Read Desire Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Desire Becomes Her (30 page)
He’d been a little wary of Mathew’s offer of help in securing the special license, and aware that they were virtually strangers, he didn’t look forward to the trip to London with much enthusiasm. To his astonishment, Mathew proved an amiable companion, displaying a side of himself that only his brothers and those closest to him ever saw. Behind the cool hauteur Mathew showed the world lurked an intelligent, engaging, considerate man.
Luc wasn’t the only gentleman to revise his opinion of the other. Having thought of Luc as nothing more than a skilled gambler and the black sheep of the American Joslyn family, Mathew discovered that he was wrong. For the first time Mathew glimpsed Luc’s effortless charm and found himself relaxing and enjoying Luc’s easy manner and amusing tales of life in America. They discussed the war with France and Mathew recognized the keen intelligence behind those azure eyes so like his own. He was intrigued by the insights Luc had gained during his time in France, and much of the ride was spent discussing England’s dismal showing in the conflict so far. Both men had a common interest in horses, and Luc confessed that he was considering turning Ramstone into a stud farm. Mathew expressed his liking of this idea. By the time they reached London and the Joslyn town house, where they were staying at Barnaby’s invitation, they were quite in charity with each other.
There was only a smattering of the
ton
to be found in London at this time of year, but that suited Mathew’s purpose. With Luc as his guest he made an appearance at White’s, stilling rumors that he had turned into a hermit. Quite the contrary. Known for his austere manner and his abstentious habits, Mathew’s drinking and reckless gambling that night raised more than one eyebrow. By the time he and Luc returned to the town house in the early morning hours, he was thoroughly foxed and had lost over three thousand pounds at the gaming tables. Whether he intended it or not, Mathew could go to bed knowing that there would be no more gossip about “grief-maddened Mathew Joslyn.”
ton
to be found in London at this time of year, but that suited Mathew’s purpose. With Luc as his guest he made an appearance at White’s, stilling rumors that he had turned into a hermit. Quite the contrary. Known for his austere manner and his abstentious habits, Mathew’s drinking and reckless gambling that night raised more than one eyebrow. By the time he and Luc returned to the town house in the early morning hours, he was thoroughly foxed and had lost over three thousand pounds at the gaming tables. Whether he intended it or not, Mathew could go to bed knowing that there would be no more gossip about “grief-maddened Mathew Joslyn.”
Despite his aching head, Mathew arranged Luc’s meeting with the bishop. Everything went smoothly, and by early afternoon, the special license tucked into his pocket, Luc and Mathew were riding back to Windmere. It was well after midnight by the time they pulled up in front of Windmere and dismounted. If Barnaby had not yet retired for the night, Luc planned a brief word with him before continuing on his way to Ramstone.
Luc and Mathew found Barnaby, along with Simon and Lamb, in Barnaby’s study. One look at the three men’s faces told the new arrivals that something had happened ... and that it was not good.
“What is it?” demanded Mathew.
Barnaby waved a hand toward Simon. “Ask your brother. He arrived not half an hour ago with the news.”
Both Luc and Mathew swung their gazes to Simon.
Baldly Simon said, “Canfield is dead.”
Chapter 16
“
M
on Dieu!
What happened?” Luc demanded, walking over to where Barnaby, Simon and Lamb were gathered in front of the fire.
M
on Dieu!
What happened?” Luc demanded, walking over to where Barnaby, Simon and Lamb were gathered in front of the fire.
Simon stared down into the snifter of brandy he was holding. “I was at The Ram’s Head with Padgett, St. John and Stanton a few hours ago, continuing to voice my boredom with Barnaby’s stuffiness”—he glanced at Mathew—“and complaining of my brother’s arrival, when Townsend, accompanied by Nolles, burst into the private room where we were playing cards.” Simon tossed down a swallow of brandy and muttered, “Nolles looked quite cheerful; Townsend white and shaken. It was Nolles who told us that there had been a terrible accident and that Canfield, having imbibed freely while visiting at The Birches, rode too near the edge of the cliffs. According to Nolles, the three of them were on their way to join us at The Ram’s Head when it happened.” Simon’s lips thinned. “Nolles, who did all the talking incidentally, claims that it happened in an instant and that there was nothing they could have done. Canfield’s horse apparently bolted and while Canfield was trying to get the animal under control they strayed to the edge of the cliff: the footing crumbled beneath the horse’s hooves and Canfield and the horse fell into the sea.”
