Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

LEVI OVERTON, DUKE OF LENNOX

"S hould we be concerned Miss Rowe hasn't yet returned?" Levi, pacing the library, voiced the worry tumbling in his mind. "She's been missing for over an hour!"

Did no one find her absence troubling? After apologizing to him for the burglary, she vanished—on foot—without a companion or any indication of the direction she was headed.

Seated by the fireplace, Miss Webb, a deep frown materializing on her forehead, looked over from her conversation with Roxburghe and Warwick. "An hour? Are you certain, Your Grace?"

Roxburghe fished his pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at the face. "He's correct. Mr. Hughes arrived a little before nine this morning."

"Winifred and I will search for her." Miss Webb, rising from the armchair, gestured for her sister to follow her into the corridor.

"Whom are you seeking?" Mr. Hughes asked, sticking his head through the open window and peering into the library.

"Miss Rowe," Levi said, hoping none of the men noticed the tight wobble in his response.

"I'm certain Miss Rowe will return shortly," Mr. Hughes said, running his fingers along the window sash's groove. "She knows we still need to search her chamber."

"Perhaps,"—Roxburghe crossed the room and clamped his hand on Levi's shoulder—"we should use Miss Rowe's absence to handle the intrusive task of sifting through her personal belongings. She may find our presence overwhelming."

Levi nodded, grateful for the distraction from his foreboding thoughts.

"Your Graces?" Mr. Hughes leaned across the windowsill, his visible breath floating into the room. "Allow me a few moments to walk around the exterior of the house, and then I'll accompany you both upstairs."

Mansfield gestured at the sash. "May I close the window?"

"Yes, however, that lock needs repair, or more uninvited visitors may appear," Mr. Hughes replied as he extracted his head.

Beaufort, Warwick, and Mansfield opted to remain in the library, each citing a personal reason to forego the task of searching Miss Rowe's bedchamber. Instead, they huddled around the fireplace's warmth, Beaufort bemoaning his empty stomach.

"If," Roxburghe said as he and Levi exited the room, "Miss Rowe doesn't return within the hour, we should take our leave. Beaufort appears ready to eat his own arm."

"Are you offering your kitchen?" Levi asked, nudging Roxburghe with his arm. "I doubt Mr. Philbert's ghost prepared anything."

Roxburghe snorted. "I'll bear the cost of Beaufort's stomach."

They stopped in the foyer, waiting for Mr. Hughes. Levi's gaze shifted to the long-case clock situated beside the staircase, watching the pendulum swing back and forth.

"Do you think we'll find anything?"

"In Miss Rowe's chamber?" Roxburghe shook his head. "Highly unlikely. She doesn't seem the kind to steal."

"However," Mr. Hughes said as he entered through the front door, "I must be thorough in my investigation."

"Have you reached any conclusions?" Levi asked, trailing Mr. Hughes up the staircase.

"Aside from that the crime was committed by a woman?" Mr. Hughes glanced over his shoulder.

Levi nodded.

"I'm confused by the evidence," Mr. Hughes said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though he found the admission intriguing.

"How so?" Roxburghe asked when they reached the second-floor landing.

Mr. Hughes spun around. "If the culprit exited through the window, so as not to be discovered by the Duke of Warwick, where is the second set of footprints?"

"Could she have placed her feet in the same indentations?"

"Certainly." Mr. Hughes waved his hand, dismissing Roxburghe's question. "However, what purpose would that serve? Why walk backward through the snow and risk capture?"

Levi snapped his fingers. "You don't think she left by the window."

"Correct," Mr. Hughes said, shifting his attention to Levi. "The thief hid, waiting until everyone was distracted by the theft, then strolled out the front door, their footprints mixing with those who departed earlier."

"Then, how do we determine the culprit?" Roxburghe asked, a hint of irritation straining his voice.

"I'll need a list of all the ladies in attendance last evening, Your Grace." Mr. Hughes bowed, then gestured at the corridor. "If one of you would lead, I don't know which chamber is Miss Rowe's."

"That one." Levi pointed to the room beside the one he occupied the previous night.

Roxburghe leaned over and murmured, "How do you know that?"

