A Marquess, a Miss and a Mystery Page 13

  Her face lit up.

  ‘Although...’

  Her face fell. She really did have a remarkably expressive face. And didn’t seem to be trying to disguise what she felt in the least, unlike most women he knew.

  ‘I didn’t have time to do a thorough search. And the chaplain probably wouldn’t have entered the Duke’s apartments anyway, you know,’ he pointed out, as gently as he could.

  ‘You mean, I should have just let him go past? And not smashed the vase? But then,’ she pointed out, ‘it might have been too late. I thought it would be better to alert you, to give you time to escape, rather than wait to see where he was going.’

  ‘And that was probably for the best. It just means that we will have to come and search another time. The hour is almost up and...hell!’ Now he could hear someone else coming up the stairs. He pushed her deeper into the alcove, so that her raised hands became folded against his chest. She glanced up at him in alarm. Curled her fingers into his waistcoat.

  And it occurred to him that if anyone did pass this way, they’d assume the worst.

  ‘Hell,’ he muttered, stepping back smartly.

  ‘Devizes?’ The man who had just reached the landing just had to be his half-brother, didn’t it? It was that kind of a day. And, of course, Horatia simply had to stumble out of the alcove, and, with a flushed face, start smoothing down her clothing.

  ‘What,’ said the Duke, stalking in their direction, ‘are you doing?’ Though the expression on his face made it pretty clear what he thought they’d been doing.

  ‘Looking for places to hide clues for a treasure hunt,’ he said blandly.

  The Duke gave him a look. Turned his head, ever so slightly, to observe Horatia’s somewhat dishevelled state.

  ‘Under her skirts, was it?’ said the Duke.

  ‘What? Absolutely not!’ Horatia took a step forward and clasped her hands at her waist. ‘Please don’t think badly of Lord Devizes. He...’ Her voice petered out as she strove, and failed, to find a plausible excuse for their presence there. In an alcove.

  ‘How can you suggest such a thing?’ said Nick, smoothly.

  ‘Because I know you.’

  ‘However, you do not know Miss Carmichael. Or how clumsy she can be.’

  ‘Clumsy?’

  ‘Yes, I...’ Horatia looked the picture of guilt. ‘I broke a vase, just now.’ When she pointed to where its remains lay, the Duke turned to look over his shoulder.

  ‘Miss Carmichael, suddenly overwhelmed by guilt and fear of what you might say or do to her for breaking an object she thought might well be priceless, darted into the alcove to hide. And when I tried to remonstrate with her, she, ah, grabbed me and pulled me into the alcove, as well.’

  He gestured to the front of his waistcoat, where he was pretty sure the Duke would spy a set of damp little handprints.

  Though, had she really grabbed him in the way he’d described, she would have gone for his lapels.

  Fortunately, the Duke clearly hadn’t ever been pulled into any sort of alcove by a desperate woman, or he would have known about their methods, for his expression changed.

  ‘I shall ring for somebody to clean up the mess,’ he said.

  ‘I am so sorry, Your Grace,’ said Horatia, her face pink with mortification. ‘I hope it was not valuable. Lord Devizes said...’

  ‘I joked with her about it being a priceless Ming vase. I am afraid I rather alarmed her.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Duke, as though somehow he might have known it had to be Nick’s fault. And, after standing looking at them for a moment or two, as though considering saying something pithy, apparently thought better of it. For he sighed and walked off in the direction of his apartment.

  Horatia sort of folded into his side, taking his arm. She was shaking.

  ‘Well done,’ he murmured.

  ‘But I didn’t do anything!’

  ‘You followed my lead,’ he said. ‘Rather than complaining about me putting the blame on you.’

  ‘But I was to blame for it. Although, I have to admit I was a bit surprised you elected to tell him the truth.’

  ‘Yes, it was not very gallant of me,’ he said, feeling a bit guilty himself, now, for describing her as clumsy.

  ‘No, it wasn’t that. It was just I thought we were supposed to be making everyone think you and I...’ She faltered. And blushed.

