A Marquess, a Miss and a Mystery Read online

  Horatia flinched at the reminder she was not the only person to have gone through a very difficult time of late and saw that this girl’s own troubles were probably what had made her capable of showing such sympathy when Horatia lost her brother. ‘Yes, you know how...unkind people can be, don’t you? People you thought were your friends?’

  ‘Yes. But you never really know who your true friends are until trouble comes, do you? Before Papa died, I was the toast of the ton. I was invited everywhere. And then...poof! They all vanished like...like...well...’ she gave a bitter laugh ‘like our fortune. Only a very few people treated me no differently after his...disgrace. Which is why I...’ She tucked her arm through Horatia’s and gave it a brief squeeze. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I need to remind you that I consider you one of my closest friends. No matter what Mama says.’

  ‘As I consider you to be mine,’ said Horatia, swallowing down a lump of guilt. For although she was swearing friendship, she was holding back all sorts of things from her. And not only about the nature of Herbert’s work and the circumstances surrounding his death. And it was all very well saying she didn’t want to put Lady Elizabeth in danger, but it was more than that. She didn’t really know if she could trust her.

  ‘I was so angry with Lord Devizes and with Mama,’ Lady Elizabeth said ruefully, ‘for the way they talked about you just now that I rather lost my temper with them both after you’d gone.’

  ‘I do wish I was not adding to the bad feeling which already exists between you and your parent,’ said Horatia, feeling guiltier than ever. ‘Particularly since so much of what she says about me is nothing but the truth. I am not well born. So I am not really a fit person to be your friend, not if you wish to maintain a fashionable appearance.’

  ‘But I don’t! Wish to maintain a fashionable appearance, that is. You above all people should know that.’

  ‘Yes, I must admit that is the one aspect of having to go into mourning I can embrace. It is such a relief not to have to try to work out what colours match with which others. Having to have everything black removes most of the difficulty out of choosing what to wear in the mornings. And during the rest of the day, too.’

  ‘No.’ Lady Elizabeth clapped one hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you are unfashionable, in that sense...’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is true. I have never been able to comprehend how it is that in nature there can be brown trees,’ she said, pointing with her free arm in the direction of the woodland on a nearby hill, ‘and green grass dotted with lots of different coloured flowers—’ she indicated the vibrant blooms tumbling from containers standing on the steps leading up to the terrace spanning the length of the house ‘—capped by a brilliant blue sky and it all looks charming. But put the same combination of colours and patterns next to my little body and...’ She shrugged and grimaced.

  ‘When you are out of mourning, I shall take you shopping. I am sure—’

  ‘No, please do not bother. Herbert did try to supervise my wardrobe when I first made my come-out. For he always looked so elegant, you know, that he was sure he could bring me into style.’ That was probably one of the reasons he and the Marquess had hit it off to start with. Both of them were beautiful, fashionable young men with a taste for mischief.

  ‘What happened, then?’

  ‘Well, do you know, he made the offer while we were at the theatre, just after one of his fashionable friends had turned his arrogant nose up at me for...well, I suppose I had been a touch rude, but then he was such an idiot. Anyway, there happened to be one of those acrobats upon the stage who could wrap her legs around the back of her head. And I felt as if he was urging me to become like her. You know, tying myself into a knot in order to fit in with society’s expectations.’

  ‘Now that,’ said Lady Elizabeth vehemently, ‘is something I completely understand. The way people expect you to make yourself something you are not in order to gain acceptance.’

  ‘Particularly men looking out for a bride. None of them wants to know what you are truly like. They just want you to become whatever it is that they want. If you express an opinion that is different to their own, they call you a bluestocking. And if you actually dare to inform a man that his own opinion is based upon a fallacy, then he will say you are a gorgon.’

  ‘Or a shrew,’ said Lady Elizabeth, pursing her lips. ‘It is only because of my rank that anyone still invites me anywhere.’

