Regency Brides Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set Page 17

“It's not...” she sobbed. “Oh, Alexander! I should have asked you...” her mind, working furiously, had come up with an excuse.

  “Asked me?” he said, puzzled.

  “I'm so sorry. You can forgive a woman's jealous wiles?”

  “Jealous?” he stared. “Matilda, whatever do you mean?”

  She laughed, a little wildly. “Oh, Alexander! I'm sorry. But at the ball the other night, I overheard some people talking. And they said...they said you were in love with someone called Amelia Remington. I had to check!”

  “Matilda,” he said, and he was smiling. It was a genuine smile, lighting his face. “You soft-headed woman,” he said with dismissive care. “How could you even entertain the idea? You silly, silly goose.”

  Matilda looked up at him, giving a hesitant grin. “I suppose it was childish,” she said quietly.

  “Childish, yes. But quite endearing, I'll admit. Of all the silly...” he trailed off. He shook his head, still smiling in a vaguely belittling manner, as if she were a child. “I forgive you,” he said formally.

  Matilda let out a real sigh. She couldn't believe how close she had come to discovery! The excuse had been a flash of inspiration, she would admit. She would have to be careful.

  “Th...thank you, dear,” she said, forcing herself to accept his words, to treat him with politeness.

  “No harm done,” he said gallantly. “Now, we should go down. I was about to change my cravat – it's a bit plain for dinner, is it not? I'd ask you to advise me, but I think it's unseemly to have you here. In which case,” he added, bending to kiss her gently on the mouth, “best to evict you.”

  Matilda laughed shakily. At that moment, she could not have stopped him. She was just so relieved that he had taken her word! That he had no idea she suspected him.

  As she walked down to the chamber to check her hair and wait the last few minutes before dinner, she felt her hear start thumping.

  That had been a close escape. The man was dangerous. She was fairly sure she had not imagined things. He was struggling with debt – at least the letter she had found did somehow suggest it – and he did have motive for wanting her father's money. It was possible that he was a murderer, or at least a man unprincipled-enough to try murder.

  He could have me killed, too, if he suspects I know something. I should be careful.

  The thought seemed wild. If he killed her, how would he get control of the family's fortune? Though there was always her sister. If she died, he might miraculously discover he loved her. And she was not going to saddle Pauline with this. Not over her dead body.

  Which would be precisely what it would be, she thought, shivering, if it really happened.

  Hugging herself to keep herself warm, Matilda tried to banish the fear. She had to act like everything was settled. She could not go down to dinner white-faced and terrified, now could she?

  I'll have to put on a good face.

  Shuddering, she called Stella and asked her to help her make up her face. A touch or two of powder, cunningly applied, a little redness on cheeks and lips – nothing obvious, she made sure Stella knew – just natural and plain.

  She had to be careful here. She was about to sit down to dinner with a would-be killer. She could not afford any holes in her armor.

  Chapter 22

  The dining-room was vast. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the dark wood furniture and the vaulted roof with glowing brightness. The sound of conversation hit Matilda like a wall as she waited in the doorway, sawing on her frayed nerves like a blade.

  He didn't tell me we were expecting guests!

  Matilda felt her heart thumping in her chest and her hands twisted her deep blue taffeta gown. Thank Heavens she had thought to dress so elegantly! What if she had come down expecting an informal supper? She waited in the doorway, watching through the aperture into the room.

  A tall, elegant lady in a white dress talked with a ruddy looking fellow with auburn hair. A man with dark hair and a fine black jacket was laughing with a companion, twirling a waxed mustache. All the guests wore jewels and looked a fine, debonair and elegant group.

  “My lady?”

  It was the butler - Haddon, she recalled. She looked up at him and put on what she hoped was a happy smile. He looked worried, so she assumed it was not really convincing.

  “Haddon! I was just wondering – this is the dining-room, isn't it?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing gravely. If he thought it was a strange question, he gave no sign. “His lordship invited some friends to dine tonight.”

