Stephanie Laurens - B 6 Beyond Seduction by Stephanie Laurens
Dalziel inclined his head and stepped past; at the door, he glanced back at Gervase. “I’ll speak with the butler.”
Pausing before Robert Hardesty, Gervase nodded. He caught Robert’s bewildered gaze, and spoke calmly, soothingly. “The doctor’s been sent for—he’ll be here soon. He’ll know what to do.”
Dumbly, Robert nodded. He glanced again at the bed; his composure wavered, threatened to crack. “But who …?” He looked at Gervase, stricken and frightened. “People might think it was me. But I didn’t —”
“We know it wasn’t you. She was killed by a man—a London gentleman—we understand she was acquainted with. She was seen with him for a short time yesterday afternoon. The man is a known killer and a traitor—we believe he killed her so she couldn’t identify him.”
Robert Hardesty stared at him; Gervase couldn’t tell how much of his words he was taking in.
Then Robert turned and looked again at the bed. “My sisters, and my aunt, were right. They said she, all her London connections, weren’t…good. I should have listened.”
Gervase gripped his shoulder. “When it comes to women, sometimes even young girls see more clearly than we.” His sisters certainly had. He took Robert by the arm. “Come and have some brandy. It’ll help.”
Without resistance, Robert let Gervase lead him from the room.
It took them over two hours to interview all the guests at Helston Grange. All of them were accounted for; none of them was their villain, or at first blush knew anything of him.
Dalziel and Gervase handled the interviews while Christian spoke with the staff and Charles roamed outside, speaking with the gardeners, grooms and stable hands.
When they finally met up on the front steps, their expressions were unrelentingly grim.
“Our man never stayed here,” Dalziel replied in answer to Charles’s arched brow. “However, two of her ladyship’s bosom-bows are certain she had a long-standing liaison with some gentleman of the ton, one that predates her marriage by some years. They believe the liaison continued, although very much more sporadically, after her marriage. The lady was free with her favors and had many other lovers, but the only lover she treated with absolute discretion, to the extent of not sharing his name or any detail of him with these two friends, was this old flame.” He paused, then went on, “They believe he’d come down here, and that she’d been seeing him over this summer, but neither knows anything more.”
Christian shifted. “Her maid, who’s a local, thinks much the same—that despite the other lovers, including some of the men currently here, there was some man she knew from her past who she was seeing again clandestinely. According to the maid, he never came to the house.”
Charles grimaced. “One of the gardeners thinks she and some London gentleman—tall, dark-haired, our usual suspect—have been using one of the old garden sheds down by the river for assignations.”
“Which,” Gervase said, “confirms that our man wasn’t one of the guests, but very likely was this old flame.”
“And,” Charles went on, resignation filling his voice, “there’s a horse missing. A nice chestnut gelding, plus a good saddle and tack.”
They fell silent, then Dalziel quietly cursed. “The blackguard’s escaped. He’s gone.”
For one instant, they all toyed with the notion of giving chase, then remembered in how many directions a man on a horse could have gone.
His face set, an impassive mask, Dalziel stepped down from the porch. “All that’s left is for us to go home.”
Epilogue
Gervase Aubrey Simon Tregarth, 6th Earl of Crowhurst, married Madeline Henrietta Gascoigne, of the Treleaver Park Gascoignes, in the church at Ruan Minor just over four weeks later.
The church with its strange serpentine stone was packed, people standing in the aisles and overflowing down the steps to fill the churchyard, all gathered to witness the joining not just of the two major local families but also two people who were widely known and admired. Those inside the church were mostly local gentry; the only outsiders were Gervase’s colleagues and their wives, Madeline’s godmother and a few far-flung relatives. The day was one the people of the peninsula weren’t about to miss, and intended to celebrate; the formalities were observed, but a relaxed, joyous air pervaded all.
A stir went up when Madeline’s carriage halted before the lych-gate. Delighted exclamations rippled through the crowd when she stepped down in a cloud of silk and lace. Radiant, on Harry’s arm she walked into the church and down the aisle to the strains of the organ.
Harry gave her away; he placed her hand in Gervase’s, then stepped back to sit with Edmond and Ben. Charles and Gervase’s cousin stood alongside him, while Penny and Belinda had followed Madeline down the aisle.
The service was short, uncluttered, direct. When the vicar named them man and wife, Madeline beamed, put back her veil and stepped into Gervase’s arms. He smiled, kissed her, too briefly but they knew their roles. Turning, arm in arm, their faces serene, showing their joy, they walked slowly up the aisle accepting the congratulations of all who leaned close to kiss their cheeks and shake their hands.
Around them, the organ pealed in joyful celebration, almost it seemed in triumph. Certainly there was an element of that in the tenor of many of the congratulatory messages; it seemed plain that to everyone theirs was a union not just to be applauded but celebrated as an example that all was well in this corner of the world.
The wars were behind them; this was the future, one to look forward to and embrace.
It took nearly an hour for Madeline and Gervase to travel the distance from the church steps—where their assembled half siblings had showered them with rice—to the carriage waiting to whisk them to the castle; once inside, they relaxed with identical sighs, gently squeezed each other’s fingers while they traded smiling glances, then sat back to recoup their energies over the short drive.