  ‘At least I don’t have to go anywhere I do not wish to any longer,’ Horatia said with satisfaction. ‘Not since Aunt Matilda has given up trying to marry me off respectably.’ Deciding she wasn’t going to tie herself in knots had been the first step along a course that had led, by progressive stages, to her obtaining relative freedom. ‘Nowadays I only ever attend events where I am sure of mingling with like-minded people.’

  ‘Apart from this wedding. Which I thought,’ said Lady Elizabeth shrewdly, ‘you had agreed to attend more as a favour to me, since you knew how difficult I was bound to find it. Instead...’

  ‘Ah. Yes. I have to admit, it was not my only motive...’

  They reached the fork that would lead straight back to the house. As they turned on to it, Horatia couldn’t help gazing along the immense length of the ornately decorated façade. It made her wonder why the Duke’s ancestors hadn’t called this place Theakstone Palace, rather than Theakstone Court. Its size alone surely qualified it for the title.

  ‘At least it has meant we can share a suite of rooms, rather than me being left to the mercy of my mother. Last time we were here, as I’m sure you know, we had rooms in the main part of the house,’ said Lady Elizabeth, pointing to the central block, which was about the size of an average cathedral, ‘rather than one of the guest wings,’ she finished with a distinct note of disdain.

  Horatia chewed on her lower lip for a moment or two. The suite of rooms she was sharing with Lady Elizabeth seemed very grand compared with what she was used to. But it sounded as if their only virtue in Lady Elizabeth’s eyes was the fact they afforded some sanctuary from her mother.

  ‘Are you really upset about that?’ Horatia said tentatively.

  ‘The Duke choosing somebody else, you mean?’

  She hadn’t, not exactly, but rather than explain, Horatia took another tack. ‘I know it would have solved a lot of your troubles...’

  ‘What? Marry that man?’ Lady Elizabeth tossed her head. ‘I would have gone through with it only out of duty to my family. He may be rich, but he is so...’ She shuddered. ‘One would never believe he is related to the Marquess of Devizes, not unless one knew it for an absolute fact. What with one being so dark and satanic, and the other being so fair and charming...’

  ‘Well, appearing fair and charming can also be an attribute of a satanic creature, according to the Bible,’ Horatia couldn’t help commenting. ‘Such beings are even called angels of light. They set out to deceive people with their charm, don’t they? At least you know where you are with the Duke.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Elizabeth tartly, as they began to mount the steps to the terrace that ran the length of this side of the house. ‘No longer fit to be housed in the main part of his palace.’

  ‘Surely that is a good thing. Since it means you are not sharing rooms with your mother.’

  ‘Touché,’ cried Lady Elizabeth with appreciation. ‘And thank you for reminding me that I ought to be grateful she thinks more of her consequence than she does of keeping a close watch upon me.’

  ‘What? But she...’

  ‘You think pouncing upon me whenever I put one toe out of the door is keeping a close watch upon me? You have no idea. Oh. I am sorry.’ Lady Elizabeth looked stricken. ‘Of course you have no idea...’

  ‘Lady Elizabeth, I scarcely remember my own mother, so if you are about to apologise for being insensitive about my orphaned state, then please, I beg of you, do not.’

 
‘And I suppose witnessing the relationship I have with my own mother is not likely to make you pine for one of your own, is it? Lord, how I wish that I...’ She pulled herself up short. ‘It is just,’ she said, lowering her voice as they drew closer to the group of people waiting their turn to enter the house through a set of French doors, ‘that if I was an orphan, with no title, nobody would mind if I fell in love with a man with nothing to recommend him but his brains. There is nobody to prevent you from following your heart.’

  Something inside Horatia twisted at the mention of following her heart. ‘You are forgetting,’ she said, ‘that even men with brains are governed very much by what they see. They don’t fall in love with awkward little dabs of women with no fashion sense.’ Which meant there was no point, absolutely no point, in hoping such a thing might happen. ‘They fall in love with pretty, witty, blondes,’ she finished, giving her friend a pointed look.

