The Duke's Legacy Page 13

  Sebastian’s laugh was less than sympathetic. “Doubtless there were other comforts to be derived from your enforced bed rest?”

  Hodges responded with a smug grin. “Yeah, that Sally is quite a gal, I’ll give you that. The quiet ones are always full of surprises. Demure on the outside but tigers when you—” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well, I don’t need to spell it out to you. Anyway, let’s hope the weather keeps us here for a bit longer.”

  “It most likely will.” Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Hodges. “Were you able to take time out from your amorous conquests to make the enquiries I asked of you?”

  Hodges looked offended. “Have I ever let you down, m’lord?” Without waiting for a response he commenced regaling Sebastian with gossip from the senior servants’ hall. “Lord Bevan’s well thought of as a fair and tolerant master. Lady Abigail is universally liked but also pitied because of all the responsibility resting on her shoulders. They all think she should have a bit more freedom, the chance to enjoy being young before she’s obliged to settle down, so they’re glad she’s to have a season.” Hodges rubbed his stubbly chin. “I find it difficult to believe any of the servants in her household could be bribed into helping with her murder ’cause they all love her. Apparently she addresses them all by name, remembers the names of their children and ain’t too high and mighty to concern herself with their affairs.”

  “Hmm.” Sebastian mulled over what he’d just learned.

  “But what I did find out from Mr. Charles Wilsden’s man is that he’s fiercely enamoured with a certain lady in Cornwall.” Hodges sniffed. “His man don’t seem to know how to respect his master’s confidences.”

  “Is that supposed to be news?” Sebastian’s brows locked together in annoyance. “Are you sure you didn’t spend all of your time dallying with Lady Abigail’s maid and are making this up to cover your neglect?”

  “If you’d just allow me to finish, I was about to tell you the object of Mr. Wilsden’s passion is not Lady Abigail.”

  Sebastian’s head shot up. Hodges had his full attention now. “Then who, in the name of the Devil, is she?”

  “I was getting to that.” But Hodges continued to brush Sebastian’s discarded coat and took his time about it. “She’s Lady Isabel Lawrence.”

  “Earl Cowper’s daughter? I know her.”

  “That don’t surprise me.”

  Hodges, no respecter of the disparity in their respective ranks, rolled his eyes. Sebastian reminded himself that Hodges was first and foremost a hard-bitten soldier, more at home on a battlefield than in a comfortable house. Even so, Hodges fulfilled whatever role Sebastian asked of him with competence and discretion. That he tended to forget his position was, in the circumstances, easily overlooked.

  “Has he offered for Lady Isabel?”

  “The word is he wishes to but his father won’t give him leave.”

  “Which would explain everything. A man in the throes of passion will go to any extremes to get his way. Wilsden won’t give his consent because he wants Charlie to marry Abbey, but if Abbey were out of the way there would be no reason for his father to continue withholding his consent.”

  “Aye, you could be right.”

  “I understand Wilsden still holds the purse strings until Charlie reaches five-and-twenty, so he wouldn’t have the blunt to marry without his father’s approbation.” Sebastian grimaced, disinclined to think ill of the charismatic Charlie in spite of all the evidence stacked against him. “I knew Charlie was involved somewhere. Pity that because I rather like the man, but there’s nothing that says rogues have to be dislikeable, I suppose.”

  “Are you sure it’s ’im? What about Lord Wilsden and all that money he’s borrowed from the duchy?”

  “I haven’t forgotten about that any more than I’ve discounted the possibility of a lady’s involvement. If Charlie is to blame then he must have had help, since he hasn’t been present at all of the incidents. No one person has.” Sebastian shrugged. “Well, no one whom I consider suspicious, anyway.”

  “What do you make of the females above stairs then, m’lord?”

  “Lady Bevan and her daughter are blameless, as is Laura Graves. Cassandra Bevan is a saucy baggage, not averse to forgetting her wedding vows if the opportunity presents, if I read the signals she was sending me at dinner a’right.”