  ‘We did. Because he thought I was making up excuses. But he couldn’t accuse me of lying, not once you’d backed me up. Or he would have been accusing you of lying, too.’

  She wrinkled up her nose as she thought this over. ‘I see,’ she finally said. ‘Very clever. Very effective.’

  That praise, given in that matter-of-fact way, made him, for some reason, want to slip his arm round her shoulder and drop a grateful kiss on the crown of her head. She had the most sweet-smelling, lustrous hair. Would it feel as soft against his lips as it looked? She wasn’t the kind of woman who would use lotions or oils to style it. Natural, that was Horatia. And clever. Clever, yes...it would be much better if he concentrated on her mental abilities than her physical potential. ‘Your quick thinking certainly got us out of hot water that time. For it turns out it was just as well you got me out of his rooms before I was ready to leave, or he would have caught me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. And then pulled herself upright, her face determined, as though she was giving herself a talking to. ‘So, where next?’

  ‘Next?’ Given the choice, he’d push her back into that alcove, pull all the pins out of her hair and...

  But this was Herbert’s sister. An innocent. He had no business thinking such thoughts.

  ‘I think we should adjourn for now. Go to our rooms and tidy ourselves up. Your skirts are soaked,’ he said, bending down to pluck a petal from her gown. ‘And probably your shoes as well. And look,’ he said, tucking the petal into a waistcoat pocket. ‘I have grubby little handprints all over me.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘We shall meet again at nuncheon.’

  ‘Nuncheon? Why, that won’t be for...ages! And we have so little time as it is...’

  ‘Very well, we will meet in half an hour. In the portrait gallery. We may just be able to search a few of the men’s rooms before they return.’

  She beamed at him. And marched off, leaving a trail of little wet footprints behind her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Horatia was rather surprised, when she got back to her room, to see Lady Elizabeth there, pacing up and down before the sitting-room window.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I was just about to ask the same thing. What has happened to your gown?’

  ‘I broke a vase,’ Horatia said, making for her bedroom.

  ‘I will ring for Connie,’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘No need. I can soon dry my feet and change my stockings.’

  ‘It must have been a big vase, to have soaked you so thoroughly,’ said Lady Elizabeth with a puzzled frown.

  ‘And that wasn’t the worst of it,’ said Horatia, reaching for a towel. ‘I am now in bad odour with both the Duke and his chaplain.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Well,’ said Horatia, sitting on the edge of her bed to toe off her damp shoes and unroll her stockings, ‘I’m not sure about the chaplain. But when the Duke strolled along, I felt so guilty about smashing the horrid vase that I tried to hide. And made Lord Devizes try to hide, as well. And the Duke thought we were...’

  Lady Elizabeth chuckled. ‘Oh, my word. I can just imagine what Theakstone thought. It is what anyone would think if they saw Lord Devizes and a woman trying to hide. Um...where, precisely were you trying to hide?’

  ‘In an alcove about three inches deep,’ she admitted, shaking her head. ‘I think the Duke believed my version of events in the end. Because
there was the vase and the roses all over the carpet. And my dress and shoes were wet.’

  ‘And what of the chaplain?’ Lady Elizabeth went to sit on the window seat. ‘What did he think?’

  ‘Well, it was all rather puzzling. First of all he started calling me wanton. But I wasn’t in the alcove with Lord Devizes then, I was kneeling on the carpet trying to pick up the bits of smashed pottery. It was when Lord Devizes said something about having similar tastes that Dr Grimes went very red in the face and sort of...gobbled like a turkey.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Oh, something about a cleric coercing an innocent female into some act that was out of place at a respectable house party...’

  Lady Elizabeth burst out laughing.

  ‘What? What is so funny?’

  ‘Um... Well, single ladies—respectable ones, anyway—are not supposed to know about such things. But some men enjoy...’ She lowered her voice and looked from left to right as though checking nobody could overhear, although only the two of them were in the room. ‘Having a female...um...put her mouth, that is, putting their...er...private parts into a female mouth.’