  ‘It is useless anyway.’ Lady Elizabeth sighed, halting a short distance away from the rest of the churchgoers. ‘Theakstone arranged for Mr Brown to go to Leipzig. And while it is of great advantage to his career, he might just as well have flown to the moon. We will never see each other again, and...’ She stopped on a hiccup that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob. ‘Mama will get her way, I dare say. I shall have to marry someone with money and the standing to overcome the disgrace Papa brought to our family.’

  ‘I’m surprised she isn’t pushing you at the Marquess, then.’

  ‘Lord, no. He has the money, but apparently even Mama knows it would be a waste of time attempting to snare such a one. Too slippery to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap. Too busy enjoying himself with the ladies who flock round him and no pressing need to sire an heir. No, she is hoping to match me up with somebody older. With more substance about him. A widower, perhaps, with only daughters.’ She shuddered.

  Not for the first time, Horatia thanked her lucky stars she was a mere Miss. Nobody expected her to marry to save the family fortunes. There never had been any fortune to lose in the first place. Herbert had had a small income, which he’d supplemented by doing nominal work at a post gained for him through the influence of a distant uncle.

  Until that day he’d come to her with the tale of how he and Lord Devizes had found a brilliant way to earn a little extra. And to serve their country at the same time. Someone, he’d said, tapping his nose to indicate that person’s identity must remain secret, was going to pay any expenses incurred while they rooted out traitors to the Crown. To that end, they’d each chosen their own code names, to keep their own identities secret from anyone who didn’t need to know they were involved in such work. Lord Devizes was to become Janus, because he would present one face to society, and another to the criminal underworld, while Herbert was to be known as Portunus, after the Roman god of keys and doors. When Horatia had frowned in bewilderment, he’d burst out laughing.

  ‘I’ve boasted that I can unlock any code or cipher anyone could possibly devise.’

  ‘And can you?’

  ‘No!’ He’d grinned, then. ‘But you can. You love puzzles and have a knack of solving them. So if we ever come across any coded messages I can bring ’em straight to you. You’ll enjoy doing such work, won’t you? Give you something to keep your mind off...’ He’d grimaced and jerked his head at their aunt, who was jabbing away at her tambour frame at her seat before the fire, embroidering one of her samplers which invariably quoted the sterner verses from the scriptures.

  Which reminded her.

  ‘I don’t suppose you picked up my Bible, did you?’ It wouldn’t do to leave it lying around, where anyone could see the sketch she’d drawn of Janus, to indicate she needed to speak with Lord Devizes in his role as a secret investigator.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Lady Elizabeth distractedly as she removed her bonnet, for, by this time, they’d reached the doorway and there were several maids waiting to relieve the Duke’s guests of their outer wear, so that they could go straight to a reception room where refreshments were being served. ‘I didn’t notice it after you’d gone. I thought you must have picked it up yourself.’

  No. She’d been too angry to bend back down again. So...where had it gone? If it wasn’t on the floor of the chapel when Lady Elizabeth had emerged from her pew, then somebody must have picked it up.

  She gripped her reticule tightly, for want of any other way to express her sudden spasm of panic. She’d just have to hope that it had been Lord Devizes. That he’d picked it up while everyone else’s attention was on her storming out and Lady Elizabeth and her mother having one of their altercations.

  Because if it was anyone else...

  No, no, surely she was worrying unnecessarily. Only people who worked for, or with, Lord Devizes knew about his code name. Anyone outside their fraternity would make nothing of a sketch of an ancient Roman deity. Would they?

  Although...somebody had discovered that Herbert was on to them. He’d told her, after dropping off yet another of the coded messages, that he was following up a lead that could take him right to the heart of the group of people who were involved in passing information about the state of England’s military power to the exiled French emperor. He’d been close, he’d told her with excitement.

  Too close, she’d later realised. So close that whoever it was he’d been tailing had turned round and murdered him.

  A chill ran down her spine as she stepped out of the sunshine and into the shaded interior of the house. She fumbled at the strings of her bonnet. She had good reason to believe that Herbert’s killer was going to attend the Duke of Theakstone’s wedding. And if she was going to be hunting that person down on her own, she was going to have to be a great deal more cautious.

