Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) Page 18

  ***

  Two housemaids murmured together in the corridor when Carrie came down to breakfast. They bobbed and hurried away. In the breakfast room, the footman, Alex, who usually served breakfast, was absent. Instead, Abercrombie stood at the buffet.

  “Good morning, Abercrombie. Where is Alex?”

  The butler brought her coffee. “Good morning, Miss Leeming. I’m afraid we had a sad event last evening. After breakfast, his lordship wishes to speak to you in the library.”

  Carrie took a few sips and put down the cup, as concern for Nicholas churned in her stomach. “Never mind my breakfast. I’ll see him now.”

  She knocked on the library door. When Nicholas replied, she entered and saw him at his desk writing. He looked up. “Good morning, Carrie.” He stood and slowly crossed to her. “Sit down for a moment, will you? There’s something I must tell you.”

  “What happened last night?” She sank down with a sense of foreboding while studying his face, noting his rigid jaw. His gray eyes met hers, deeply troubled. She swallowed and waited for him to tell her, guessing the news would be grim.

  He sat beside her. “Someone attacked two of my footmen last night. They killed Alex and knocked Jerry out. We don’t know who is guilty or what their motive is.”

  Shocked and saddened, Carrie shivered. “Oh, no. Poor Alex.” She swallowed, grief-stricken for the footman who always greeted her with a warm smile. “Is Jerry all right?”

  “He appears to be. Fortunately.”

  She longed to reach out to Nicholas, to put her arms around him. But he held himself rigid and seemed so far away from her, she guessed any attempt to comfort him would be unwelcome. “Are we in danger? Nicholas, please tell me.”

  “They appear to have gone, but don’t worry. We’ll keep guard.” His cold, emotionless voice chilled her. “The villains tried to set fire to the house. Warren, Giles, and I put the flames out before much damage was done.”

  “Is my Uncle Simon behind this?” she asked after he grew silent. She struggled to believe a relative of hers could be so evil.

  A murderous expression heated Nicholas’s eyes but vanished when he softened his gaze. “I don’t know, but Warren and I intend to find out. I’ve sent for the magistrate and the constable, the vicar, too, and the doctor for Jerry. They laid Alex in his bedchamber. If I’m not back by the time they arrive, will you deal with them? I’ve explained everything to Abercrombie. He and Giles are armed. They won’t admit anyone into the house, except these three men my butler knows. I hate to ask it of you, Carrie, but there’s no one else. Lady Penelope is not up to dealing with any of this. And it will be better for Gwen to go home today as she planned. Make sure Bella and Jeremy remain indoors, give them something to occupy them. I don’t care what it is, as long as they don’t go to the kitchen looking for biscuits and annoy Armand. Heaven help them if he’s cooking a souffle for luncheon.” He looked at her, his smile strained. “He might chase them out with the carving knife.”

  She was glad of his confidence in her. Carrie returned his stiff smile with a tremulous one, appreciating his attempt to lighten the moment. She wanted to hug him, but eager to be gone, he resembled a coiled spring.

  “Warren and I are about to ride out to look for a trace of these devils before rain washes away any sign of them.”

  “You think there’s more than one person behind this?”

  He gave a helpless shrug. “I suspect whoever it is doesn’t act alone, but I really don’t know.”

  She held out her hand to him. “You will be careful?”

  He took her hand and pressed it gently in his. “I will. If we fail to find them, I’ll ask the constable to send more men.” He released her hand. “Try not to worry. I don’t want the others upset.”

  “You can rely on me.”

  He stood. “I know I can. Go to breakfast. They will be wondering where you’ve got to.”

  She couldn’t eat a bite. “What shall I tell them?”

  “Only that Warren and I have gone out. I’ll explain later.”

  “Gwen will want to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll speak to her before I leave. I don’t want her to return here until it’s safe.”

  “Very well.” She rose and went to the door. When she glanced back at Nicholas, he had returned to his letter, his shoulders slumped. She had the peculiar feeling that she had lost him. Odd, when he had never been hers. She shuddered with distress as she stood outside the library door, wanting to go back, to ease his suffering somehow, but knew it to be the wrong time.