  “I see,” Matilda said, swallowing hard.

  “My lady!” Alexander appeared by her side. “Come in, do.”

  Matilda nodded. She let him lead her into the crowded room.

  “Lord Hugh, this is Lady Matilda, daughter of the earl of Denthorpe,” he said, introducing Matilda to the man with the black coat.

  “Honored to meet you, milady,” he said politely. He had friendly eyes, but Matilda still felt ill-at-ease. She curtseyed stiffly.

  “Come,” Alexander said, before she really had much chance to speak with Lord Hugh, or his companion, who had just begun his own introduction. “I want you to meet the others.”

  Matilda smiled in apology to Lord Hugh and his unknown friend, and headed away with Alexander. She felt uneasy. He always assumed her compliance, as if she were his servant. She had never met anyone who behaved so highhandedly before!

  “Alexander,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “What?” he asked. The voice was languorous, but his eyes were hard. She shivered.

  “Nothing,” she said dully.

  “Well, then! Matilda, please meet Lady Alsace and the honorable Mr. Duncraigh. Gregory, Emma, I present Lady Matilda.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Emma, Lady Alsace, said, smiling. She was a tall woman with bright, brassy locks and a slim, elegant face. She had heavy-lidded eyes and she regarded Matilda with an appraising look from cornflower eyes. “We have heard a lot about you, dear!”

  Matilda winced. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” she said coyly. “And I believe we may see more of you here at Warrington?”

  “Oh,” Matilda gulped. “Well, possibly...”

  “Yes, of course,” Alexander said glibly. He turned to Matilda. “Excuse me, my dear. Mr Gorling over there wished to discuss matters of business with me. If you'll excuse me?”

  “Of course,” Matilda forced herself to say. The thought of being left with these people without him was disturbing. But what choice did she have?

  “Well,” the lady continued blithely, “I can see what you see in him. And he in you. Quite lovely you are; if I am permitted to say so?”

  “Oh,” Matilda smiled. “Thank you!” she added with a forced gaiety.

  “Yes,” she said. “Why, the poor man is not faced with much variety in London, I can tell you. It is a pleasing surprise that he has come down here where there is...less expectation.”

  “In what sense?”

  The lady sighed. “Our poor Alexander. There is a great deal of pressure on him in...in the sense of financial expectation. And it just isn't possible...with the debts and the entailment and...Oh!” she fanned herself with an elaborate silken fan.

  Matilda gaped at her. “You mean, his finances..?”

  “A ruinous state, my dear. Most ruinous. But don't fret,” she added. “With the clever mind he has, I am sure he'll make it all back. And you are a lady of means, are you not? Well, between you I guarantee things will be right as rain in no time. How wonderful for you both.”

  “Yes.”

  Matilda found herself thinking furiously. If Alexander really was facing financial ruin, his motive for marrying her was clearly money. Lady Alfred or Alsace or whatever her name was certainly seemed to think so. And if he wanted her money, then it was quite possible that he was making attempts on her father's life.

  “If you could excuse me, Lady Matilda?”

  “Of course,” Matilda
said weakly, intensely relieved to see the lady finally drift over to join her companion. She was momentarily alone.

  A voice cut across all the conversation, making heads turn.

  “All my dear guests! Shall we dine?”

  Matilda nodded at Alexander, who was standing at the front of the vast room, clapping his hands to get their attention.

  She nodded, smiling dutifully. All the guests seemed as hungry as she was, as the volume of conversation increased somewhat and everyone headed to the long oak tables.

  There was room for perhaps twenty guests at each. Matilda found herself at the head of one table, with Alexander at the foot. With nine people on either side of the table, it was impossible to talk to him across the distance. She spent most of the evening conversing with a smaller, gray-haired man with a quiet voice and a mild humor which raised her spirits.

  The dinner was excellent – soup followed by fish, then roast capon, then a selection of petit fours and coffee. By the time wine and cheese were circulating, Matilda felt quite full.

