Letters to a Lover, page 10
Grizelda’s eyes sparkled with unexpected approval. “Did he, by God?”
“Sadly, my wife then grabbed me by the arm, and our man escaped,” Eric said. “With the money.”
“Who was he?” Griz demanded, waving aside the money. “Did you see?”
“I saw a man’s face more or less hidden by a top hat pulled low and a woolen scarf pulled high. It didn’t leave much.”
“Then you don’t think you know him?” Dragan asked, apparently disappointed.
“I hope not.”
“What intrigues me,” Azalea said, seating herself on the sofa, “is how that hat clings to his head. It didn’t fall off, according to your theatre usher, when he climbed out of the box nor even when Eric hit him, and he bolted across the square.”
“He must have taken some added precautions to keep it on his head,” Dragan replied quite seriously. “Which means he is afraid of being recognized.”
“He should be,” Eric murmured.
“Yes, but it does not help us identify him,” Griz pointed out.
“It narrows things down,” Dragan disputed. “It means he is afraid of being known by you or your circle of acquaintances.”
“With respect, Dragan, that hardly narrows it at all,” Griz retorted. “Azalea and Eric know everybody.”
Dragan picked up a pile of his papers from the table. “But everybody was not at the particular area of the theatre we are interested in last Wednesday or at Lady Royston’s ball.”
“You still think the ball is connected with the blackmail?” Azalea asked quickly. She was glad Eric sat beside her.
“I spoke to Rosemary and Gordon, who were there, too,” Griz said. “And Annabelle. They all said you seemed your usual self through most of the evening, but that after supper, you seemed…off. Annabelle said disinterested. Rosemary said dazed.”
“She said nothing of the kind to me,” Azalea said indignantly. “And I asked Rosie about the ball!”
“You inquired about which gown you wore,” Griz said wryly, “and she told you. She didn’t bring up anything else because when she asked you at the ball if you were well, you bit her head off.”
“I did?” Azalea frowned. “Who was I with? Who did I dance with?”
Griz grabbed her notes from the table and sat down. “Before supper, you danced with Lord Royston, Mr. Lawrence Hammond, Lord Darchett, and Sir Jeremy Naseby. You went into supper with Sir Jeremy, and afterward, you danced with Gunning and Mr. David Grant.”
Azalea leaned forward in some excitement. “Sir Jeremy was there last night! He left the salon just before I did! He could easily have been our blackmailer.”
“He went straight to the cloakroom,” Eric said apologetically. “And I noticed him in the salon again when I made our excuses to Lady Braithwaite. His jaw did not appear to be bruised.”
“Oh, well,” Azalea said philosophically. “I suppose I quite like Sir Jeremy, so I’m glad it’s not him. But Gunning…that is interesting. I danced with him when I was, in Rosie’s opinion, dazed. I wonder what I said to make him imagine I wished to begin a liaison with him?”
“Some men take common civility as an invitation,” Eric said with a very superior curl of his lip.
“That is true,” Azalea allowed. “Which is why I am usually perfectly plain about my intentions. Or lack of them.” She broke off, aware that Eric was frowning at her. “What?”
“You have…much to negotiate at parties of pleasure.”
“Women do,” Griz said unexpectedly. “Very beautiful women, even more so.”
Eric closed his mouth, apparently appalled.
“What were the other names you mentioned?” Azalea asked hastily.
“Lawrence Hammond and David Grant.”
“I’ve known Mr. Hammond for years, but David Grant?”
“Ah,” Griz said, “well, that is the name of the man you later encountered at the Exhibition with Timothy Worth and Gordon. So if you were only introduced to him at the Royston ball, that explains why you didn’t recognize him later.”
“Hmm. But why did he seem so embarrassed to meet my gaze at the Exhibition? And then try to speak to me, only to run off when Darchett got in there first?”
“Perhaps he is shy,” Dragan suggested. “A bashful admirer.”
Eric turned to Dragan, fixing him with his gaze. “You really think something happened to Griz at the Roystons’ ball?”