  After another shaky breath, she hurried to the breakfast room. They would all be there, except for Lady Penelope, who had a tray sent up to her bedchamber.

  They’d notice the changes in the house, the absence of the footmen and the nervousness of the staff, but she must make things appear as normal as possible. It was all she could do to relieve the burden he carried.

  Carrie didn’t fully understand what he was going through but suspected, although the tragic death of the young footman affected him profoundly, something else troubled him. She’d been aware of the deep sadness in him from the first. This was the barrier which stood between them. Of this, she was sure. She was determined to find out when this was settled.

  Chapter Twenty

  An odd hush settled over the house after Abercrombie gathered the staff together in the servants’ quarters to tell them what occurred and warn them to be vigilant.

  In the library, Nicholas described the villainy which had been afoot on the previous evening. Gwen gasped, her hands forming fists against her cheeks. “But this is beyond imagining Nicholas! To attack a marquess’s property? How could they expect to get away with it? Can Winston help? He could bring extra men. I’m sure he’d want to.”

  “No, thank you, Gwen. I intend to find these devils today. And I won’t have anyone else placed in danger. The constable and the magistrate will be here this morning. If I fail, I’ll send for the Bow Street Runners. It depends on what Warren and I discover today.”

  “Please be careful, Nicholas. They’re murderers.”

  “We were soldiers, Gwen. Out of practice maybe, but we haven’t forgotten how to flush out the enemy and deal with them.”

  “Of course. I know you do.” She stalked across the carpet, her skirts swaying. “I hate to leave Carrie saddled with all this,” she said, spinning around. “I shall stay.”

  “No. Go home until this is over. The fewer people I have to worry about, the better.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Gwen, I insist.”

  She sighed and came to kiss his cheek. “Remember, we are only a few hours away. Winston will come if you send word.”

  “I know he would. Have a safe journey. An armed groom will travel with you in case you strike trouble.”

  “Surely there’s no need.”

  “There’s every need.”

  She gave a nervous nod. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  After she left, Nicholas went in search of Carrie. He found her with Miss Scotsdale, Bella, and Jeremy in the morning room, where they worked on a puzzle. The children were laughing.

  Carrie rose and came to greet him.

  Miss Scotsdale stared owlishly at him but said nothing. Bella and Jeremy seemed mercifully unaware of what happened during the night.

  Jeremy stared at him, his eyes bright with expectation. Nicholas gestured to silence the boy before he could make his usual demands. “You and Bella must be patient and remain indoors today. I will be very angry if I hear you’ve caused Carrie and Miss Scotsdale any trouble.”

  “Can we play with our puppies, Nicholas?” Bella smiled sweetly at him.

  He had expected this. “You may. But in the schoolroom. I’ll have the rug taken up.”

  Carrie accompanied him to the front door. Outside on the drive, Warren waited with the two horses. “Please don’t take any risks,” she urged him, her eyes wide and troubled. Her hand on his sleeve trembled.

 
Nicholas suffered a swift, desperate desire to enfold her in his arms and kiss her. Instead, he grasped her chin with his finger and thumb, forcing a smile. “I don’t intend to. Don’t worry.”

  Once mounted, they trotted their horses along the drive toward the bridle track which led to the river. Never in his life had he expected to face such a challenge to hearth and home and to those he loved. Rage tightened his stomach; he fought to tamp it down. He knew from experience anger clouded the brain and led to missteps. He didn’t intend to lose his cool; clear-headed thinking had always served him well on the battlefield.

  They entered the woods. Bird calls and rustles among the bushes greeted them beneath the canopy. Nicholas breathed in the smells of damp and rotting leaves. He saw no sign of a disturbance made by this man or men. Had they ridden this way?

  Nicholas rode out of the woods with Warren and made for the bridge over the river. “Maybe Vano can tell us more. He will know if any strangers are still in the area,” he said to Warren. They urged their horses into a gallop across the fields and headed north to where the coil of smoke wafting into the sky pinpointed the position of the wanderer camp.

