Читать книгу Bound By Their Secret Passion - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Dell turned and encountered Dixon’s scathing glare.

Dell met the butler’s gaze. ‘I regret what happened, Dixon, but, I assure you, I did not push Lord Tinmore.’ He turned to leave.

Dell was willing to accept his part in the sequence of events that led to Tinmore’s death. He should have returned to his carriage instead of confronting Tinmore. But his intentions were honourable. He wanted to defend Lorene and prevent her husband from believing ill of her. But he had not killed Tinmore. Killing was what one did in battle. The images of those soldiers he killed could never be erased from his mind.

Dixon spoke. ‘You killed him, sure enough. You and Lady Tinmore.’

Dell whirled on him. ‘Enough of this talk. Lady Tinmore has done nothing.’

‘That is not what his lordship said,’ Dixon persisted.

‘Tinmore was wrong. His wife’s attachment is to her sisters, not to me. I am merely a friend of her sister’s husband.’

What was the use? This butler was as thick-headed as Tinmore had been. Not listening to reason. Nothing good would come of trying to convince a man who was determined to think otherwise.

Dell turned to leave again.

‘I could be quiet about it,’ Dixon called after him.

Dell looked over his shoulder, not certain he’d heard correctly.

Dixon smirked. ‘You have money, Lord Penford. You wouldn’t miss a few quid. You’d see how easily I could change my mind. Tell them I was mistaken and no harm done.’

Enough sympathy for this man. Dell had thought him motivated by grief, which Dell could well understand, not greed. ‘You want me to pay you to keep quiet?’

‘If you like.’ Dixon sounded all innocence suddenly. ‘I could say I misspoke—out of shock at losing my lord. I could say I didn’t see you push him.’

‘You did not see it. It did not happen.’ Dell’s voice deepened. ‘Perhaps you would like me to tell those gentlemen behind the door that you attempted to extort money from me?’

Dixon continued to look smug. ‘My word against yours, is it not? Who has the most to lose if it comes to that?’

The word of a servant against a peer of the realm. A lying servant at that. Dell would like to believe there would not be much contest.

Unless a jury were willing to believe a young wife of an old man would engage in an affair with a younger man who seized upon an opportunity to hasten her becoming a wealthy widow, assuming Tinmore made a generous settlement on her. That made for a good story. Especially if the young wife was one of the Scandalous Summerfield sisters.

‘Your lie against my truth,’ Dell countered. ‘I’ll bank on the truth and I suggest you do the same.’

He strode away.

Curse Dixon. Grief Dell could accept, even understand, but he’d be damned if he’d pay Dixon to keep the man from lying.

He headed back to the morning room, but Ross intercepted him on the way.

‘You look like thunder,’ Ross said.

‘I feel like thunder.’ He still reeled from the exchange with Dixon. ‘Do you know what that butler said to me?’

‘What?’

‘He asked for money. If I paid him money, he would not lie about what he saw.’ Dell shook his head. ‘Can you believe the man?’

Ross’s brows knitted. ‘He could cause you a great deal of trouble, Dell.’

‘I know that, but I’ll be damned if I pay the man.’

‘I’m not suggesting you pay him,’ Ross countered.

‘This death was not my doing and I’ll not be intimidated by some butler who thinks he can make it appear so.’

‘I want to talk to the coroner, Dell.’ Ross tried to pass him. ‘I’ll make him listen to me.’

Dell held him back. ‘You will have your chance. They wish to speak with all of you.’

‘Good.’ Ross nodded. ‘They need to know who you are and who your friends are.’

‘They know who I am. The Earl of Penford.’ He released Ross. ‘But all that is irrelevant. You being my friend is irrelevant. All that matters is what really happened. And I have nothing with which to reproach myself.’

They started back to the morning room.

‘Damned Tinmore,’ Ross said. ‘If anyone is to blame, it is he. Fitting end, I say. He tried to manipulate everyone. Tess and Glenville told me what he did to them.’

‘What did he do to them?’

‘Forced them to marry. They did not even know each other. They were caught in a storm together and Tinmore used that as an excuse to marry her off without paying her dowry. He put pressure on Genna to marry, too.’

Dell knew about Tinmore’s pressure on Genna. That was partly why Ross came up with his scheme to pretend to be betrothed to her.

‘Lorene should never have married him. She and her sisters deserved better than his treatment of them,’ Dell said.