"It's the only chamber we didn't search," Levi snapped, turning on Roxburghe. "Nothing improper ever occurred between Miss Rowe and I."

"Calm yourself, my friend." Holding up his hands, Roxburghe backed away from Levi's ire. "I'm not questioning Miss Rowe's moral qualities, merely yours."

"Of the two of us," Levi said, advancing on Roxburghe, "you should be more concerned with managing your own principles."

Roxburghe laughed. "According to Miss Fernsby-Webb, I have none."

"If you'd stop trying to seduce her sister before your wedding, her opinion of you would change."

"Why would I do that?" Roxburghe blinked several times as though confused by Levi's argument. "I love Miss Webb."

Mr. Hughes knocked on Miss Rowe's door, ending their discussion. He waited a moment, then knocked a second time.

"Do you expect someone to answer?" Levi asked, crossing the hallway.

"No," Mr. Hughes said, lowering his arm. "However, the one instance when I didn't knock, the room was occupied."

Shuddering, Mr. Hughes grasped the brass handle, allowing another minute to pass before he opened the door.

"Hello?" he said, hovering at the threshold.

Exhaling a quick breath, Mr. Hughes strode into the room.

Roxburghe bowed and extended his arm, but when Levi reached the doorway, he hesitated and spun around.

"This feels invasive."

"She agreed to the search," Roxburghe said, shooing him backward into the room. "And she won't be present as it is performed."

Levi couldn't fault Roxburghe's logic, and for that reason alone, he conceded, his shoulders rolling forward.

"I'll start with the dressing table." Levi turned and trudged around Mr. Hughes, who'd dropped to his knees and was halfway under the bed.

Rounding the corner of the mattress, Levi's gaze swept over the pale green and cream linens.

"Intriguing," he murmured.

"What did you say?" Mr. Hughes retracted his head.

"It's nothing, just an observation," Levi replied, but Mr. Hughes stood and walked over.

"It could be important," he said, gesturing at the bed. "What did you notice?"

"When we discovered the thefts, we immediately sent Mrs. Hawkins to summon you." Levi paused. "However, Miss Rowe's bed is spread up."

"She made her own bed?" Crinkles appeared around Mr. Hughes' eyes.

"Yes, that intrigues me."

Mr. Hughes ripped back the coverlet, his gaze sliding over the bed sheet. "Because you think she hid something in the linens?"

Roxburghe chuckled and strode over to the faded mahogany armoire. "He's surprised by the lady's inclination to perform a servant's task without assistance."

"She makes her own perfume as well," Levi said, shifting his gaze to Roxburghe as he opened the cabinet door.

"With lavender?" Mr. Hughes picked up a pillow and squished it between his hands.

Levi struggled to keep the irritation from his reply. "I previously informed you that Miss Rowe loathes the scent."

"I recall." Mr. Hughes returned the pillow to its original location and then jerked the coverlet back into place. "However, I cannot explain the presence of the bundle of lavender I discovered buried in the snow."

A creak echoed through the room as Roxburghe pulled open an armoire drawer.

"Would you surmise the flowers belonged to the thief?" he asked, looking at Mr. Hughes.

Mr. Hughes shrugged. "The favor may belong to any of the ladies in attendance last evening… with the exception of Miss Rowe."

He suspected Mr. Hughes added the last portion of his statement to prevent Levi from correcting him again. Levi held his tongue, sitting on a small stool shoved against the dressing table.

An ivory fan, a silver box containing several ribbons, and an embroidered hairbrush lined the back of the table, touching the base of the mirror. In the center of the table rested a small wooden jewelry box, half the size of the one in Miss Webb's chamber. Levi reached out and lifted the lid, peeking into the container. Five pieces rested in the base, none of them possessing much worth.

"Have you discovered anything?" Roxburghe asked, pushing closed the armoire's bottom drawer.

"Nothing of note," Levi replied as he rose.

His eyes skated over the vanity again, and before he could stop himself, his wayward hand whipped out, snatched one of Miss Rowe's hair ribbons, and tucked the adornment into his pocket.

Neither Roxburghe nor Mr. Hughes noticed the theft… if one could call it that. A ribbon held nowhere near the value of his father's ring, yet the desire to possess something of Miss Rowe's overwhelmed his conscience to the point he stole the light pink trimming.