Dragan shrugged. “It’s possible. But unless or until she remembers, we can’t know for certain.”
“It’s also difficult to ask the Roystons and their other guests without drawing unwelcome attention to Azalea,” Griz added. “But there seems to be no gossip doing the rounds either about her or anything that went on there—at least not beyond the who danced with whom and how Lord Darchett managed to lose so much money at cards while pursuing the Fenner heiress.”
“Fenner?” Eric said, suddenly frowning.
“Catherine Fenner,” Dragan said. “She is the daughter of your associate, George Fenner. He and his wife also attended the ball. Do you think it matters?”
“Beyond the fact that he is one of the people I asked you to investigate for me, I don’t see that is it does. Coincidence.”
“You all move in the same wealthy social circles,” Dragan said. “Though Fenner is hardly aristocracy.”
“No, but he’s very thick with Verry, who is,” Eric said.
“We entertained them for dinner, once, did we not?” Azalea said.
“Yes, about a year ago.”
“Did I speak to them at the ball?” Azalea wondered.
Griz glanced at her notes. “Not that we know of.”
Azalea stared at her. “You have a list of people I spoke to?”
“Of those Rosemary, Gordon, or Annabelle noticed you conversing with for any length of time,” Griz corrected. “Plus, those that you danced with. We’ve been comparing the list of dance partners with those who attended the theatre, with boxes near enough to yours to be suspicious. It isn’t infallible,” she added defensively, though no one had criticized, “but we thought it could at least eliminate suspects.”
Eric shifted restlessly. “You may well be right, but I’m more interested right now in what happened to Azalea at the ball.”
“If anything did,” Azalea intervened.
“As you say. But if it happened, it is very unlikely to have been while you were dancing or talking in full view of everyone else in the ballroom.”
Blood seemed to surge in her ears, dizzying. “Unless I made an assignation with Gunning and was so disgusted with myself that I decided to forget it.”
“It seems somewhat trivial to make you forget an entire evening,” Dragan observed.
“It isn’t trivial to me,” Azalea said bitterly.
“No, but why would you have done so?” Griz demanded. “It isn’t in character for you, the man makes your flesh crawl, and he’s unlikely to have threatened you into it anywhere so public.”
Azalea risked a glance at Eric. How bizarre to be discussing such matters with her husband.
“On the other hand,” Dragan said heavily, “you seemed to vanish after supper. Annabelle and Rosemary both saw you leave the supper room early and alone, and neither they nor Gordon saw you again until the second dance after that.”
Azalea’s heart beat uncomfortably hard. “Then where did I go?” she said slowly. “It’s a long time to spend in the cloakroom. Did I poke around the house? Take the air?” She frowned. “There is a small, ornamental garden at the side of Royston House, accessible from the ballroom.”
“Did you go there during the ball?” Eric asked steadily.
Azalea squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know. I don’t remember any of it.”
Eric’s hand covered hers, strong and reviving.
Dragan said, “Don’t try. We will try to find out more from the servants, who might have seen where you went. In time, something could jog your memory, and it will all come back.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I hope you are right. Though I’m not sure why we are concentrating so hard on the ball. In my missing hour, or half-hour, did I sit down and write one or more love letters to someone I had only just met?”
“Unlikely, I agree,” Dragan said. “But the ball is the period in time you can’t recall, and when you were behaving strangely enough for other people to notice. The blackmailer could have noticed, too, and either made something up or worked out later that you couldn’t recall him or what he had done or made you do.”
Eric shifted on the sofa, a small yet violent movement. His fingers curled convulsively around hers, and she pressed back instinctively to comfort him.
“Did you look at the letter fragment he sent?” she asked in a rush. “Do you think it really is my writing?”
