The Unwanted Heiress (The Archer Family Regency Series) Page 6

  He had excused himself immediately after the meal and gone out onto the terrace. When he heard Lady Anne calling to him, he had bolted down the stairs into the gardens.

  He should have waited for her like a gentleman instead of fleeing. And when he finally returned, he ran into Miss Haywood on the terrace. He had promptly forgotten Lady Anne.

  It never occurred to him that he had not seen Lady Anne again.

  Now he knew why.

  While he flirted with Miss Haywood, Lady Anne lay here dead, glassy eyes fastened on the moon.

  He gazed at her blank face and shifted uncomfortably.

  “Were you not in the gardens earlier?” the slender gentleman asked. “My wife remarked upon it when we came out to get some air.”

  Wife? Nathaniel glanced at the sobbing woman, who raised her head long enough to stare at him and say, “Yes, I saw you, Your Grace. You came running through the shrubbery as if the devil himself were after you!”

  Studying the pair, Nathaniel realized he had no idea who they were. He turned and found the crowd staring at him. He glanced over at one of the few men he recognized, Lord Jackson. Nathaniel couldn’t remember much about him other than the fact he liked to play faro at White’s.

  Jackson stood up, brushing off his hands. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but were you here earlier?” When he caught Nathaniel’s expression, he added, “I beg your pardon, I meant that if you were here earlier, you might have seen someone.”

  Ah, the privileges of a duke. He could stand over a corpse with a bloody knife in his hand and still be considered innocent.

  “I took a brief walk to get some air, but I spent most of my time speaking with my uncle’s ward.”

  Lord Jackson nodded. However, another gentleman stepped forward, his heavy features distorted by a frown. Nathaniel recognized the short, stout man as Sir Henry, Lord Westover’s friend.

  Earlier that evening when Nathaniel had escorted Lady Anne to the buffet table, he had noticed Bolton standing nearby, frowning at them. Nathaniel had ignored him.

  “It wouldn’t take long to bash someone on the head.” Bolton gestured toward a small marble cherub lying next to Lady Anne. A dark, wet stain covered the stone cheeks. Bolton stood in front of Nathaniel, staring at him with accusation, but apparently not daring enough to give voice to his doubts.

  “There were plenty of others out here,” Nathaniel said, keeping his voice steady and easy. “I am sure many saw me and a few may have even noticed Lady Anne. We must question the rest of the guests and find out who was in the garden during the past hour or so.” He studied the dead woman, angry with himself at having avoided her.

  Why had she foolishly followed him?

  He should have escorted her to the terrace and left her there. Except everyone knew she’d been trying to fix his interest for the last two months. He didn’t want to be seen returning from the garden in her company. Honor and her sharp-eyed parents would demand he marry her.

  God, what a tangled mess. Why couldn’t these women leave him alone?

  “Let me by. We need to bring her back to the house,” Nathaniel said at last, shouldering his way past the other men.

  Stepping in front of Nathaniel, Lord Jackson picked up the body and turned to face the small crowd. “I’ve got her, Your Grace. If you would go ahead and speak to her parents—someone must speak to them.” He caught Nathaniel’s expression and added, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it might be best coming from you.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I will inform them and then send word to Bow Street. Her parents will wish it, and this must be investigated.”

  “Someone must investigate, indeed,” Bolton replied, his voice sneering. “And they will, Your Grace, they certainly will.”

  Chapter Six

  Conspiracy is where two or more persons combine together to execute some act for the purpose of injuring some third person or the public, and is a misdemeanor at common law. —Constable’s Pocket Guide

  “Did you enjoy yourself, Miss Haywood?” Lady Victoria asked as they settled themselves in the carriage.

  “Lovely.” Charlotte sat back with her eyes closed, feeling immensely tired. “Thank you for locating that footman.”

  “Yes—Tom Henry. We can always use a good man,” Mr. Archer replied. “He seemed like a fine specimen.” He eyed Charlotte. “A strapping young fellow.”