  Hodges chuckled. “I doubt you would have got ’em wrong. Heaven knows, you’ve had enough experience of ’em.”

  Sebastian ignored his henchman’s irreverence and continued with his cogitations. “Elizabeth Wilsden is rather vacant, completely self-obsessed and, I venture to suggest, not involved in the attempts on Lady Abigail’s life. Which leaves Mary Bevan. Now, she has attracted my attention for very different reasons than the norm.”

  Sebastian paused to marshal his thoughts, drawing on the mental image he had filed away of Mary Bevan. She appeared to be everyone’s friend and a non-threat to the rest of the ladies, given her unexceptional appearance and apparent satisfaction with her lot. But Sebastian was well aware of just how deceiving appearances could be, especially in a creature as easily overlooked as Mary. No one would ever suspect her of being even remotely duplicitous.

  “What’s so special about her then?” Hodges asked.

  “She married well above her station and gives every impression of being satisfied with her situation.”

  “The perfect clergyman’s wife in every respect?”

  “Ostensibly, but I think they underestimate her. She’d cleverer than they give her credit for being and there’s a lot going on inside that head of hers that no one else has even guessed at.”

  “Well, you ain’t usually wrong about these things.” Hodges continued to brush Sebastian’s coat. His large, coarse hands ought to have been clumsy but he managed the task with delicate precision.

  “I was talking to her about Italy, a perfectly suitable topic of conversation, you would have thought. But her reaction was beyond anything I’d have expected such an innocuous subject to inspire.” Sebastian paused, trying to identify what it was that had alerted him. “I can’t precisely say, but there was genuine longing in her voice when she expressed her desire to see that country that seemed…well, extreme.”

  “Women.” Hodges shrugged his massive shoulders, as though the one word explained everything.

  “When she thought no one was watching her I saw a look of pure loathing briefly flash through her eyes as she observed Abbey’s gown. She herself wears sober colours, as befits a clergyman’s wife, but I believe she secretly yearns to change that state of affairs.”

  Sebastian knew he was right. Reading the tell-tale nuances in peoples’ expressions and acting spontaneously upon what he detected there had saved his life on more than one occasion during his occupation as Wellington’s spy. There was more to meek Mary Bevan than met the eye. Sebastian was becoming increasingly convinced that behind those plain feature laid not only a vindictive personality but also a calculating brain occupied with felonious schemes she would have few qualms about ruthlessly executing.

  She had secrets she didn’t choose to share with her family, too. He’d been sure of it before he sat down to play cards against her and was absolutely convinced he was right by the time the card party broke up. But did those secrets have anything to do with the plot against Abbey? And was she really in league with Charlie? If so, she was extremely efficient at concealing her involvement. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelid did she give herself away while partnering him at whist. If anything she appeared annoyed with him for playing recklessly, causing them to lose. And as for Charlie, he regarded her with nothing more than affable indifference.

  Sebastian snapped out of his reflective mood and let rip with a long string of curses. “I must have taken leave of my senses!” he growled, scowling at nothing in particular. “I’ve grown soft, Hodges, and am losing my edge.”

  Hodges put aside Sebastian’s coat. “What is it, m’lord?”<
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  “Lady Abigail has just retired, am I not right? Indeed, I observed her enter her chamber with my own eyes.”

  “So you say.”

  “Please tell me you have an assignation with Sally, when she’s seen her mistress safely to bed.”

  “Well, yes, as it happens, but what—”

  “Excellent, Hodges. Station yourself outside Lady Abigail’s chamber immediately but remain in the shadows and make sure you’re not seen. When Sally emerges send her straight back in again.”

  “Hey, hang on a minute! I was going to—”

  “I know what you were going to do, Hodges, but the fact remains that I’ve been an idiot.”

  Hodges shrugged. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “I’ve been too concerned about who might wish Lady Abigail harm to ensure she’s properly protected, thus giving her would-be assassin every opportunity to strike at leisure. She mustn’t be left alone at night until we’ve got to the bottom of the matter, so Sally must sleep in her room. Tell Sally when you send her back in to inform her mistress she’s acting upon my orders.”

