Nicola Cornick (34 page)

‘I find him no more acceptable as a bridegroom than I did George Carberry,’ Alicia said coldly. ‘Furthermore, you cannot possibly think that a marriage conducted here by some questionable priest will ever be recognised as valid. I certainly will not honour it!’

Broseley turned his slimy gaze on Westwood. ‘My dear Christopher, have you been wasting your time here? You assured me that she would be eating out of your hand by the time I arrived to act as witness to your marriage!’ He turned back to Alicia. ‘You must allow that he’s a finer figure of a man than poor Carberry, my dear, and unlikely to die from the exertions of your wedding night! Indeed, I had quite expected to find him anticipating those delights already!’

Alicia’s expression showed her contempt, but she would not lower herself to answer him. It was Westwood, apparently piqued at the aspersions thus cast on him, who burst into speech. ‘Your daughter, sir, holds no charms for me besides her money!’

Broseley just laughed. ‘But you’ll marry her just the same, my boy! All we need now is the Reverend Mr Skittle to set the seal on matters!’

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Westwood caught Alicia’s arm and practically dragged her off the bed as the door opened. Alicia had intended to struggle as much as she could, but to her horror she found that her legs were as weak as cotton-wool and she could barely stand, let alone put up a fight.

‘Mr Skittle—’ Westwood began, then broke off.

‘Skittle is temporarily indisposed, I fear, my dear Westwood,’ said the Marquis of Mullineaux in very smooth but infinitely dangerous tones. ‘Your butler, sir,’ the Marquis added, turning to Broseley with utter courtesy, ‘has also succumbed to a mysterious ailment which has rendered him completely unable to move.’

He made a slight gesture with the wicked-looking duelling pistol he held negligently in one hand. ‘I must beg you to unhand that lady, Westwood.’

Broseley had not moved, but Westwood took this instruction very badly. ‘Be damned to you,’ he snarled. ‘You’ll have to kill me first.’ He shot a furious glance in the direction of the doorway, saw Marcus Kilgaren lurking there, and turned back to James like an animal at bay.

Mullineaux’s mouth twisted in a travesty of a smile. ‘If I must, I will,’ he murmured, ‘but much as I would wish to rid the world of you, Westwood, I am reluctantly compelled to leave you alive to stand trial.’

Westwood burst out laughing. ‘Trial! You jest, Mullineaux!’

‘I fear not.’ James was so expressionless he might have been dis
cussing the weather. ‘You have just confessed to Lady Carberry that you murdered her cousin. Both myself and the excellent Mr Dundry of Bow Street heard every word through this door. We were here long before your proposed father-in-law—’ he nodded grimly towards Broseley ‘—came stumbling along to act as a witness at the wedding. And, of course, as well as murder there is the matter of the abduction of a lady. Plenty of work, I feel, to keep Mr Dundry busy over the next few weeks!’

Westwood had lost colour as James spoke and the extent to which he had condemned himself out of his own mouth became apparent. His mouth hung slackly in a face of pasty white. He turned to stare at Broseley. ‘You old fool, how the hell did they get in? Castle’s supposed to be a professional! Damnation take it that I ever trusted you to organise any of this!’

‘Shocking lack of servants in this part of the country,’ James drawled. ‘Certainly not enough of them to keep an eye on all the comings and goings in a big house like this! But we waste time, Westwood. Let the lady go.’

Neither Westwood nor Broseley paid him much attention, for they were too wrapped up in their mutual hatred. Westwood was still muttering, ‘Of all the stupid, incompetent fools—’ when his employer turned on him with a fury beyond anything Alicia had ever seen in her father before.

‘Hold your tongue, you dolt! Haven’t you done enough damage? I can’t believe what I’m hearing here!’ His West Country accent was very strong. ‘So you thought you’d pass the time in telling tales of your exploits, did you? Something to impress your future wife? God damn it that I should ever have soiled my hands with you, you worthless bastard!’