Staring at the bottom of his empty snifter as if the answer he sought was there, he said heavily, “The body has been recovered and the constable is already going around shaking his head about the tragic accident.”
“Not surprising since Constable Ragland is suspected of being in Nolles’s pay,” growled Barnaby.
Helping himself and Mathew to a snifter and some brandy, Luc asked, “Now why, I wonder, did they decide to kill Canfield?” Handing a snifter to Mathew, he added, “The murder, even if dressed up as an ‘accident,’ is dangerous when the victim is the son of a duke—even if only the second son and not the heir.”
Leaving his snifter on the mahogany hunt table with brass fittings for the various bottles and decanters, Luc waved the brandy decanter toward the other four men. All four lifted their snifters. After pouring brandy into the other snifters, he set down the decanter and, picking up his snifter, wandered over to stand in front of the fire.
The others, having been joined by Mathew, were scattered in a semicircle around the gray marble fireplace, the fire warm and pleasant against the chill of the November night.
The five men drank their brandy in silence, each contemplating what Canfield’s death might mean.
Lamb, seated to Barnaby’s right in one of several tall, winged armchairs upholstered in a gray and green damask, muttered, “I knew I should have been watching that blasted place tonight!” He shot Luc a glance. “I would have been if you hadn’t gone haring off to London.” Reminded of the reason Luc had ridden to London, the azure eyes narrowed and he drawled, “I understand from our mutual relative that congratulations are in order.”
Luc flushed. “I should have told you myself, but there wasn’t time.”
“Of course,” Lamb murmured, his tone indicating the opposite.
Luc’s mouth tightened, but before Luc and Lamb could fall out, Barnaby said quickly, “Were we wrong about Canfield? Perhaps he was not part of the smuggling operation after all?”
“Or,” Mathew said, “for the first time in his life Nolles is telling the truth and it was an accident.” He stared disapprovingly at Barnaby. “Have you forgotten that your wife’s cousin was with Nolles and Canfield tonight? I know he doesn’t have a good reputation, but do you honestly believe that Townsend would turn a blind eye to murder? Especially the murder of the son of duke?”
Barnaby and Lamb exchanged glances. They knew things about Townsend that the others didn’t. Townsend would, indeed, condone murder, as well as abduction and attempted rape, to save his own skin ... and he had already done so. If not for his timely intervention, Barnaby thought viciously, it wouldn’t have been
attempted
rape. If he and Lamb had not arrived when they did that night, Townsend would have stayed cowering in the barn so he wouldn’t hear Emily’s screams when Ainsworth raped her. His fingers clenched around the fragile stem of the snifter, almost snapping it. We should have killed him that night, he admitted, and not for the first time.
attempted
rape. If he and Lamb had not arrived when they did that night, Townsend would have stayed cowering in the barn so he wouldn’t hear Emily’s screams when Ainsworth raped her. His fingers clenched around the fragile stem of the snifter, almost snapping it. We should have killed him that night, he admitted, and not for the first time.
Simon frowned, saying slowly, “From what I’ve observed, I think that Townsend is too deeply in Nolles’s power to do anything but agree with whatever Nolles wants.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” snapped Mathew. “I’ll grant that you’re probably right about Padgett and Stanton being involved with Nolles in some way, but I have trouble believing that Canfield has, had, any part in an illegal operation.” Mathew shook his head. “I never liked any of them, and I never understood Tom’s affinity for their company.” Pain bloomed in the blue eyes, and he said thickly, “I understand it now and I think it is more than reasonable to assume that the three of them, Nolles, Padgett and Stanton, are involved in smuggling, but not Canfield. Good God! The man is, was, the son of a duke, and though he was known for his dissolute ways, I maintain that he would not lower himself to do business with a common smuggler.”