Gervase glanced at the brooch anchored between Madeline’s breasts. “That piece may be old, but I doubt it ever looked so well.” It sat perfectly nested amid the ivory lace adorning her gown’s neckline.
Smiling, she looked down, tracing the worked gold. “It was nice of Dalziel to send confirmation that the brooch was officially declared treasure trove.”
“Hmm.” Gervase hadn’t been surprised his ex-commander had thought of it; Dalziel rarely let any detail slip. The declaration had meant that the boys’ ownership of the brooch had been recognized, and their gift of it to Madeline would stand.
“I had wondered,” she murmured, “whether it was appropriate to wear it—something for which a traitor had sold information that hurt our troops.” Looking up, she met his eyes. “But I decided that instead it was a sign he, our gentleman traitor, hadn’t won. I have the brooch—he doesn’t.”
Gervase smiled back. “A sign of defiance.”
Also, Madeline thought, a symbol, at least to her, of the events that had opened her eyes and brought her to this moment, to being Gervase’s wife.
To having confidence in their love, to being able to say “I do” so sincerely.
Everyone had gathered in the forecourt and on the steps to greet them; the carriage rolled in and halted to applause and cheers. Gervase stepped down, handed her down and a roar went up—immediately followed by a deafening boom !
Everyone looked to the ramparts, then another of the castle’s cannons barked. Madeline looked at Gervase, but he shook his head. Not him.
Charles materialized beside her, shutting the carriage door and waving them up the steps. “Your brothers,” he told Madeline as the last of the cannons roared. “They thought it appropriate and conscripted Christian, Tony and Jack Hendon to give them a hand. Don’t worry—they’re safe.”
Madeline laughed, relieved by that news and amused that Charles had been so quick to volunteer it. But then Penny was expecting their first child, so perhaps Charles was developing the sensitivity of a parent.
She made a mental note to mention it to Penn
The hours that followed were filled with happiness, pure, simple, a catalogue of relaxed pleasures, of those small moments that shine in memories ever after, a fitting accolade, she later thought, her gaze resting on Gervase, for a man who had selflessly served his country for so long.
She glanced around, at his friends and their wives, most of whom were in a delicate condition, saw the happiness they’d found shining in their eyes—other fitting accolades. Only Christian yet sat alone. She pondered that, then a bright laugh drew her gaze to Belinda—testing her wings with one of the younger gentlemen.
Looking swiftly around, Madeline located her brothers—all three, amazingly, were behaving themselves much as if their good behavior was their wedding gift to her. Her lips quirked, bittersweet; they would be returning to school in a few weeks, and when next she saw them Harry would be grown, with Edmond following closely. Her time to be devoted solely to them was at an end, but Gervase was now there to take them through the next phase, teaching them to be men, something she wouldn’t have been able to do, and there was no man she more wished them to emulate.
In return…her gaze drifted to Annabel, and Jane, then back to Belinda, still smiling at the besotted young man. She would take the three girls in hand. Although she had no great liking for London, for them she would brave the ton and the Season and make sure they were presented properly. Sybil and Muriel would help, but Madeline accepted that, much as with her brothers the primary role had fallen to her, with Gervase’s sisters she would be their mentor, their true guardian.
She wondered if Gervase would view her teaching them to fight and defend themselves, at least to a point, unladylike; regardless, she considered that a necessary accomplishment preparatory to their come-outs.
Life went on. One role ended, another began.
And yet another was developing, not here yet, which was just as well; by her calculations, she had eight months to get all the necessary arrangements to her liking before the next addition to their melded family made an appearance.
Her gaze drifted to Gervase; she smiled. She hadn’t told him yet; she was saving the news as a surprise for later that night.
Gervase felt her gaze, turned and caught it—caught the secretive, madonnalike smile that played about her lips. She was so serene these days; she’d managed the organization of their wedding with an effortless ease that had left him amazed. The bombardment of decisions had left him reeling—had sent him slinking away to hide in his library. She’d smiled and let him go, and handled all with gracious aplomb.
Thank God he’d had the sense to marry her.
Leaving those with whom he’d been conversing, he strolled to her side, took her hand and drew her to her feet. When her brows rose in question, he smiled. “Come and waltz.”
He led her to the floor, swung her into his arms, into the revolutions—and they both relaxed, let the barriers they deployed with all others, thin veils, true, but still there, fall. They smiled into each other’s eyes, and simply shared the moment. That curious, fabulous, infinitely precious unity of feeling, of being.
They’d danced the first waltz long ago; there was little by way of formalities remaining. The musicians were supplying a steady stream of waltzes that a large number of couples were enjoying.
Following his gaze around the room, Madeline sighed, a contented sound. “It’s gone well, I think.”
“It has.” He waited until she met his eyes. “But regardless of all else, I have all I need of the day. You.”
She was already smiling, but her gray-green eyes softened, glowed with a serene light he was entirely content to bathe in for the rest of his life. He drew her closer, whirled her into a turn and gave himself over to the moment.
That sense of contentedness lingered, a gentle warmth about his heart.