  Did he think she was fascinated by a servant? She had only the vaguest idea of what he even looked like. If it had not been for the cut on his hand, she wouldn’t have known him from any other unemployed man in London sitting on the edge of the street, staring at his dusty feet in the gutter.

  Then she stopped, horrified. How could she consider him unacceptable simply because he was a servant? He had been born poor to the “wrong” parents through no fault of his own.

  God, please let her get away from England while she still retained some sense of equality. It was absurd to judge a person based solely upon the accident of their birth. A person’s actions, not their birth, revealed who they were.

  “I really had not noticed,” Charlotte replied, trying to suppress a yawn. “Since you were kind enough to offer me your home and therefore have another person in your household, it seemed like an excellent notion to expand your staff. He seems suitable.”

  “That is true,” Lady Victoria said. “Which reminds me, I noticed you don’t have an abigail, either. You will need one of those, as well.”

  “I suppose. But she must be an older lady interested in travel.”

  “Travel?”

  “Yes. I am sure your lawyers have gone over the terms of my father’s will. When I am four-and-twenty, I will be free to manage my inheritance. Then I intend to—” Both the Archers stared at her, incredulous expressions on their faces. Suddenly, she felt foolish blurting out she intended to travel to Egypt to excavate the tombs of the pharaohs. How could she tell them she wanted to do something other than get married?

  But she could not face a future where her most difficult decision would be whether to have lobster bisque or baked haddock for the fish course at supper.

  “You intend to travel?” Lady Victoria asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “We will see what we can do about an older abigal, then,” Mr. Archer said.

  Was it really going to be that easy?

  Lady Victoria nodded and changed the subject. “I am disappointed we were unable to introduce you to our nephew, the Duke of Peckham. He was supposedly in attendance, however we did not see him.”

  “Well, you were in the card room most of the—” Charlotte said before she caught herself. How her guardians chose to entertain themselves was entirely their own affair. “That is, perhaps he was not there after all,” she amended. They would find out soon enough that Charlotte had met him and proceeded to insult him.

  At the time, she thought she was being clever and amusing while saving him from the Lady Beatrice. It was only after reflection that she realized how she must have sounded to him: gauche and ignorant. Lady Beatrice would never have done anything so ridiculous. She was always perfectly behaved—when in public.

  Lady Victoria squirmed in her seat, casting oblique glances at her husband. “It was unintentional,” Lady Victoria said. “You know how it is. They needed us to make up a table for whist and the time simply slipped away.” She patted Charlotte’s gloved hand. “We will make it up to you, my dear. Would you like a dinner party, or perhaps a ball?”

  “No, really—”

  “That is it, Vee,” Mr. Archer interrupted. “What a brilliant notion, a small, select ball, not like this rabble.” He waved his hand past his ear, toward Lady Beatrice’s home.

  “No, really….” Charlotte repeated. Her stomach burned with tension. She did not need another opportunity to make a fool of herself or stand around watching other debutants sweat.

  The Archers ignored her. Mr. Archer faced his wife. They clasped hands, talking excitedly, and completing each other’s sentence
s as if they were the only ones in the carriage.

  Charlotte watched them, trying not to feel cold and excluded.

  “A string quartet—” Lady Victoria said.

  “In honor of our ward, of course,” Mr. Archer interrupted. “No more than fifty—”

  “Twenty couples would be perfection.”

  “And His Grace—”

  “No, really!” Charlotte insisted. The Archers stared at her. “I am sorry, but this is entirely unnecessary.” They continued to gaze at her, their mouths gaping slightly in surprise as Charlotte hurried on. “I don’t even like to dance! Really! And it is almost the end of the season—it is May! Surely most of the families are already leaving.”

  “Nonsense. There are still scores rattling around London. You are just tired. It has been an exhausting day for you, Miss Haywood,” Lady Victoria replied. “After a good night’s sleep, you will feel differently, I am sure.”