Bluntly, Simon said, “Do not forget, that our brother
lowered
himself to do business with Nolles. Do you think that Canfield’s ideals were higher than Tom’s?”
lowered
himself to do business with Nolles. Do you think that Canfield’s ideals were higher than Tom’s?”
The stark anguish on Mathew’s face had them all looking away. There was a moment of silence and then Mathew said low, “You’re absolutely correct. A man with Canfield’s reputation probably wouldn’t hesitate to join in a lucrative operation like the one Nolles is running here.”
“It would be interesting,” Lamb said idly, “to know the exact spot where Canfield lost his life.”
“Why?” asked Luc, sending him a keen glance.
“Oh, just that earlier this year, I think it was January, Townsend’s dear friend Ainsworth came to a nasty end over those same cliffs,” Lamb answered. “As I recall they were both foxed when Ainsworth went over the cliffs into the sea. A remarkable coincidence, don’t you think, that Townsend should be around the second time when a drunken friend of his, an acquaintance if you will, takes a dive off the cliffs?”
An arrested expression on his handsome face, Mathew said, “I’d forgotten about Ainsworth’s accident.”
“But why did they kill Canfield?” demanded Simon. “A falling-out amongst thieves?” His expression troubled, he asked no one in particular, “St. John just arrived a few days ago ... could his appearance have anything to do with Canfield’s death?”
“I don’t know any of them well, but I’ve been puzzled by St. John’s apparent friendship with the others,” Luc admitted. “He always seemed the odd man out to me, but the thought crossed my mind that he could be the leader of the group. Frankly, the others haven’t impressed me with their powers of acumen.”
Both Mathew and Simon nodded, Mathew saying, “I don’t disagree. I’ve always dismissed Padgett and Stanton as dilettantes, and while St. John does join them from time to time, I do not think of him as being one of their set.” He smiled crookedly. “St. John was the only one of Tom’s friends who found favor with me.” He looked away. “I’d hoped that he would be a good influence on my brother and wean him away from Padgett and the others.”
“I think,” said Simon carefully, “that you’re forgetting that Tom and Nolles already had a partnership... . Even someone like Padgett could follow the path that Tom forged.”
Mathew nodded, his expression bleak. “I keep forgetting Tom’s part in all this.”
They speculated on the situation for another hour, before Luc set down his snifter and rose to his feet. “We’re going in circles. We can agree that Nolles and Townsend most likely murdered Canfield, or at the least, Townsend went along with the murder, even if he didn’t do the deed himself. I think we agree that Padgett, Stanton and Nolles are partners in the smuggling. St. John’s the wild card. He may be part of the partnership and he may not. Why Canfield was murdered, or if he was murdered, is open to argument, and based on the facts we have before us, it is unlikely we will come to a conclusion tonight—” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and, noting the time, corrected, “This morning.” Biting back a yawn, he concluded, “Gentlemen, it is late and it has been an eventful few days for me. I am afraid that I must seek my bed.” He sent a sleepy-eyed glance around the room. “As you know I am to be married within a day and have much to do to see that all is in readiness for my bride.”
Barnaby strolled with him outside where his horse waited. Watching Luc swing into the saddle, Barnaby said, “You could stay the night here, you know.”
Luc grinned at him. “Afraid to let me ride home by myself?”
Barnaby sighed. “Perhaps a trifle. What with Canfield’s death, I doubt that Nolles is thinking of wrecking vengeance on any of us right now, but ...”
Luc’s grin faded and he said softly, “But Nolles is going to have to die sooner or later, isn’t he?”
Barnaby nodded and stood watching his brother ride away into the night for a long time.