Later, when he joined his ex-comrades and Jack Hendon at the side of the room in what had come to be something of a tradition, Christian raised a brow and asked after the traitor’s cargo.
“The authorities in Falmouth sent a platoon of sailors the day after you and Dalziel left. They sifted the entire beach, and turned up three other pieces, all relatively small—a tiara, a necklace and a filigree orb. Once the platoon had retreated, the locals descended. They searched even more diligently, but found nothing more. The consensus of opinion is that heavier, denser items would have much less chance of being washed ashore, so most of our last traitor’s thirty pieces of silver are almost certainly sitting on the ocean floor somewhere around the Manacles.”
Tony Blake grunted. “At least he’s been denied payment. That’s some consolation.”
Each and every one of them would much rather have seen him hang.
“If only,” Charles said, “there was something distinctive about him. But a dark-haired, well-spoken gentleman who at a glance looks and sounds like Dalziel covers at least a quarter of the aristocracy.”
“And we’re unlikely to get another chance at him.” Jack Warnefleet sipped the brandy he was nursing. “That’s what irks most.”
“Us, and Dalziel.” Deverell narrowed his eyes. “I can’t imagine he was happy, having got so close—on the same beach, in the same area—only to have the man slip through his fingers.”
Gervase frowned. “Not happy, no. Strangely, however, I think he’s resigned.” He arched a brow at Christian.
Who nodded. “I traveled back to London with him afterward. By the time we reached town, I got the impression he’d shut the door on the last traitor and all his works.”
“That meshes,” Tristan said, “with whispers I’ve been hearing over the last weeks that he’s expected to retire within the next month.”
“He’d mentioned that he was tying up loose ends,” Christian said. “There can’t be that many more left.”
Charles raised his brows high. “Which leads to a very interesting question—once he retires, will we finally be able to learn who he is?”
They all considered that.
“Unless he becomes a hermit,” Tony said, “presumably we’ll run into him as his real self—Royce Whoever-he-is, Lord Whatever.”
“Curiosity is my besetting sin,” Charles quipped. “I can’t wait to fill in the blanks.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jack Warnefleet raised his glass.
They all did, then Jack glanced around their circle. “We seem to have made a habit of this, gathering at each other’s weddings. As I recall, last time”—he nodded at Deverell—“at your nuptials, we all watched Gervase walk away, summoned back to his castle, and wondered what had called him back.” With an expansive gesture, Jack indicated the rest of the room. “Now we know, and here we are, dancing at his wedding.”
“This time, however”—Charles picked up the thread—“there’s only one of us left to wonder about.” He turned to Christian. And smiled. “You.”
Christian laughed, entirely unruffled, but then, Gervase thought, he was the least ruffleable of them all.
He made them a mock bow. “I’m desolated to report, gentlemen, that despite considerable reconnoitering, I’ve as yet failed to discover any lady over whom I feel compelled to make plans. Much as I salute your endeavors and their exemplary success, as the last member of the Bastion Club unwed, I find myself in no great hurry to change my status. Aside from all else, you have between you set the bar exceedingly high, and I wouldn’t want to let the side, as it were, down. I clearly need to polish my brass, as well as my address.”
They didn’t let it rest, of course, but teased and ribbed in a lighthearted, good-natured way. Christian, of them all, was the last man one would attempt to pressure—wasted effort. While he laughed and turned their comments aside with practiced ease, his stance didn’t waver in the least.
In the end, Christian himself pointed out, “As both the oldes
They all looked at him, trying to see past the comment, all sensing that it hid some deeper meaning. Whatever it was, none of them could fathom it.
Predictably, it was Charles who put their collective riposte into words. He fixed Christian with a wide-eyed look. “Whoever said falling in love was straightforward?”
Christian returned to London two days later. As he often did, he sought refuge at the Bastion Club. It was midafternoon when he climbed the stairs to the club’s library. Closing the door, he crossed to the tantalus, poured himself a brandy, then settled in one of the comfortable armchairs by the hearth. And sipped. And thought.
There was no other member staying at the club; he was the last one unwed, with no lady waiting at home, at the huge house in Grosvenor Square.
He thought back to Gervase’s wedding, to their gathering there, revisited the others’ words, the advice they’d jokingly offered him; he smiled as he recalled, but then Charles’s last words replayed in his mind and his smile faded.
Charles and the others had misinterpreted his earlier comment. He hadn’t suggested that him falling in love would not be straightforward—he’d stated that for him, finding the perfect wife was not destined to be straightforward. As it wasn’t, for one very simple reason.
Whoever said falling in love was straightforward?
In that, he could prove Charles wrong. For him, falling in love had been the easiest, most straightforward and natural thing in the world. As he recalled. What, in his case, made matters anything but straightforward was the difficulty he faced in marrying the lady in question.
Not least because she was already wed.
Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the chair. A parade of memories flickered past his mind’s eye—all the things that had happened, all the things he couldn’t change.
In the distance, he heard the front doorbell peal; one part of his mind tracked Gasthorpe’s footsteps as he went to answer the door…but then the past dragged him back, wrapped him in soft arms and the wreathing scent of jasmine.