  Chapter Four

  Since Horatia and Lady Elizabeth had not taken the direct route back to the house from the chapel, practically everyone who’d attended morning prayers had already reached the yellow salon before them.

  Horatia followed in Lady Elizabeth’s wake to the tea table, which was manned by a brace of the Duke’s liveried footmen. Having procured drinks, they then proceeded to another great long refectory-style table, which was piled with all manner of the kinds of things she would have taken on a picnic. There were huge hams, chicken legs, slices of bread, whole boiled eggs and fruit that was so artfully arranged on a sort of pedestal that it would have felt as if she was desecrating it if she dared remove so much as a single grape.

  She picked up a plate and handed it over to one of the footmen, pointing out what she wanted rather than helping herself to any of the tempting delicacies on show. Once it was filled, but not piled high, Horatia looked about for somewhere to sit and eat it. Lady Elizabeth had already dutifully gone to sit beside her mother. But there was no way Horatia was going to try to squeeze on to the sofa beside them. The vinegary expression on Lady Tewkesbury’s face was enough to give her indigestion. And there were loads of other chairs dotted about, in little clusters, and sofas set at angles so that the occupants could chat.

  Though Horatia had the horrid feeling that what they were chatting about was her. Several times she caught a sly look, or somebody nudging someone else to make them aware she was about to walk by. And, of course, there was Lord Devizes himself, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling females, his eyes following her progress, his mouth slightly tilted in that mocking smile he very rarely went without.

  His flirts must all be wondering how she could possibly show her face in public after the scene she’d made in the chapel earlier. If only she had the courage to take her plate and cup up to her own sitting room where she could avoid the stares. Or if only there was a bank of potted plants behind which she could hide.

  But there wasn’t. For all his vaunted wealth, the Duke had not a single plant, in a pot, anywhere in this room, never mind a whole bank of them. The best she could do would be to find a corner and hope that once she’d sat down in it, and applied her
self to her nuncheon, certain people would find something else to laugh at. She couldn’t help darting the Duke a rather resentful glance before beginning her search. He was standing with a group of men by one of the fireplaces, the over-mantel of which they were using as a shelf for their drinks while they tucked into their food. Which did nothing to improve her mood. It was all very well for men. They could eat standing up and put mantel shelves into use as tables, and all anyone would say was that they were making themselves at home. If she were to do the same...

  She resumed her search of the room for a secluded corner and after only a few moments finally spotted a straight-backed chair standing against the wall by a window. It had the advantage of being partially shielded by a heavy velvet curtain. With a sigh of relief, Horatia made straight for it. It was only once she’d sat down that she realised that it was going to be virtually impossible to eat anything while she had her teacup in one hand and her plate in the other. The windowsill was too narrow to be anywhere near as useful as a mantelpiece, as well as being a bit awkward to reach being swathed by such a bulky curtain. Why, oh, why did people not provide their guests with handy little tables? And not just the gregarious ones, who sat upon the sofas in the middle of the room. They were all amply catered for. They had tables to the front of them, tables at their elbows, even tables directly behind the sofa back should they take it into their heads to reach for their teacups over their shoulders.

  She was just wondering which of the groups of people who were in possession of tables she could go and join, when the Duke’s intended came bustling over, a little white dog bounding along at her skirts.

  ‘Miss Carmichael,’ said the dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark-skinned slip of a girl that nobody could believe the Duke would prefer over elegant blonde beauties such as Lady Elizabeth. ‘I am so sorry that I have not had a chance to speak with you before now. I am...’ She hesitated, a tide of pink rushing up her cheeks. And then she took a deep breath as though deciding she might as well say whatever it was she’d thought twice about. ‘As you can probably tell, I am not used to entertaining on such a vast scale. Well, any scale at all, to be honest. But, oh, dear me...’ She waved to a footman stationed at the door. ‘Peter, can you go and fetch a little table for Miss Carmichael? I am so sorry,’ she said the moment he’d strolled away. ‘I should have thought to have a table placed here.’