While Luc had been away, the ladies of Windmere and Gillian’s family had been busy arranging the wedding. Feeling like an onlooker, Gillian was present during many of the planning sessions, but the whole affair held a dream-like quality to her. She was to be married ... to Luc Joslyn. How could that be? She barely knew the man. A flush stained her cheeks as memories of the night they had spent together riffled through her brain. Oh, she
knew
him all right, but she didn’t
know
him.
knew
him all right, but she didn’t
know
him.
Only half-listening to the plans being made for her marriage to Luc, her thoughts drifted. She’d married Charles in a dewy-eyed haze, in love with love, while with Luc ... Her heart twisted in her chest. Older and wiser than she had been at eighteen when she married Charles, she was conscious that the emotions Luc aroused within her were deeper, stronger and more powerful than anything she had ever felt for Charles. She’d been positive when she married him that Charles had been the love of her life, but she knew differently now. Luc touched her in a way that Charles never had, and that knowledge terrified her. She should be paying attention to the plans being discussed, yet all she could do was wonder about Luc and their future together.
This afternoon, she, Silas and Sophia were visiting at the vicarage with the vicar and his wife, and lost in her own thoughts, Gillian stared down at her clasped hands as the conversation whirled around her. She loved Luc; she could not deny it. And because she loved him, she’d consented to the marriage. Luc desired her, wanted her, and she was aware that her body gave him pleasure, but once passion was slaked, would he come to resent her and the manner of their marriage? Her future would be in his hands ... would he treat her gently through the years or would she find herself married to another man like Charles? One who valued her not at all? She wondered if Charles had ever loved her or if he hadn’t had his eyes on her fortune right from the beginning. She shivered, remembering anew her horror and disgust when Winthrop had revealed how little Charles had valued her and their marriage.
“Are you cold?” asked Penelope kindly, having noted Gillian’s shiver. “Shall I send a servant for a wrap for you?”
Gillian forced a smile and shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m fine.”
They were seated in a charming lived-in room at the front of the vicarage. The chairs and sofas were covered in soft worn yellow chintz: the once brilliant colors of the rug on the floor had faded to shades of antique rose and pale green. Small oak tables were scattered here and there, a basket of knitting spilled onto the floor near one of the chairs, a rag doll lay slumped in the corner of the sofa and a desk littered with papers was against the far wall. Signs of refreshments, tea, coffee and little ginger and lemon cakes, rested on a big pewter tray on a low table in front of where Penelope sat.
Penelope sent her a long look, but then with a smile, she turned back to the conversation at hand, nodding at the vicar’s proposal that the marriage take place at the vicarage. Patting Gillian’s hand, Penelope said quietly, “Cornelia and I have discussed it and we think this would be best.” At Gillian’s surprised look, she added, “There will be enough gossip about the suddenness of your marriage as it is; the ceremony being performed here will lend an air of normalcy about the whole affair.”
Gillian could only nod, grateful for the kindness and understanding of both the vicar’s wife and the formidable Cornelia Townsend. The two older ladies were doing their best to put as respectable face on the situation as they could and her heart warmed.
When Gillian retired to bed that Wednesday night, it was with the knowledge that, except for a few minor details, the arrangements were settled. With Barnaby’s approval, Emily and Cornelia were hosting a dinner for the engaged couple on Friday night at Windmere. The vicar’s suggestion that the actual marriage ceremony take place at the vicarage at eleven o’clock in the morning on Saturday had met with universal approval by everyone involved. Bursting with pride, Silas announced that a celebration breakfast at High Tower would follow the nuptials.
Except for overseeing the packing and the removal of her things to Ramstone there was little for Gillian to do. Sophia and Silas were as excited as a pair of children at Christmas, both of them beaming at her, as if she’d done something wonderful. Stanley was not as caught up in the excitement as his cousin and uncle, but he did nothing to put a damper on things, although Gillian caught him studying her more than once. Wondering at the purple shadows under my eyes, no doubt, she thought unhappily.
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