  Horatia thought about where she’d been kneeling. And how close the chaplain had been standing over her, so that she’d almost bumped her forehead against his thighs.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, placing her hand on her stomach, which had sort of clenched up. ‘That is positively disgusting. And the chaplain...he...’ she said. ‘He is supposed to be a man of God. And he’s so...old.’

  Lady Elizabeth was giggling so much now that she was beyond saying anything to the point for a few moments. Which gave Horatia time to put on fresh shoes and stockings, and get a clean gown from her wardrobe.

  ‘You do me the world of good,’ said Lady Elizabeth, wiping her streaming eyes. ‘I was so blue-devilled before you came in.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I could see that something was troubling you.’

  ‘It’s Mama. The doctor is with her again. And she looks so ill that I’m starting to wonder if...’

  ‘Oh, dear. How will you manage if... I mean, of course, you could come and live with me, if you think you could stand Aunt Matilda, if you don’t have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘That is very kind of you. But if Mama should die, then there will be nothing to stop me from going to Leipzig and marrying Mr Brown.’

  ‘Of course. I mean...oh, I must dash. I am supposed to be meeting Lord Devizes in the portrait gallery. The treasure hunt, you understand.’

  ‘Yes. I do. No need to apologise. Just promise to let me know if you have any more encounters like the one with the chaplain!’

  * * *

  The portrait gallery was deserted when Horatia got there. She might have known Lord Devizes would take longer to get changed than she. She ambled along portraits of medieval persons she guessed must be Nick’s ancestors, coming to a halt beneath the painting of King Charles. Ermine. Those robes were definitely edged in ermine. Not sable.

  She chewed on her lower lip. Even though there was not a scrap of sable in sight, could she really let such a pathetic verse as the one Lord Devizes had scribbled pass unchecked? Should she tell him about the sable and table clue she’d come up with last night? Or would it make him think she was getting distracted from their goal? Or worse, would he be offended at her finding fault with his composition? Even though he’d described it as mere doggerel, one could never tell. Men could be such sensitive creatures.

  She turned at the sound of his slow, measured steps approaching. And blinked. Not only because he’d changed his soiled waistcoat for one of black, embroidered all over in an intricate pattern in silver thread, making her wonder if he was deliberately attempting to make them look like a matched pair. But also because she’d known it was him without having to turn round.

  ‘I remember him being far more magnificent than that,’ said Nick, eyeing King Charles with disfavour. ‘And bigger.’

  ‘Oh, just like the stream.’

  ‘Yes. Do you know, it was just as well we took what I thought was going to be a detour yesterday. Or I might not have...’ He stopped, frowning slightly, as though wondering why he’d been about to say whatever it was. But it was too late. She’d already worked out what he’d meant.

  ‘Your sister was correct, wasn’t she? About you being too young when you left to remember much.’

  He gave her a cool look. ‘It is not so much not remembering things, as remembering them in an exaggerated form.’

  ‘Like the stream.’

  ‘Precisely. And as for the rest of the house...’ He gave a slightly bitter-sounding laugh. ‘It has been strange, walking into rooms that are just as I remember them, yet not the same at all. Like the suit of armour. As a boy I found it fantastical. Remembered it as fantastical. But as a man...’ he shook his head ‘...I find it fanciful. Decorative, but ultimately useless. No knight would ride to war wearing such impractical armour.’

  ‘Perhaps it was never intended for use,’ she said, as soon as the thought popped into her head. ‘Perhaps it was meant to show the skill of the person who made it.’

  ‘Like most of this house,’ he agreed. ‘Meant for show. Not to actually live in. Except for perhaps a few rooms. But then...’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps I can explain it better if I show you something.’

  He took her arm and led her further along the gallery, until they came to a portrait of a fair-haired woman with three children at her knee. ‘Me, as a boy,’ he said, waving an arm at it. ‘With my mother and sisters.’