  Thoughts of debts and murder did not help her stomach to settle. She leaned back in her chair, a glass of well-watered Malmsey in her hand, looked at the ceiling and tried to ponder.

  I could find his handwriting if I could get into his bedchamber alone.

  She shuddered. After today and the near miss, it seemed far too dangerous to do anything approaching investigation. But if she could not find a sample, what could she do? Not that writing alone would prove anything, she realized slowly. If Alexander had intended to forge her father's accounts, it was unlikely that he'd do it himself. He would more likely employ someone to do it.

  But who? And who is poisoning Papa?

  “My lady?” her companion asked, frowning.

  “Oh, my lord Grantham. It's the heat. I think I will excuse myself a moment.”

  “Of course, my lady. If you are feeling well? Perhaps we should call a doctor?”

  “Oh, no. I'm quite well, thank you.”

  As she walked from the hall, the words stayed in her mind. The doctor. What if it was Alexander's physician who was poisoning her father?

  The thought gave her an idea.

  She excused herself and then, returning as the dinner guests were standing to proceed to the drawing-room, she waited until Alexander came over.

  “My lady. Shall we go up? Some of the ladies expressed interest in the pianoforte. You play, I think? Perhaps a little recital...”

  “Alexander?” she interrupted.

  “Yes, dear, what is the matter?” he asked solicitously.

  “I am sorry. I...I feel a little tired. If I might be excused for the rest of the evening? The long journey...It has worn me out,” she said, yawning without needing any pretense.

  Alexander frowned. Clearly, his intention this evening had been to show her off to his London friends. But if she really was ill, then he couldn't exactly compel her to stay awake, could he?

  “Of course, my dear,” he said gravely. “You are unwell?”

  “I don't think so,” Matilda said, then yawned again. At that point, it was easy – all too easy – to lean forward a little too far, and fall, gracelessly, to the floor. As she closed her eyes, she heard Lord Grantham's voice.

  “Poor lady! She said she was off-pallor.”

  “Go up to the drawing room, please!” Alexander said as gracefully as possible. “Shadley?” he called to a manservant. “Fetch Haddon and tell him to summon the doctor.”

  Thus having spoke, Alexander knelt down and lifted her in his arms.

  Matilda kept her eyes closed, letting her weight be as limp as possible. She felt him cradle her against him and at that moment felt a little guilty. He did seem to care for her, whatever manner of man he was. She felt her resolve stiffening as he carried her carefully up the stairs. Soon, she would know if it was he who was drugging her Papa. The plan was working.

  She felt the step as Alexander left the stairwell and headed right, going to her bedchamber. He paused in the doorway, then laid her on the bed. Matilda stiffened as she felt his hand stroke her body. She found it hard to lie, passive, as that hard palm moved over her..

  Lecherous creature, waiting till I am unconscious, then covering me with his groping touch!

  She managed to stay still and before a minute had gone he went to the bell. He pulled it and Stella appeared, fast enough as if she had been nearby all along.

  “My lord!” she said, surprised.

  “Your mistress collapsed after dinner. I have summoned the doctor. If you could put her to bed? Do whatever is necessary for her well-being.”

  “Yes, my lord!”

  Matilda winced to hear how worried she sounded. She heard footsteps cross the room – Stella, she presumed – and the other set, heading for the stairs.

  Then the lamp was lit and Stella was bending over her.

  “Oh, milady! Poor Mistress Matilda...”

  Matilda groaned and stretched, let her eyelids flutter gently. Opened them.

  “Miss! You're awake!”

  Stella's delight warmed her heart. She considered letting her in on the plan, but decided the fewer who knew, the more likely it was to work.

  “Stella. What happened?”

  “Master said you fell unconscious downstairs, milady,” Stella said briskly. “That corset again! Now, let's get you to bed...”

  Matilda smiled as Stella helped her to sit up and then remove all the pieces of clothing she had on, passing her a soft lightweight night-shift to draw on over her head.