Did it smell of her as well?

"Your Graces," Roxburghe said when they returned to the library, "our investigation in Miss Rowe's chamber yielded nothing."

"As expected," Mansfield interrupted, striding toward them.

"Therefore," Roxburghe continued, glowering at Mansfield, "before Beaufort expires from hunger, we should depart for my lodgings."

Warwick thumped his cane on the floor. "My belongings are at Lennox's."

"And you may send for them whenever you wish," Roxburghe replied, bowing low and turning to his right. "Mr. Hughes? May I tempt you with something to eat?"

"Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace. However, I must decline." Mr. Hughes nodded toward the broken latch on the window.

"Of course," Roxburghe said. "We'll leave you to the investigation."

Moans, mostly from Beaufort, punctuated the thirty-minute coach ride to Roxburghe's lodgings.

"You're not going to die before we arrive," Roxburghe said after Beaufort expelled a particularly loud sigh.

His hand clutching his forehead, Beaufort peeled open one eye. "Five men in one coach, I might."

He hiccupped and face graying, bent forward, placing his head between his knees, and sucked in several deep breaths.

Warwick squished himself against the carriage wall. "If you vomit on me, I shall beat you unconscious."

"Excellent," Beaufort groaned, twisting his face toward Warwick. "I wish to be unconscious."

"Happy to oblige." Warwick lifted his cane.

"And if you,"—Roxburghe leaned forward and jabbed his finger at Warwick—"spill blood in my coach, I'll announce the reclusive Duke of Warwick has decided to take a wife this season."

Warwick paled, lowering his arm. "You wouldn't."

A dark smile crossed Roxburghe's lips.

Before violence erupted in the small cabin, Levi placed a hand on Roxburghe's chest, guiding him back onto the bench.

"Instead of threats, I propose using this time to determine our own list of suspects."

"I concur." Mansfield nodded once. "Mr. Hughes may be intelligent, but Roxburghe and Lennox captured Mr. Philbert's murderer, not him."

"Mr. Hughes is sober," Beaufort moaned, rubbing his temples. "His memory is better than ours."

"There are five of us." Mansfield gestured around the coach. "Surely, we can piece together the events of the evening."

Scrunched his eyes closed, Levi sorted through his hazy memories. "When we arrived, half the party departed."

"Then you made the wager with Miss Rowe?"

Levi shook his head. "We didn't bet until after she won the game against Miss Webb and Miss Philbert."

"Miss Philbert left with Grisham," Mansfield said, stroking his chin. "I doubt she returned to steal from us."

"Didn't you play cards as well?" Levi asked as the carriage slowed.

"I did." Mansfield placed his hand on the coach door. "At my table sat Miss Venning, her cousin, and Miss Sinclair."

As they exited the coach, Beaufort stumbled on the step and fell, landing in a pile of snow.

"Leave me here," he murmured, face down in the slush.

Crouching beside him, Roxburghe said, "Wouldn't you prefer to expire on a full stomach?"

Beaufort grumbled, then flipped over and sat up. "You make an excellent point."

"Venning is hosting a party next week." Roxburghe helped Beaufort to his feet. "All three ladies should be in attendance."

"Are you proposing we corner them and demand answers?" Beaufort asked, brushing the snow from his greatcoat.

"Certainly not." Roxburghe bristled, visibly offended by Beaufort's suggestion. "However, if a guest in attendance is wearing one of the missing watch fobs or Lennox's father's ring, we should question him immediately."

"Agreed." Beaufort clapped Roxburghe on the back. "I hope you've stocked your kitchen."

"Your Grace." Mr. Kendall met them at the door with a sharp bow, his eyes sliding over Beaufort's gray visage. "I'll have some food prepared immediately."

"Chambers as well," Roxburghe said as he entered, "for…"

He glanced at Levi, raising his eyebrows in silent question.

"Three guests," Levi said, a hard edge in his voice.

Warwick smacked the back of Levi's calf with his cane. "I agreed to reside with you for the season, not Roxburghe."

"Mr. Philbert?—"

"Already showed himself to me!" Warwick said, jutting out his chin. "If you return to your haunted lodgings, then I will accompany you, and I'll hear no further argument on the subject."