  The gypsies had begun to pack. Vano stepped forward and hailed them as they approached.

  Nicholas leaned towards him from the saddle. “You’re leaving?”

  “A day or two, milord. Time to move on once my child is born.”

  “I hope the birthing goes well.” He didn’t ask how many children Vano had but suspected many of the children running about the camp were his progeny. Nor was he about to discuss with Vano what had occurred during the night. “Has anyone seen the man at target practice again?”

  Vano nodded. “One of my men saw him on horseback this morning.”

  Nicholas’s pulse quickened. “Could he describe the fellow?”

  He shrugged. “Dark hair is all.”

  Not Max’s brother. But Nicholas remained convinced Simon Leeming was behind it. “Where was this?”

  “Two miles east of here, near the fork in the river where the willows grow.”

  Nicholas took up the reins. “My thanks, Vano. Safe travels.”

  He bent his head in his peculiar half bow. Nicholas suspected it was beneath him to defer to anyone, but perhaps he considered he owed Nicholas a modicum of respect. Or maybe he had an eye on his next visit. His following words confirmed it.

  “Next year, then, milord.”

  Nicholas turned his horse’s head. “Goodbye to you.”

  He and Warren rode away. Once they were out of earshot, Warren said, “My father cursed the gypsies. Drove them off his land. Thieves they are.”

  “I find it better to remain on good terms with them. Vano isn’t such a bad fellow. You respect them, they respect your land, at least most of the time.”

  Warren looked doubtful.

  Urging their horses into a canter, they rode on.

  A short time later, they’d eased their mounts into a trot when Nicholas pulled up. He pointed ahead of them. “The place Vano spoke of is a half-mile or so beyond those trees.”

  When they got as close as they dared, they dismounted and tied the reins to a branch.

  Nicholas pulled out his gun, cocked it, and crept forward. Warren followed. The men’s two horses grazed near the river.

  As they edged closer, loud voices reached them.

  Nicholas signaled to Warren.

  They covered the distance in a half-crouch and took cover in a thicket of trees. Nicholas spotted the camp through the branches. A stone’s throw from the riverbank, Simon and his French friend, Bettencourt, sat on a log, tearing off pieces from a loaf of bread and drinking from a bottle. The two men were involved in a heated argument.

  Nicholas turned to Warren and held a finger to his lips. He gestured and moved behind the thick trunk of a dead tree to hear their conversation.

  “You’re a fool. If I’d meant you to attack the house, I would have said so,” Simon yelled. “I instructed you to find the boy’s bedchamber and deal with him. Make it look like an accident had befallen him. Now they’re on the alert for us.”

  “They expected something to happen. I couldn’t get inside, so starting the fire was the only option,” Bettencourt said. “They’d planted guards around the house. It was then or never. Should the house have burned down, your worries would have been over.”

  “But it didn’t. And if it had burned down, who’s to say if the boy would have died? This has been a clumsy effort from the start,” Simon snarled. “I told you to entice Caroline into the garden at the ball where we could have taken her hostage. What happened to your so-called famous charm?”

  As he listened, Nicholas gritted his teeth with anger.

  “It would have worked if the opportunity had presented itself. She left before I could dance with her.”

  “Bah. Now we can’t get within a mile of the house. The gates are guarded. We’re locked out and cannot use the carriage. Forget taking hostages. It’s my bet they’ll keep the boy inside the house. We might as well give up on this occasion and leave before they find us. You can bet Pennington is out searching for us at this very moment. We can wait for another chance. When the boy returns to school will be better. He won’t have much protection and can suffer an unfortunate accident. We should plan for that as soon as we leave here.”

  “You are set on this course?”

  “I am. I should have been Baron Leeming, and but for that blasted boy, I would have. After Max had two daughters, I thought I had the title within my grasp. He’d been sickly as a child with scarlet fever. Left him with a dicky heart. It was obvious he wouldn’t make old bones.”