Of course, it was really Dell’s father who put Lorene in a position to agree to marry the elderly, autocratic Tinmore. When Lorene’s father died, Dell’s father inherited the Summerfield estate. It was Dell’s father who turned out the Summerfield sisters. His father might have been generous to them instead. Allowed them to stay at Summerfield House; provided them dowries. He might have done so, but Dell’s father assumed the sisters were as morally loose as their parents.

What possessed his father to be so heartless?

A pang of guilt hit Dell.

How could he reproach a father he so tragically lost a few months after his father made that decision?

Ross went on. ‘I am going to tell the coroner and the magistrate just what I think. I would be remiss if I did not.’

‘Do not bully them, Ross,’ Dell insisted. ‘It will not work with this Walsh fellow.’

‘I can at least let them know I expect them to proceed properly,’ Ross insisted. ‘And that I expect them to protect Lorene’s reputation.’

For Lorene’s sake, Dell would not further argue with his friend. Her reputation must be protected above all else. After all, the Summerfield sisters had suffered enough damage to their reputations, most of it due to their parents, not themselves.

Lorene, though, had often been the object of gossip, accused of tricking the ancient, but wealthy, Lord Tinmore into marrying her. Yes, she had married Tinmore for his money, but not for herself. For her sisters and her half-brother.

She deserved their esteem, not more gossip.

* * *

Lorene’s knees shook as she stood before Squire Hedges and the coroner. There was no reason for her to be fearful, but she could not help it. She glanced around the room, but it did nothing to still her unease. Rather, the portraits on the wall seemed to be glaring at her, blaming her for what happened.

If she had not defied him, they seemed to say, he would be alive today.

Would the Squire and the coroner see her guilt?

Or did they already believe Dell had pushed Tinmore?

Dell would never have done such a thing. Never. Surely they would have believed him and not a grieving butler too upset to realise who he accused.

Squire Hedges gestured to a chair near the desk. ‘Would you care to sit, Lady Tinmore?’

Sitting would make her feel too small, somehow. She was Lady Tinmore, she must remember. Here was one rare occasion that she must assert her rank.

She straightened her spine. ‘I will stand, thank you.’ She pointed to the pen and paper on the desk. ‘But you must sit so you may write.’

The Squire inclined his head and lowered himself into his chair. Mr Walsh, the coroner, stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was the one who made her insides tremble.

Squire Hedges smiled. ‘Tell us what happened, my lady. What you saw. What you heard.’

She decided to begin with her return from Summerfield House. ‘I spent the day with my sisters at Summerfield House and when the day was over, Lord Penford offered his carriage and his escort to return me to Tinmore Hall—’

Mr Walsh interrupted. ‘You did not have a carriage at your disposal?’

She faced him. ‘No.’

‘Then how did you travel to Summerfield House?’ he asked.

‘I walked.’

His dark brows rose. ‘You walked?’

‘Lord Tinmore was supposed to have come with me to spend Christmas with my family. At the last minute he declared that we would not be going. He gave no reason for declining the invitation right before we were expected to arrive.’ It had been a deliberate cruelty, which had surprised her. Tinmore’s cruelty was more commonly thoughtless. ‘He knew how much I desired to see my sisters. I had not seen my youngest sister since her wedding to Lord Rossdale. I decided to go without him even though he refused me the carriage. So I walked.’

‘You defied him,’ Walsh stated.

‘Yes.’ No use denying it.

Walsh nodded. ‘Go on.’

She wished she could tell what the man was thinking. ‘When Lord Penford’s carriage reached Tinmore Hall, Lord Penford walked me to the door. I entered the house and encountered Lord Tinmore in the hall, waiting for me. He immediately started to accuse me of—of things that were not true. I started up the stairs when Lord Penford opened the door and tried to speak with Tinmore, to tell him he was mistaken—he must have heard Lord Tinmore shouting at me through the door. Tinmore took him to one of the drawing rooms to talk, but only for a minute or two, then Lord Penford returned to the hall and walked out. Lord Tinmore followed him.’

‘Followed him?’ Walsh repeated.

‘Yes.’ Was she telling Walsh too much? ‘Tinmore was angry. First angry at me, then at Lord Penford, but without reason. I never saw him so angry.’

Walsh’s face remained expressionless. ‘Then what?’

She took a breath. ‘Lord Penford left, but Tinmore followed him outside.’ She swallowed. ‘I heard a cry and I ran outside, too. Lord Tinmore was—was on the pavement.’

‘You did not see him fall?’ Walsh asked, somewhat ominously.

‘I did not.’

He glanced away. ‘And in what position did you find him when you came outside?’