For a split second Westwood’s grip on Alicia’s arm slackened out of sheer shock, and it was all the chance she needed. With more strength than she realised she possessed, she drove the elbow of her free arm into his stomach with a satisfying impact and twisted herself out of his grip. Westwood let out a gasp of both surprise and pain, and doubled up, coughing.

James, with great presence of mind, caught hold of Alicia and dragged her free of the maelstrom as Broseley hurled himself upon Westwood. Whilst he was twice the age of his opponent, he was not drunk and fury gave him an added strength to counteract Westwood’s relative youth and agility. It was not much of a fight, however. As the two of them locked bodies with a grunt, Westwood got an arm free and Alicia suddenly saw the glint of a knife in his hand.

She drew breath on a scream as Broseley also saw the knife, but too late. As it slid between his ribs he had a look of ludicrous surprise fixed on his face. His weight fell against Westwood, setting him off balance, and the drink did the rest. Westwood lost his footing, stumbled sideways and fell onto the bare floorboards, Broseley’s body half across him and a choking cloud of dust rising from the floor. The knife slipped from his fingers and went skittering away, aided by a well-aimed kick from James Mullineaux. Then it was all over as Dundry rushed into the room and began the words which spelled doom for Westwood.

‘Christopher Westwood, I am arresting you for the wilful murders of Josiah Broseley and—’ he cast a significant look down at the prone body on the floor—‘Bertram Broseley…’

Some time passed, but Alicia was not really aware of it. James carried her downstairs, wrapped in the noxious blanket from the bed, which Alicia had half-heartedly tried to push away. In the drawing-room was Caroline Kilgaren, pale and distraught, who jumped up eagerly as they came in, her worried gaze going to Alicia’s face.

‘You have her safe! Thank God! And James—you are not hurt yourself? I was beside myself with worry…Put her down here…I will fetch some water…’

James put Alicia down gently on one of the lumpy sofas and drew Caroline aside, speaking to her in a low voice. Their voices washed over Alicia, who lay with her eyes closed, in a state between waking and sleeping. Presently Caroline came across to her and tried to encourage her to drink, but she merely turned her head away on the cushion and did not open her eyes.

An unquantifiable time later she was recalled from this dreamlike state by the unpleasant smell of burnt feathers being wafted beneath her nose. She opened her eyes crossly and met the amused gaze of the Marquis of Mullineaux.

‘I thought that would do the trick,’ James said cheerfully. ‘Pity the poor fowl we had to pluck them from! Don’t frown at me like that, Alicia—you may sleep presently, but for now I need to talk to you!’

To her complete horror, Alicia immediately burst into tears. She felt the puffy sofa give as James sat down next to her and gathered her into his arms without a word. She just clung to him, her face turned against his chest. None of the questions such as why he was there or how they had found her mattered at all for the time being.

For a while James said nothing, simply holding Alicia close so that the warmth and reassurance from his body transmitted itself to her and she began to relax. It was so amazingly comforting to be held like that
that after a time Alicia found herself yawning involuntarily, and felt rather than saw James laugh. A little shyly, she raised her head and looked at him.

‘I haven’t thanked you yet for rescuing me…’ she said diffidently. ‘How did you find me? And so quickly!’

James loosened his grip a little, much to her disappointment. He smiled down at her. ‘Quickly! It didn’t seem quick to me, I can assure you! You do know that you were unconscious for a whole day, don’t you? It was two days ago that you left London!’

Alicia blinked a little, but she was too tired to make much sense of this. ‘I didn’t realise…so I had been asleep all that time!’

‘Fortunately for you,’ James said, his tone grim. ‘Otherwise you would probably be married by now—or worse! He didn’t hurt you, did he?’ he added, his tone suddenly so sharp that Alicia jumped.

She shook her head tiredly. ‘No…He didn’t beat me, if that is what you mean!’ Her mouth curved in a slight, sleepy smile. ‘Nor did he molest me—he told me that I was not at all appealing to him, and too cold for his taste!’

She felt James’s arm tighten about her for a moment as he smiled.

‘Well, we must be grateful for your shortcomings in that respect, my love! Though I doubt I will have much complaint to make in the future!’