  “No.” A flush rush over Charlotte’s cheeks. The carriage was coming to a halt outside the Archer’s town house, and she suddenly felt a sense of urgency. If she didn’t convince them now, they would make their plans without asking her opinion. “I would much prefer it if I could just, um….” What? What excuse could she give? She just wanted to be ignored until she turned twenty-four and escaped to Egypt.

  Most importantly, she wanted to be left alone to forget she had insulted the only man she had ever met who gazed at her with respect, who made her feel special. And he was a duke and the nephew of the Archers to boot.

  They’d be furious.

  She had done it again. Words had tumbled out of her mouth of their own volition, words she could not take back, words that had flown right into the arrogant ears of the Archer’s nephew, a duke.

  A footman rushed forward to open the carriage door and let down the steps. After Mr. Archer descended, the servant glanced into the carriage and waited, hand outstretched.

  “If you could just what?” Lady Victoria asked as she let the footman help her down.

  Mr. Archer, in what looked oddly like a fit of jealousy, glared at the footman. Mr. Archer grasped his wife’s other wrist and swept her toward the door.

  Relieved that she might not have to answer that awkward question after all, Charlotte let the servant hand her down. He caught her eye and winked before turning back to fold up the steps. Then, he closed the carriage door and slapped the side of the coach to indicate to the driver that he was to drive away. With amazing cockiness, the footman grinned at her again over his shoulder.

  When she noticed the white rag tied around his hand, she realized it was Tom Henry, the footman she had asked the Archers to hire after Lady Beatrice’s brutal treatment.

  When he caught her glance, his smile widened and he winked. Flushing, Charlotte stared resolutely into the hallway, pretending not to notice.

  What a dreadful error! Not only did the Archers believe she had asked them to hire poor Mr. Henry because he was handsome, but the servant himself suffered from the same delusion!

  One of her previous guardians had warned her about this exact situation. Mrs. Edgerton’s word nipped into Charlotte’s mind: never allow liberties from the servants, it can only lead to trouble.

  Charlotte entered the entryway feeling rather embarrassed. If she had not been so distracted, she might have kept moving toward the stairs and thus escaped the inquisition awaiting her in the foyer.

  “Now, Miss Haywood, what possible objection could you have to a small, select group of young people joining us here for a light supper and dance?”

  “I simply don’t want to cause any trouble,” Charlotte replied, startled into stopping at the foot of the stairs.

  “But, you would not! Truly, we often host such small entertainments,” Lady Victoria replied.

  “Oh, well then….” Charlotte gave up fatalistically.

  There wouldn’t be enough time for them to arrange a large supper and dance, anyway. They’d be sending her to another set of relatives just as soon as the Duke of Peckham told the Archers their ward had insulted him. Repeatedly.

  He’d had such nice, laughing eyes, though, that she had not been able to resist tugging the lion’s whiskers. And now the lion turned out to be related to her current guardian.

  “You are exhausted.” Lady Victoria gave Charlotte a hug and light kiss on the cheek. “Get some rest. We will talk tomorrow.”

  Charlotte nodded. She was exhausted. A strand of hair fell forward to curl around her throat like a noose and as she swept it away, her fingertips brushed over the pearl necklace. She unhooked it and held the pearls out to Lady Victoria.

  “You will want these back,” she said. In the fluster of packing tomorrow, the necklace might be forgotten. She liked the Archers too much to cause even more ill will by keeping such a valuable item. They’d probably think she was a thief as well as impossibly rude.

  “Keep them, at least for now. You can wear the necklace to our dinner party. They look so much better on you than they ever did on me.” Lady Victoria’s voice sounded puzzled, and a small flicker of pain appeared in her gray eyes.

  “I sincerely appreciate it, but I have this terrible tendency to lose things. Would it be awful of me to ask you to keep them safe? You can always lend them to me again, if you wish to do so.”

  “I suppose,” Lady Victoria said slowly. She held out her hand and Charlotte dribbled the strand of warm beads into her palm. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes. No doubt by this time tomorrow, you will know me well enough to realize what a good idea this is.”