She was confused. ‘I—I—he was at the bottom of the steps.’

Squire Hedges spoke, his voice kinder than the other man’s. ‘This is a delicate question, we do realise, my lady. Mr Walsh means for you to describe the position of your husband’s body. Describe how he looked.’

She closed her eyes, but it only made her see it all again. ‘He—he was on his back, his head to one side in—in a pool of blood.’

‘Where were his arms and hands?’ Walsh asked.

‘Up.’ She raised her arms to demonstrate. ‘Up above his head.’

Walsh nodded. ‘Tell us, ma’am, was your husband ill?’

‘Not that I knew of,’ she responded.

But he had been acting strangely that day. Had he been ill? If so, she never should have left him. Although he always refused to allow her to tend to him when he was ill, so what good would her presence have done?

‘He was acting very unlike himself, though. Very irrational,’ she added.

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘Are you referring to your husband’s suspicion that you and Lord Penford were having an affair?’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Yes. That. There was no reason for him to think such a thing.’

Tinmore could not have known of her infatuation.

‘Come now, Lady Tinmore,’ Walsh began, in a smooth tone that did not ring true. ‘Lord Tinmore was a very old man and Penford...’ he paused significantly ‘...is not. Why would your husband not believe you engaged in a little dalliance?’

Her face turned hot with anger this time. ‘I promised fidelity to my husband and I kept that promise. Lord Penford has always acted as a gentleman ought. He thought he could explain to my husband that my husband was wrong, but Tinmore would not listen. It was as though Tinmore was crazed.’

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘Crazed? But would not a man who suspected his wife of infidelity act crazed?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I do not know. How would I know of such things?’ Except, perhaps, from the loud arguments between her mother and father before her mother ran off with a lover. ‘I do know I never saw my husband behave that irrationally before.’

Of course, she had never so blatantly defied him before. Why had she done so? She could admit to being weary of his dictates and it was true she wanted to see her sisters, to share Christmas with them.

But was it also true she wanted most to see Dell?

Walsh made an incomprehensible sound.

Did he believe her about Dell? Or not?

‘Do you know for certain that your husband did not scuffle with Lord Penford?’ he asked.

Her jaw stiffened when she tried to answer. ‘I did not see what happened.’

Walsh glanced at Squire Hedges, who stood. ‘Thank you very much, Lady Tinmore. That will be all for now. We will be questioning your servants, as well.’

The servants!

She had completely forgotten. This was Boxing Day. The servants would expect the day off. And their boxes. She was supposed to distribute their boxes. She’d scoured the attics and closets and old linens and had found enough cloth and old clothing to make a box for each family. Tinmore was to have given them money and she was to have stood at his side, handing them each a box.

‘Please do not delay in speaking to them,’ she requested. ‘They expect to have the day off.’

Squire Hedges walked around the desk to escort her to the door. ‘We will move as quickly as possible. Dixon will organise them for us.’

Certainly. Dixon would be pleased to do so, Lorene was sure. He would probably be pleased to tell them what to say, as well.

Squire Hedges opened the door for her and she stepped into the corridor where Dixon still stood on guard, but the area soon filled with other voices. Her sisters and their husbands. And Dell, who looked absorbed in his own thoughts.

‘Tess. Genna. I forgot it was Boxing Day. I do not know where Tinmore put the purses for the servants and tenants.’

‘Filkins will know,’ Genna said. ‘I’ll find him.’

She dashed off, but her husband, the Marquis of Rossdale, heir to the Duke of Kessington, marched right past Dixon, entering the room with the Squire and the coroner.

‘What is he doing?’ Lorene asked, alarmed that Rossdale just barged in on the men.

Glenville, Tess’s husband, answered, ‘He wants to be certain they handle this properly. And as quietly as possible.’

She supposed a future duke would have some influence. It was a good thing to have someone even more important than Earl Tinmore to advocate for her.

And for Dell.

‘Surely they will decide that it was merely a horrible accident,’ she said.

‘Dell tells us there will be an inquest,’ Glenville explained. ‘The coroner will have to find jurors and swear them in. They will have to see where the death occurred and view the body, so you cannot bury your husband until that takes place.’

It all sounded dreadful. She hated thinking of his body lying on his bed for as long as it took to find the jurors. Between Christmastide and winter weather, it could take more than a week.

She glanced at Dell, who leaned against the wall, a scowl on his face. He glanced up at her and his expression changed to something more tender, something like regret in his eyes.

She held his gaze for a moment before glancing away.

