I have no enemies—at least none that would go to such lengths to ruin me.’
‘There must be someone … what about Lieutenant Gordon? Did you not have him disciplined for cheating at cards and general behaviour unworthy of a gentleman and officer?’
‘William Gordon?’ Andrew wrinkled his brow. ‘Good grief, I had forgotten that—it was so long ago. He offered his resignation and disappeared a few months later. Wasn’t there some scandal over another officer’s wife?’
‘Yes. The officer wanted it hushed up, but Gordon was asked to resign. The last I heard he inherited a small estate, gambled most of it away in a few weeks and disappeared abroad. I believe he was in Italy for a time, though I’ve heard nothing for ages. He might even be dead.’
‘Lieutenant Gordon …’ Andrew was thoughtful. ‘It is possible, of course, though I do not see why he should hate me that much.’
‘I do not say it is Gordon, but someone wants you discredited. Are you in someone’s way? Who would benefit if you were socially ruined—or dead?’ Andrew raised his brows, but Major Harrison looked grim. ‘You wouldn’t be the first man to take his own life because he couldn’t stand the stigma of social disgrace. Even a whisper might spoil your chances of a good marriage, for instance. Someone might hope for more than your ruin.’
‘Yes, I see that … the devil of it is that I had been thinking I might make a certain lady an offer. This changes things. Obviously, I cannot even consider marriage until I’ve cleared my name.’
Chapter One
Mariah, widow and spoiled darling of the late Lord Winston Fanshawe, stood at the window of her bedchamber and surveyed the scene before her. The lakes were undoubtedly beautiful. On this cloudless day of warm sunshine the water lay glistening, sparkling like blue diamonds, and the surrounding countryside was glorious. She thought she actually preferred the lakes to the other parts of Italy they had visited these past few months. Mariah and her travelling companions, Lord and Lady Hubert, were staying in a villa overlooking Lake Como. Only a short distance from Milan, it was more secluded than some of the other lakes and the woods were delightful. Her friends had spoiled her throughout the trip, deferring to her needs and preferences, going out of their way to make her happy.
Why, then, did her throat catch and her eyes fill too easily with tears? Why did she feel so alone, even when in the midst of friends? Surely it was not because of her recent unpleasant experiences at the hands of Captain Blake? He had kidnapped her and kept her drugged when she refused to give him what he wanted, which was her hand in marriage and her fortune. Such an ordeal might have broken another woman, but Mariah had recovered swiftly. No, it was not that painful episode that had brought on this feeling of loneliness, but something more personal.
She sighed, feeling restless, already considering where she would go next. Nowhere was home to her, despite the fact that she had several properties left to her by her late husband. Since his death she had wandered from place to place, never feeling settled for more than a few days. Even when staying with her longtime friend, Justin, Duke of Avonlea, and his lovely wife Lucinda, she had felt alone—empty inside.
Just what was she searching for?
‘Mariah, dearest. We have a visitor—will you come down?’
Turning, she looked at Sylvia, Lady Hubert, the friend who had done so much to help her forget her troubles these past months. She had needed to get away from England after her abduction and Sylvia had suggested she join them on this trip.
Mariah did not recall much of her ordeal. The men who had kidnapped her had subdued her with some kind of a foul drug. She thought a cloth soaked in a strong-smelling solution had been placed over her nose and mouth in the carriage as she tried to assist Jane. Her brave, impetuous friend Jane, who had pretended to be her in the hope that they would let Mariah go. She was so fond of the girl she’d known for most of her life—and of Jane’s brother, Andrew.
Thoughts of Andrew Lanchester made Mariah’s hands clench at her sides. She refused to break her heart for the foolish man! He was probably still mooning over Lucinda Avonlea. Surely he must know that Justin’s wife was deeply in love with her husband? Mariah tossed her head. If she allowed herself to think of him, she would be a fool indeed.
‘You ought to come down, dearest.’ Sylvia’s words broke into her thoughts. ‘It will seem odd if you do not.’
‘Must I?’ she asked in answer to Sylvia’s question. They had so many visitors that it sometimes seemed she could never be quiet. ‘Who is it this morning?’
‘Someone you will be pleased to see, I think. He brings you letters from home—and claims to be a friend.’
Mariah’s breath caught in her throat and her heart started to thump madly. ‘Is it … Lord Lanchester?’ she asked, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘He did say he might visit …’
‘Do you know the gentleman?’
‘Yes. He is Justin’s neighbour and perfectly respectable.’
‘I did not doubt it.’ Lady Hubert smiled. ‘Well, shall you come?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mariah smiled. ‘Give me a moment to tidy my hair. I shall not be long.’
As her friend departed, she glanced at herself in the mirror, patting her heavy dark blonde hair, which she wore caught up in a knot at the nape of her neck, and tweaking a few tendrils about her face. Despite walking in the sunshine most days, her skin still had that perfect English-rose colouring that was so much admired.
Her pulses raced as she left her room and walked down the wide marble staircase. The villa, set in amongst trees, which clung to the hillsides surrounding the lake, was a rather magnificent one and belonged to Count Paolo. He was a particular friend of Lord Hubert and had lent it to them for two months, while he was away in Venice on business.
Mariah’s feeling of ennui had fled, her nerves tingling with excitement. What would Andrew have to say to her? A few months ago she had thought he was on the verge of making her an offer, then he had seemed to draw back. What had she done to make him change his mind? Could she have mistaken the signs? So many men went out of their way to flatter and court her, but Andrew Lanchester was different. She had hoped for a time that he had come to admire and appreciate her for what she was—a woman of spirit with a mind of her own.
Entering the salon where the company was gathered, she saw Sylvia and Lord Hubert laughing at something their visitor had just said and her heart caught. When Andrew Lanchester was smiling he was such a handsome man, his dark hair and his expressive eyes giving him an air of distinction. He was a man of integrity, a little stern at times, but good company. As Andrew turned to look at her she drew a deep breath, feeling slightly shaky.
‘Lady Fanshawe—Mariah,’ he said, coming towards her, his hand outstretched. ‘How are you? I trust your tour of Italy has improved your health?’
Mariah laughed. ‘I was not ill, Andrew,’ she said, giving him a challenging look. He had not been so formal when she stayed at his home the previous year. ‘I am not such a goose that a little thing like abduction would cause me to go into a decline. No, no, I needed a change, that is all—and my good friends look after me very well.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Andrew said, but a frown creased his brow. ‘Jane and Lucinda send their love. I have some letters for you—one from Justin concerning some business, I believe. He did not wish to entrust it to the post and so gave it to me.’
‘Thank you for