Alicia just snuggled closer to him. She was bored with talking, feeling so happy and warm that she simply wanted to sleep. There had been some disagreement between them, she remembered vaguely, but none of that mattered now. Nothing mattered, except—

‘Miss Frensham!’ she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. ‘Whatever has happened to her? Christopher said something about leaving her behind at a coaching inn…’

James laughed. ‘Yes, indeed, we found Miss Frensham at Bathampton, ensconced in the landlord’s best bedchamber with three doctors in attendance! She had such a strong fit of the vapours after she was abandoned that they feared for her life! She is a little recovered now, and Marcus has arranged for her to be taken to Chartley Chase, so you need not worry about her any more!’

He glanced down at Alicia and realised that the finer points of any explanation would have to wait. She was almost asleep where she sat, her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closing irresistibly. He gave her a little shake.

‘Listen, Alicia, it’s going to take a bit of time for you to sleep off this stuff Westwood gave you, particularly with the shock you’ve had as well. Caroline and Marcus are going to take you back to Chartley
and look after you. I must return to London with Dundry and sort things out once and for all. I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise.’

None of this made sense to Alicia except the unwelcome news that he was going to leave her. Her mind slid over the bits she did not understand—who was Dundry, and what were the Kilgarens doing there?—and fastened on what really mattered to her. Her face puckered like that of a petulant child.

‘Why must you go? I want you to stay here with me!’

James pressed his mouth against her hair. More than anything he wanted to stay there too, not least to prevent anything else going wrong. But he knew that someone had to break the unwelcome news to the Countess of Stansfield. It was the least she deserved.

‘It won’t be for long, Alicia. By the time you are feeling better, I shall be back, I promise. I don’t want to go.’ His serious gaze sought hers. ‘You must understand that. But I have to.’

He gave her a quick, hard kiss. Caroline was hovering in the doorway and it was time to go. James stood up and wrapped the blanket closer around Alicia, as though she were a child. By the time he had reached the doorway she was already asleep.

The day was warm with the promise of summer as James Mullineaux rode into Chartley village almost two weeks later, and he felt his spirits lift with the hope of one who felt that he had at last reached the end of a long journey. He had stayed with friends near Bath on the previous night and had left his luggage to follow as he took advantage of the fine weather to ride the rest of the way.

It had not been a pleasant couple of weeks. Christopher Westwood had sung from the rooftops in an attempt to incriminate others and free himself from blame. To James had fallen the uncomfortable task of telling Lady Stansfield the truth of Westwood’s corruption and she had aged almost visibly as she had absorbed the news. Her main concern, however, had been for Alicia’s welfare. Only James’s reassurance that Alicia was safe and would visit her as soon as possible had prevented her from posting down to Somerset immediately. Finally, James had been to see his grandfather to gain his blessing for his forthcoming marriage and had at last set off for the country with a heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

The village was very quiet. A few ducks splashed lazily on the pond and the sound of children’s voices floated on the air. Over the heather-clad hill lay Monks Dacorum and James suddenly felt a rush of uncomplicated pleasure to be back. They would settle in the country, he decided, then laughed aloud at the change in his own outlook. He turned
into the approach to the Chase and the pebbles of the driveway scattered beneath his horse’s hooves. A groom, alerted by the noise of his arrival, emerged from the stableblock to take the horse and James dismounted to hurry up to the front door with sudden impatience.

His anticipation was now almost at fever pitch. Chartley Chase, always peaceful, seemed almost sepulchrally silent. James knocked vigorously on the door and a moment later Fordyce’s firm tread could be heard crossing the hall to the main door.

‘Good day, Fordyce. I hope that you are well?’ With barely concealed impatience, James hurried into the hall, divesting himself of his coat. The sunlight dappled the polished floor, and the scent of lilies filled the air. It was beautifully serene and tranquil, just as he remembered it. But James could not help wishing that the calm might have been broken. He felt that he really did deserve a hero’s welcome.

‘I am very well, my lord, I thank you.’ Fordyce was closing the door with what seemed to James to be agonising slowness.