  Impossible now to silence his mounting rage, Nicholas stepped out from the trees, the gun pointed at Simon’s chest. “You were right about one thing, at least. Throw down your guns.” A speculative look in his black eyes, Bettencourt held on to his pistol. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Nicholas warned. “On your feet, both of you.”

  With a curse, the Frenchman tossed his gun away.

  “You’ll never get us back to the house,” Simon yelled. “You can’t shoot both of us. It’s two against one.”

  As he spoke, the Frenchman reached into his boot, and jumping to his feet, raised his arm, a knife flashing in his hand.

  Warren fired from the bushes. The man cursed and clutched at his arm, the knife clattering onto the stones.

  “That’s hardly sporting.” Simon glanced at his injured comrade with no sign of pity.

  Nicholas kicked the knife and gun out of their reach. “Not sporting, eh?” He stepped forward and punched Simon hard on the jaw.

  Simon fell onto his back on the ground, gasping.

  “That was for my young footman whose life you snuffed out with as little care as you might a candle and Max’s children,” Nicholas growled.

  Simon scrambled to his feet, his hand on his jaw. “You’ve loosened a tooth!”

  The punch did little to dampen down Nicholas’s anger. He wanted to take both men apart. His jaw was so tight he spat the words out. “I’d worry more about your neck if I were you.”

  He held the gun on them as Warren tied their wrists with twine.

  “Move,” Nicholas ordered once they were safely secured. “The constable is waiting for you both. He’ll be delighted to take a sought-after felon and your French friend into custody. You can add Alex’s murder to those charges, you fiends.”

  “But I didn’t murder your footman. It was Bettencourt,” Simon said, licking his bloody lip.

  Nicholas gestured with the gun. “You wanted Leeming Hall. But a Newgate cell is all you’ll see until they hang you.”

  Bettencourt turned to Simon in fury. “It was all your doing, Leeming. It’s the title you’re after and all that goes with it. The boy stood in your way. And you wanted me to see to him and not get your hands dirty because once you were the baron, the law couldn’t touch you.”

  “You agreed to it,” Simon snapped. “You wanted me to set you up for life.
I should have known you wouldn’t be up to it.”

  “Doesn’t much matter now, does it? When you’ll both hang for this,” Nicholas said.

  He prodded them in the back with his gun to get them moving.

  Simon continued arguing with Bettencourt as they stumbled over the rocky ground toward the horses.

  “Let’s get you mounted. No tricks. I’m just as happy to hand over your dead bodies to the law. No honor among thieves,” Nicholas remarked to Warren as they followed close behind them.

  ***

  Carrie’s busy morning ahead failed to distract her from the gripping anxiety. A murderer was lurking somewhere out there and threatening their lives! Was Nicholas in danger? It made her stomach roil to think of it. Her father gone, and now poor Alex. Life seemed terribly precarious, and happiness elusive. She hurried down to greet the vicar who had just arrived.

  While she explained to him what had happened, the magistrate, Sir Henry Markham, arrived with the constable, and after listening to her hasty explanation, went to question Jerry.

  “There might be an inquest,” Sir Henry said, returning to the morning room afterward as Carrie presided over the tea tray.

  The constable, Ben Wilkins, had promised to remove the poor footman’s body to the village church, where the vicar would preside over the funeral.

  The doctor had called and examined Jerry. He pronounced the footman’s head wound not life-threatening. With rest, he would recover completely. Then he rushed off to attend to a case of colic in the village.

  When Carrie heard the riders on the driveway, it was all she could do not to jump up and rush to the window.

  “I believe Lord Pennington has arrived,” she said, her voice shaking.

  Moments later, Nicholas entered in his riding clothes and dusty top boots. Carrie put down the teacup, which rattled in its saucer.

  Nicholas’s gaze rested on her for a moment. “Ah, Sir Henry, please excuse my state of dress. Good of you to come so swiftly. I have caught the perpetrators, a Mr. Leeming and a Frenchman, Bettencourt.”

  So, it was her uncle! Carrie’s shoulders sagged. “Shall I pour you a cup of tea, Nicholas?”