“If it isn’t, it’s an excellent forgery,” Dragan said with a shade of awkwardness. He delved among his papers and brought out the familiar fragment. “The letters are all formed much as you usually do. You see the distinctive tails of your y and g, the way you write w, are all the same. I could find no real discrepancy. The only oddity is that many of the words are joined by a faint line, as though you were in too great a hurry even to lift the pen properly off the paper. And the writing is on a faint slope. Neither of these seems normal for you, so they may just be consequences of writing in a rush.”
“Why would I write a love letter in a rush?” she wondered. Her lips twisted. “Or at all.” She waved one hand in sharp dismissal. “To the devil with it. Thanks for looking, Dragan.”
She drew in a reviving breath. “So, you have a list of suspects. People from the Roystons’ ball who were also at the theatre on Wednesday and could have been in the vicinity of Grosvenor Square last night.”
Dragan passed her a piece of paper, which Eric read aloud over her shoulder.
“Lord Royston, Naseby, Fenner, Verry, Lawrence Hammond, Gunning, Lord Darchett, David Grant. They were all at all three places?”
“Well, we cannot yet prove they were not,” Dragan admitted. “They were all at the ball. Fenner is listed largely because he is a suspicious character, and he probably knows you don’t like him. Verry for the same reason. Gunning has a grudge, and Darchett is short of money besides saying such odd things to you in the park.”
“Yes, but blackmail is hardly gentlemanly conduct,” Azalea pointed out.
“I think we all know birth does not necessarily bestow virtue,” Dragan said wryly.
“Radical,” Eric accused with a faint, sardonic smile.
“To the core,” Griz agreed. “But also, a gentleman by birth and otherwise.”
“Indisputably,” Azalea agreed, amused in spite of herself to see her sister jump so quickly to her husband’s defense.
“In any case,” Dragan continued, calling the company to order with a frown, “now that you have come face to face with him, you must have noticed something that can help us shorten the list.”
“I didn’t see his face or even his hair,” Eric protested. “And despite the lamps in the square, it was quite dark by that bench.”
“I’m sure that’s why he chose it. That and the fact it was on the far side of the square from Braithwaite House. You couldn’t possibly have made out his features from the window as you planned, Azalea.”
“No,” she agreed with a sigh. “It was a silly idea, though I did get closer than I imagined I would when I tried to stop Eric hitting him again.”
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Dragan said thoughtfully. “However, you may both have formed useful knowledge. What did you notice about this man besides his hat and his scarf? Was he young? Old? Fat or thin? Tall or short?”
“Tall,” Eric said as if surprised by the memory. “Almost as tall as me. And thin.”
“Almost lanky,” Azalea added with growing excitement. “He seemed all legs and hat as he sprinted across the square.”
Eric nodded. “And he was certainly spry enough to run, so I doubt he was old, but otherwise, I could not tell his age. Nor did he speak, so we couldn’t describe his voice.”
“Still, Mr. Grant is not a tall man,” Azalea said eagerly, “so we can eliminate him. And Darchett is more solid than thin.”
Dragan took back the list, scribbling something in pencil beside the names.
“Lord Verry is stout,” Eric observed. “And Naseby too slight.”
“Who are we left with?” Azalea asked eagerly.
“Lord Royston. Hammond, Fenner, Gunning,” Dragan read.
“I cannot believe Lord Royston guilty of such a thing,” Griz said doubtfully.
“Being a friend of His Grace’s doesn’t make him a saint,” Azalea argued. “Though I do see your point. I can’t quite imagine it either.”
“We should not eliminate him yet,” Dragan decided.
“So what do you suggest we do next?” Eric asked him.
“Griz is going to visit the Roystons, see what she can learn from them or their servants. I thought I would speak to Fenner and Verry about investing money I don’t have in their building ventures. I shall imply you are too rigid for my tastes.”
“Thus, pursuing two investigations at once,” Eric approved. “I take my hat off to you. I can speak to Gunning and Darchett.”
“I can take Lord Darchett,” Azalea offered.
“No,” Eric said flatly. “I don’t want you near any of them.”
“Don’t be silly, Eric! I can’t just sit at home chewing my nails while the rest of you do all the work. I’ll go mad.”