  “If you suspect Charlie Wilsden, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and murder the young lady in her bed. Even if he waited until the small hours, he still couldn’t be certain of avoiding detection. He can’t be sure Lady Abigail will be soundly asleep, or that she won’t manage to scream before he can silence her.” Hodges shook his head. “There’re too many possibilities for failure for him to take the chance. You said yourself that he ain’t stupid so I doubt he’d try anything so bold.”

  “It’s not Wilsden I am concerned about, Hodges, it’s Mary Bevan. If she chose to visit Abbey for some innocuous reason or other, Abbey wouldn’t suspect her and would grant her admittance without hesitation.” Sebastian, who’d been pacing out his agitation in front of his fire, waved Hodges to the door. “My presence here, coupled with my reputation as an investigator, can’t have been lost on the perpetrators of these outrages. They were desperate enough before. If they consider I have knowledge of their intentions they are likely to step up their efforts.”

  “Why? Would it not be safer for them to await your departure?”

  “Possibly, but they’re as arrogant as they are desperate and have probably convinced themselves I pose little threat. Either that or they wish to make a point. Go now, if you please, Hodges, and ensure Sally’s safely ensconced in Lady Abigail’s room. And make sure she locks the door firmly behind her before you retire yourself.”

  “Consider it done,” Hodges said with a martyred sigh.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Sebastian entered the breakfast-parlour the following morning, it was his misfortune to find only Lord Evans in occupation of it. Disinclined to further the antagonism between them, Sebastian attempted to engage him in conversation. Evans threw Sebastian a disdainful look and made no effort to be even superficially polite. Elbows rudely planted on the table, he rested his head in his hands, toyed with a dry piece of toast and didn’t utter a single word.

  Sebastian shrugged, neither surprised nor unduly concerned. Evans disliked and resented Sebastian and that was an end to it. Having broken his fast at his leisure, Sebastian went in search of the other gentleman. They were all in the billiards room except Bevan and Evans, who had apparently taken refuge in the library. Of the ladies there was no sign but Sebastian knew they would be together somewhere, doing whatever ladies did to pass the time when the weather was inclement.

  He had no specific concerns for Abbey’s safety since even Mary Bevan wouldn’t try to stage an accident in full view of the rest of the party. She might well have been responsible for the incident with the peach ratafia but that had taken place in someone else’s household where she would never have been suspected. Besides, it had been attributed to an unfortunate case of food poisoning. Sebastian was counting on Mary being too fearful in a house full of servants who always knew precisely where everyone was to risk any misfortune befalling its mistress and having the finger of accusation levelled in her direction.

  Sebastian’s mind wasn’t on billiards and he earned Charlie’s derision when he missed an easy shot. He flashed a wry smile, wondering what Charlie would make of it if he knew the female responsible for his preoccupation was Mary Bevan. He was more convinced than ever of her involvement in the plot against Abbey. The evidence, such as it was, together with his dependable sixth-sense, pointed to her. The only problem was that unlike Charlie, whose motivation was now plain to Sebastian, he couldn’t think of a single reason why Mary would wish to harm Abbey. Unless Charlie knew something to her discredit and was using it to force her co-operation? It didn’t seemly likely but he’d exhausted all other possibilities.

  Amiably admitting defeat and surrendering his cue to Tobias, Sebastian gazed out of the window, still deep in thought. It had ceased snowing and the dark clouds of yesterday had been replaced by brittle winter sunshine. Rays reflected off the snow, causing it to sparkle like multi-faceted diamonds, completely transforming the hibernating winter garden. He recalled how much Abbey enjoyed snow and hoped she observed it for herself before the sun waned and the moment passed.