Levi looked to Roxburghe for assistance, but he shrugged as if saying nothing could be done to sway Warwick's mind.

"Two chambers," Roxburghe said to Mr. Kendall, holding up the same number of fingers.

Mr. Kendall nodded once, turned on his heel, and strode from the foyer, leaving Roxburghe to lead them toward the dining room.

Hanging back, Levi fell into step beside Warwick. "I will not attempt to sway your decision. I'm merely curious why you've eschewed a comfortable bed in favor of a ghost-stricken abode."

Warwick stabbed his cane into the carpet and glanced at Levi. "When the truth of my encounter is revealed, you won't host another function this season. You'll want some company."

Levi's eyes nearly popped from his head. "You intend to tell people?"

"Certainly not." Warwick snorted, limping toward the dining room. "However, Beaufort isn't one to keep secrets."

Levi's gaze flicked toward the doorway from which poured Beaufort's riotous laughter. "Damn."

Warwick shrugged. "The details of our ordeal could appear in today's newspaper."

He must be joking…

"Where's the paper?" Levi asked, striding into the dining room.

"Why?" Beaufort snatched it off the table. "Is there something interesting printed this morning?"

"Warwick hinted you may have inadvertently revealed details of your supernatural encounter last night," he replied, reaching for the newspaper.

Holding the page away from Levi, Beaufort's eyes slid over the type. Then he crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped his hand to his lap.

"Nothing of note," Beaufort said, reaching for his cup of coffee.

"Then you won't mind if I read it." Levi held out his hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers.

Beaufort grimaced, then shook his head. "Not everything written is true."

"Dear Lord, man! Give me the newspaper!" Diving at Beaufort, Levi snatched the crumpled newspaper and flattened it out.

His eyes slid over the first sentence, and the blood drained from his body.

"What does it say?" Mansfield asked, leaning back in his chair.

Levi didn't recognize the hollow, metallic sound that came from his throat.

"Miss Helena Rowe is new to Wiltshire but not new to love. Whispers surrounding the woman suggest she may—or may not—have abandoned her fiancé while in possession of a valuable gold ring and absconded to our town in search of another victim. Gentlemen, beware."

The world spun, colors whirling around him faster and faster. Dropping the newspaper, Levi turned and walked, in a trance, out of the dining room, through the corridor, and out the front door, ignoring the light snow falling on his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around his torso, shivering without his forgotten greatcoat, but continued forward, trekking through the ankle-deep slush.

It couldn't be true.

Horses whinnied behind him, and Levi glanced to his right, finding Roxburghe's coach keeping pace with him.

"A bit cold for a stroll, isn't it?" Roxburghe said through the open window.

"Leave me be," Levi replied, keeping his head down against the biting breeze ruffling his hair.

The coach door opened, and a coat landed at Levi's feet.

"At least put that on before you freeze to death."

Levi acquiesced.

"You think I'm mad, don't you?" He bent, retrieved the greatcoat, and gratefully shoved his arms into the sleeves.

"I think you're in love."

Levi spun, fire flowing from his body, and marched toward the coach. "Take that back."

"I cannot deny the truth of what I see." Roxburghe climbed from the cabin as the carriage slowed.

Stopping an inch from Roxburghe, Levi scowled. "And what do you see?"

"A man conflicted."

"Wouldn't you be?" Levi flung his hands in the air. "The newspaper?—"

"Has been wrong before." Roxburghe tucked his coat tighter around himself. "My fiancée was arrested for murder, and her sister for theft. Neither was true."

Levi's shoulders sagged. "What do you suggest?"

"A sleigh ride." Roxburghe climbed back into his coach and gestured for Levi to follow. "Invite Miss Rowe… and her guests to accompany us this afternoon. When she's trapped in the sled with you, speak with her about her past."

"You're recommending an ambush?" Levi asked as he entered the carriage. "She may never forgive me."

Roxburghe shrugged. "You requested a solution; I presented one. If the idea fails, at least you have the comfort of winning our wager."

He'd rather have Miss Rowe. But Levi didn't know how he'd react if the rumor was true, and the thought disturbed him.

Could he forgive her?