“Do it together,” Griz suggested brightly.
“That way, Azalea is protected,” Dragan said with a nod of approval. “Two impressions are better than one. And it’s just possible one of them may jog your memory. If it does, then it’s best Trench is there with you.”
Azalea did not argue. Having spent years, it seemed, proving that she did not mind whether or not her husband accompanied her anywhere, she was secretly glad of the excuse to be together. It was just sad that either of them needed an excuse.
“Good,” Griz said, springing happily to her feet. “Now I’m going to see what gossip I can extract from barrow boys and girls on my way to call on Lady Royston.”
Azalea caught her hand as she passed. “Griz? Don’t go poking bears, my fearless little sister.”
Griz only grinned. “Not unless I have Dragan with me,” she promised.
*
“So, where are we most likely to meet Gunning or Lord Royston?” Azalea asked as they walked together back toward Mount Street.
“I imagine the Roystons will be at your parents’ dinner party.”
“Ah, yes, that is probable! When is it? Can you remember?”
His lips twitched. “Tonight.”
“Well, that is fortunate! We had better compare engagements for the rest of this week, too. Drat, is that a spot of rain?”
It was indeed, inspiring them to walk briskly for the rest of the way, for Azalea had forgotten her umbrella. They ended by running along Mount Street and bolting up the steps and into the house together.
“My engagement diary—” she began breathlessly when she had divested herself of her damp short cape and hat.
“Don’t you want to change first?” he asked.
“Lord, no. My bonnet got the worst of it, and one thing about such massive skirts is no matter how wet, they never cling to your legs. I think my diary is in the morning room. Where is yours?”
“In my head.”
Of course it was. His astonishing memory was one of the things that had first impressed her. With his sleepy eyes and indolent expression, he never seemed to pay a great deal of attention, and yet he could remember everyone who entered a room and what each said in his hearing.
It was a long time since he had spent much time in the morning room, and his sheer size and masculinity seemed to dwarf it, especially when he shrugged off his damp coat and threw it over the back of a chair. For some reason, she felt flustered as he lounged on the delicate sofa. Hastily, she pulled the little book from her desk and sat beside him, opening it in her lap.
“You are quite right. Her Grace’s dinner is tonight. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I have no engagements except church if I choose. On Monday, there is an al fresco luncheon in Hyde Park, followed by an excursion to the Exhibition, both arranged by Mrs. Ellesmere. I could never quite make up my mind whether to accept or go to Anne Gaunt’s at home. But now I think about it, I believe Gunning is a friend of the Ellesmeres.”
“Gunning may not want to talk to us, of course.” Eric was frowning at a rag nail on one finger.
“Because I poured tea over him?” Azalea said, trying not to laugh at the memory.
“Well, that and…I may have threatened him.”
She smiled. “Did you?”
“You needn’t sound quite so delighted. I am not a violent man.”
“Which is why it is so alarming when you are. Impressive, but alarming.”
He glanced up, a provoking expression in his eyes that caught at her breath. “Well, now that we have two engagements at least on our joint calendar, what would you like to do with the rest of the day?”
The heat from his eyes seemed to burn right through her clothes. The suggestive curve of his sensual mouth tugged at some invisible thread to her lower body, arousing, attracting. A responsive smile trembled on her lips.
But before she could speak, the door burst open, and Michael and Lizzie flew in, exclaiming in delight to have found them both together. Elsie toiled breathlessly behind them, effusive in her apologies.
Eric’s humorous gaze met Azalea’s over their children’s heads. “I believe the matter is out of our hands.”
Chapter Eleven
Azalea dressed for her parents’ formal dinner party that evening with a certain frisson of excitement. Part of it was a desire to be doing something for herself and pursuing the villain. She had paid to prevent scandal, but she was not giving up. And that she was doing it in partnership with her husband gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Her mood was improved, too, by having spent a large part of the day with Eric and the children. They did not need to go to Trenchard to spend time together. It was perfectly possible in London, too.