  Lady Victoria laughed. “Surely that is insufficient time to lose anything, even if you are woefully forgetful.”

  “You would be surprised how easy it is for me to lose everything.”

  “Lady Vee,” Mr. Archer called from mid-way up the stairs. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes, John, in a minute. And say goodnight to Miss Haywood, you impolite beast.”

  Mr. Archer chuckled and sketched a bow. “Goodnight, Miss Haywood, sleep well.” His eyes twinkled as he rubbed the side of his nose with one finger. “And despite what my good wife says, I don’t think you are an impolite beast at all. You strike me as a very well behaved young lady.”

  Lady Victoria laughed as Mr. Archer waved and drifted up the stairs. “The necklace will always be available when you wish to wear it. Please don’t be shy about asking. It is yours at any time.”

  Impulsively, Charlotte kissed her hostess’ cheek and squeezed her hand. “Thank you and good night, Lady Victoria.”

  When her guardians disappeared down the hallway, she gazed after them and said very quietly, “I am sorry, so awfully sorry, but I really am an impolite beast.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sudden Deaths, &c.—Information should be sent to the coroner in all cases of sudden or accidental death, or death by violence, or in cases where persons are found dead, or die under suspicious circumstances. —Constable’s Pocket Guide

  Rather than cause panic, Lady Beatrice and her indulgent parents decided not to inform all their guests about Lady Anne’s tragedy. They condescended to send for a Bow Street runner, however, when Nathaniel insisted.

  An investigation was better than letting Lady Anne’s father, Lord Telford, hear a lot of false rumors and mete out his own justice. Telford had the right to challenge whoever had murdered his daughter to a duel, and Nathaniel was uncomfortably aware that if Lord Telford spoke to Sir Henry, Nathaniel might find himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.

  He couldn’t forget the angry glances in the garden after they found the body. Apparently, Bolton had busied himself encouraging the notion that Nathaniel had been involved in Lady Anne’s death. If he had not been a duke, he had no doubt that he would have been beaten soundly and remanded to the hangman after a brief trial by his peers.

  While they waited for the coroner, Nathaniel escorted Lady Anne’s confused parents into a private room and explained what had happened. Upon learning of their daughter’s d
eath, Lady Telford moaned and half-fainted into her husband’s arms.

  “Brandy!” Nathaniel ordered, sending a footman to fetch a bottle with several glasses. “I am terribly sorry about Lady Anne. If there is anything I can do, please let me know—I am at your service at any time.”

  Hugging his wife, Telford raised his head briefly to nod at Nathaniel. When their carriage arrived, Nathaniel helped the men carefully place Lady Anne’s body, wrapped in her cloak, inside. Her mother stood sobbing in her husband’s arms while the earl watched, his face as white as his neckcloth.

  “I cannot—” Lady Telford broke off with a sob. “I cannot go in the carriage with her. I cannot bear it.”

  Lord Telford pressed his wife’s face into his shoulder while she cried. “Hush, we will wait for the return of the carriage. Hush.”

  They sat down and huddled together on a bench in one of the private rooms, staring dully at the floor, their gray faces creased with exhaustion and shock.

  “Use mine,” Nathaniel said, gesturing to a footman. “There is no need for you to wait here. My driver can bring the carriage back for me later.”

  Mumbling his thanks, Lord Telford put an arm around his wife. When the carriage arrived, the couple stumbled outside and climbed into the vehicle.

  Once the grieving parents left, Nathaniel and several other men, including Bolton, went back out to the garden where the body had been found. The Bow Street runner, Mr. Clark, was already there, making annotations in his occurrence book. After a few questions, Nathaniel noticed more dark glances cast his way. More and more attention focused on him. There were not many clues, and several guests had seen Nathaniel in the gardens.

  “I was not there at the time,” Bolton said, staring at Nathaniel from under lowered brows. “But several others saw His Grace leaving the garden at a run.”

  The enmity Bolton held toward Nathaniel did not surprise him, and Nathaniel returned Bolton’s dislike. The man was a sore loser and preferred complaints to action.