  “Now, into bed, milady! There's a pan of coals downstairs to put in for your feet. I'll go and fetch it. Doctor's on his way.”

  Ten minutes or so later, the doctor arrived. Matilda lay back, hoping she looked convincingly ill.

  “Good evening, my lady,” said a low voice. Matilda opened her eyes. She found herself looking at a tall, dark-haired man with black eyes and a slight caste in the right eye, bushy hair and a thick mustache on his firm, square-jawed face.

  I'm sure I've seen him somewhere.

  She knew she had seen him once before, when her father had been hurt in the coach-accident. But there was another time before then. She had seen him before. She knew it.

  Matilda closed her eyes as he touched her brow, smelled her breath, took her pulse. Let her mind search for where she knew him. Then her blood chilled. She had seen him before. He was the intruder on the estate she had been summoned by Stella to see. And she could guess what he was doing there.

  Chapter 23

  The doctor left, eventually, claiming that Matilda needed rest – something Matilda knew already, as there was nothing truly wrong with her. When he had gone, she could not sleep. She slipped out of bed, feeling restless, and walked to the window.

  Papa is being poisoned. I am certain of it. Lord Alexander is paying a poisoner. He is short of cash. His plan is to gain control of Father's assets.

  She sighed. She had something approaching proof. Stella had seen Dr. Jarvis in their home. He was working for Alexander. But what could she do?

  I need to talk to Pauline.

  She wrote down what she thought – the connection of the accounts and Alexander, of Dr. Jarvis and her father's ailment. Then she slipped back into bed. She thought she would never sleep, but it crept up on her and the next time she opened her eyes was in daytime.

  “Morning, mistress,” Stella called, drawing the curtains brightly. “You feel well?”

  Matilda groaned. “A little better,” she said. “Stella?”

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Would it be possible to send a message to my sister? If she'd visit me?”

  “Of course!” Stella nodded. “You're homesick, my lady?”

  “A little.”

  Stella smiled indulgently. “I'll send Smithson, the groom. And for breakfast? Could I fetch a tray?”

  “I'll come down,” she said cautiously.

  “Only if you're sure.”

  Matilda slipped into the breakf
ast room wearing a cream-colored day-dress, a shawl around her shoulders. She did not need to pretend that part of it – ever since the day before she had been feeling icy cold. It was probably the constant sense of fear and worry.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Alexander said, standing from his place. “I trust you feel better?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast as a footman drew back a chair for her, poured tea and left.

  “A little sleep, that's what you needed,” Alexander said, reaching for some toast from the rack and buttering it slowly. Matilda took a piece and chewed it slowly.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes?”

  “Has Dr. Jarvis been here long?”

  “He came with me from London,” he said lightly. “Why?”

  Matilda shivered. Why was he looking at her like that? His eyes narrowed, gaze hard?

  “No reason,” Matilda said in what she hoped was a dismissive tone. “I just wanted to know. He seems quite competent.”

  “Oh, he is,” he said firmly.

  That ended conversation for the moment. Matilda made herself finish the toast, knowing it was important to stay strong. “My lord?”

  “Mm?”

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

  “I'd thought to take a ride to the lake. We could luncheon there, a picnic. Then return. It's not far. Unless you'd rather not?”

  “I wrote to my sister to invite her to visit me tomorrow. I do hope that was not remiss?”

  “Oh?” Alexander paused, looking concerned. Then his brow cleared. “No.”

  “Oh, good.”

  Matilda finished her breakfast in silence, feeling more worried by the minute. Alexander seemed distracted, but coldly alert. Was he suspecting her? She shivered.

  After breakfast he showed her the gallery and they retired to the drawing-room to play cards. The rest of the day passed slowly. They dined alone, for which Matilda was grateful. He did not press his attentions on her, for which she was thankful. He seemed distracted.

  The next morning, just before midday, Pauline arrived. Matilda met her in the parlor, Alexander with them. She could not believe how simply seeing her sister after three days apart affected her. The relief was overwhelming and she felt tears prick her eyes.