* * *

The afternoon was exhausting. Not only the sheer numbers of gifts to distribute, but over and over to hear and accept condolences, to answer questions about what had happened, to attempt to reassure the servants and tenants that Tinmore’s heir, whoever he was, would do right by them.

She really had no idea what would happen to any of them, including herself. She had signed a marriage contract with him, but it stipulated that her sisters receive a handsome dowry, that her half-brother receive funds to purchase an advance in rank, and that she receive a modest living upon his death. As it turned out, neither of her sisters received the dowry, nor did her brother keep the money Tinmore bestowed on him. Would she fare any better?

She also did not know the heir to Tinmore’s title, lands and fortune. A great-nephew, he’d said, but never named the man. Was he among the important people Tinmore invited to house parties and whom he called upon in London? She did not know. She hoped her reassurances to the servants and tenants would be true. Any decent man would see to it.

Lorene had insisted Tess leave to rest while she finished up and Genna had hurried away to see what Cook had provided them all to eat and to see to making tea immediately. Lorene was alone with her thoughts in this drawing room, the same room to which Tinmore had taken Dell the night before.

There was a light rap on the door.

Lorene rubbed her face and straightened in her chair. ‘Come in.’

Dell appeared in the doorway. God help her, her body flushed with awareness just looking upon him, even though his expression was dark.

‘May I disturb you for a moment?’ he asked.

She stood. ‘Yes. Come in. You do not disturb me.’

He crossed the room to her. ‘I came to bid you goodbye.’

‘Goodbye?’ She had not thought of him leaving. The idea of it made her insides twist.

He nodded, still looking grim. ‘My coachmen need their holiday and—’ his impossibly blue eyes captured her gaze ‘—there is no reason to stay.’

‘No reason?’ Goodness. Could she do nothing but repeat his words?

‘The Squire and Mr Walsh left.’

Had that been why he’d stayed this long? ‘But surely you will stay for dinner.’ If Cook left them anything to eat.

He shook his head. ‘Ross and Glenville will stay. And your sisters. They will...’ He paused. ‘Look out for you.’

She’d have no friends here if they did not stay, except perhaps for Mr Filkins, but he had no power or status.

‘Still...’ she murmured. Still, she wanted him to stay.

Again his eyes met hers, piercing into her as only his eyes could. ‘It is better I leave. And better I stay away, lest my mere presence makes it seem as though—as though there was truth to Lord Tinmore’s accusations.’

She could not deny the sense to that.

‘So—’ He bowed rather formally. ‘Goodbye, Lady Tinmore.’

Her arm reached out to touch his. ‘Dell,’ she rasped. ‘I am so sorry. I have caused you a great deal of trouble and I am so worried sick over what could happen—’

He took her hand in his warm, strong one. ‘You have caused nothing.’

But she had! If she had not defied her husband, if she had not formed this schoolgirl worship of hers, none of this would have happened. Instead of standing here with him, feeling the heat of his palm against her fingers, she would be taking tea with Tinmore, hearing all his praise of his generosity and his complaints of those less than deserving. He’d correct something about how she gave away the boxes and instruct her on how a lady ought to have done it.

She lowered her gaze and he dropped her hand, but she still did not wish to let him go. ‘What of this inquest? Will you be accused of killing him?’

He could lose his life.

His face hardened. ‘I did not kill him.’

She blushed. ‘I know, but Dixon will have said—’

‘He did not see what happened.’

She did not want to obsess about who the coroner and Squire Hedges would believe, not any more than she had already done.

She absently straightened the items left over on the table where she’d piled the boxes. ‘Things change so rapidly.’ She glanced back up at him. ‘Yesterday was such a lovely day. A lovely Christmas. That was your doing, I know. You came to Summerfield House so we could all be together.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Not only for you. I did not want to be alone.’

Her heart lurched for him. He’d lost his whole family. She reached out for him once more, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you also came here for us. I am so grateful to you.’

He glanced away. ‘To go from such a happy day to such a horrific one—I am so sorry for it.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘You must never apologise, not for what happened.’

His gaze pierced her again. ‘It will get better, Lorene. I promise you.’

It must, but if he were held responsible for this dreadful event, she would never forgive herself.

She remained captured by his eyes. It seemed as though she would stay there for ever, but he abruptly broke contact and stepped back.

‘I must leave.’

‘When will I see you next?’ It was the question of a lover, not the sort she should be asking, but it burst from her lips.

‘At the inquest.’

He bowed again, turned and left.