  Laughter from the side of the house ignited Sebastian’s curiosity and he moved to another window to see who was responsible for it. The sight that greeted him made him smile. Three small girls—Harold’s and Mary’s presumably—were building a snowman under the watchful eye of a severe-looking governess. The girls demonstrated more enthusiasm than skill for the project, but that wasn’t what held his attention. It was Abbey, her cousin Beatrice and Laura Graves who were causing all the noise. Bundled up against the cold, they hurled snowballs at one another, their laughter loud as they argued about the number of direct hits. Sebastian should have known Abbey would be in the thick of it. Her dogs were there too, adding to the mayhem as they chased one another in clumsy circles and then streaked off in tandem after the snowballs Abbey threw for them.

  Suddenly the walls of the house felt as though they were closing in on him and Sebastian couldn’t bear to be indoors for a moment longer. If nothing else, perhaps the frosty air would help to unscramble his brain and help him to work out what Mary had to gain by Abbey’s demise. Slipping unobserved from the billiards room, he fetched his caped driving coat and gloves and stepped out into the garden.

  Abbey, cheeks flushed rosy red, the remnants of a snowball dripping from her sodden curls, held a deadly-looking mound of snow in her gloved hand. She moulded it purposefully, her eyes dancing as she took aim.

  “I give you due warning, Bea. I’ll have my revenge for that last one.”

  She’s a child again, Sebastian thought, guessing there hadn’t been nearly enough days like this in her life since the death of her parents. Laughing, she lifted her arm and let fly but Bea dodged at the last moment, took refuge behind the half-constructed snowman and left Sebastian directly in the line of fire. The snowball landed full-square in the centre of his chest and slithered down his coat.

  “Oh dear!” Abbey clasped a hand to her mouth but failed to smother her laughter. “Pray excuse me, I didn’t see you there, Lord Denver.”

  “Evidently not.”

  “We are supposed to be assisting my nieces with their snowman.” Bea grinned as she poked her head out from behind the creation in question. “But then Abbey distracted us with a snowball fight.”

  “Which she cannot be allowed to win,” Laura added.

  “We shall see about that,” Abbey replied, scooping up a further handful of snow.

  “Please allow me to present Megan, Alice and Ellen, and their nurse, Miss Frobisher,” Bea said. “Girls, this is Lord Denver.”

  Megan and Alice curtsied but little Ellen took fright and hid behind the humourless Miss Frobisher.

  “Your servant, ladies.” Sebastian bowed, causing the older two to giggle.

  “We’re making a snowman,” Megan told him, her pinched features a mirror image of her mother’s. “Would you like to help us? Aunt Bea and Aunt Abbey
were helping but then they stopped to play with the dogs.”

  Megan backed away from Marcus and Marius as they gambolled up to join the group, tongues lolling from the sides of their mouths, tails wagging expectantly.

  Sebastian hunkered down to the girls’ level. “It just so happens that I enjoy building snowmen,” he said.

  He proceeded to prove it by supplying bigger handfuls of snow than the children could manage with their tiny fingers. They wedged it into place beneath his supervision, quickly losing all shyness. Even little Ellen was persuaded to rejoin her sisters. Miss Frobisher maintained an expression as frosty as the conditions, clearly unimpressed with grand gentlemen who had nothing better to do with their time than to play at children’s games. She jumped with lightning speed upon any of her charges who dared to exhibit the slightest signs of spontaneity. They became subdued the moment the woman spoke, causing Sebastian to wonder how someone with Harold’s compassionate nature could condemn his daughters to long hours under the forbidding eye of this dragon. Only by reminding himself that Mary would be the one to take responsibility for the employment of her children’s governess did it start to make any sense.

  “What do you suppose he lacks?” Sebastian asked, standing back with Abbey and the girls to examine the result of their labours.

  “A nose, of course.” There was a note of scorn in Megan’s voice.

  “And eyes,” Alice added.

  “You’re right.” Sebastian pretended to think about it. “Do you think his head might be a little chilly, and his neck, too? Perhaps we should find him a hat and a scarf while we’re about it.” He twinkled at Alice, reducing her to giggles. “We wouldn’t want him to catch cold, would we now?”

  “Snowmen can’t catch cold,” Megan said, displaying traits of the ungenerous nature her mother kept under closer guard.