  She could see a sort of foreshadowing of the adults she’d met, in the faces of the children. Mary already had a petulant pout, Jane was looking as though she could swat someone with her fan, if only she’d had one, and he...

  Well, she certainly recognised that smile. And the gleam in his eyes as though he was plotting what mischief he was about to get into next.

  ‘Can you see,’ he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as though under the influence of some great emotion, ‘what is missing from this picture?’

  ‘Um.’ She looked at it again.

  ‘Or perhaps I should say, who?’ As he forced that last word through gritted teeth she saw what he meant.

  ‘Your brother and your father.’

  As he stared up at the picture, she stared at his profile. His jaw was bunching, as though he was grinding his teeth. ‘And yet by their very absence, they send a message, don’t they? That we are not a part of all...’ he waved his arm to indicate the corridor in which they stood ‘...this. I was allowed a taste of what could have been mine, only to be banished from it the moment the true heir returned. Like a sinner cast out from the Garden of Eden.’

  Horatia’s heart went out to him, because he was reaching out to her in his own way. At least, he was attempting to explain why he was the way he was, owning up to suffering years and years of hurt, rather than hiding everything the way he did with everyone else.

  But Horatia had no idea what she could say that might be of any consolation. So, instead, she decided to ask him a question that might encourage him to unburden himself further, if he was still in the mood to do so.

  ‘Why were you banished?’

  He shrugged. ‘My father apparently only had room in his life for one family at a time. My mother always knew, apparently, that he was a widower with a son when she married him, but learned never to provoke his wrath by asking about them. However, the rightful heir came as a great shock to us...’ he indicated the three children in the painting ‘...when he suddenly turned up, large as life and twice as ugly.’

  ‘I wish I could think of something to say that would be of some help,’ she admitted.

  ‘There isn’t anything anyone can say.’ He ran his fingers through his hair in an impatient gesture, then strode away to gaze out of a window, down on to the courtyard. ‘It was coming back here as a man which made me see
that this...’ he waved one arm in a gesture encompassing the entire house ‘...was never any sort of Garden of Eden. My mother was certainly far happier once we’d moved away from here, even though it was to a small estate with far fewer servants. And a far smaller allowance, I learned later on, when she was attempting to launch my sisters into society. But I... I...’

  She went to stand beside him. Stretched out her hand, tentatively, wanting to offer him comfort. Noted the way he’d clenched his hands into fists as he stood gazing out, not at what was there today, but something that had probably happened long ago. Pulled her own back to her side.

  ‘You felt only the pain of losing what you thought you had. Familiar surroundings. Luxuries you took for granted. Like, the sense of belonging to somewhere and someone. It was the same for me. Sort of. I mean...’

  He turned to frown at her.

  ‘Herbert must have told you about our own childhood? How, when our parents died, we had to go and live with Aunt Matilda? How she wasted no time in sending us both off to school, because if there was one thing she didn’t want, it was children under her feet.’ She smiled ruefully at the memory of her first sight of her eccentric, irritable, spinster Aunt Matilda. ‘She really, really doesn’t like the fact that I’m still living with her, either. She had such high hopes of washing her hands of me by marrying me off to some...somebody. Anybody. She was bitterly disappointed that I didn’t take. And to start with at least you still had your mother and sisters. I had to deal with...’ she shuddered ‘...school.’

  ‘School isn’t that bad,’ he said. ‘At least, I rather enjoyed my time at school. It gave me so many opportunities to get into mischief. Because I’d decided, by that time, that it might be the only way to get my father’s attention. Although, it turned out to be a waste of my time and effort. It was a measure of his indifference that no matter how badly I behaved, or, as I grew older, how much scandal I left in my wake, he never stirred a finger upon my behalf. All his attention was upon his firstborn.’ His mouth twisted in distaste.

  No wonder he behaved the way he did. And no wonder he was so determined to find his half-brother guilty. He’d felt abandoned and betrayed by his father. And now he wanted revenge upon what he clearly saw as the cuckoo that had thrust him out of his cosy nest.