Chapter 2

L ady Winnifred,

I am sorry to hear that you find yourself unwell, especially in light of the grim news I have received today. It concerns Mr. Oliver Baxter, a prominent member of the House of Commons with whom you are no doubt familiar.

There have been a number of unusual occurrences in Mr. Baxter’s household this past month. A stray bullet that came through the window of his morning room, missing him by inches. A wheel that broke on his curricle in such a way that it was a miracle he was not thrown from the vehicle. And a scullery maid who became sickened after tasting the crawfish soup to see if it had enough salt.

Mr. Baxter’s wife grew concerned and insisted that her husband contact Bow Street. Upon investigation, the soup was found to be tainted with arsenic, and the curricle showed signs of intentional tampering.

When the Runner went to notify Mr. Baxter of his findings, he learned that the entire household, consisting of Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Baxter, and one of her spinster cousins, had recently departed for Yorkshire to attend a house party being hosted by the Earl and Countess of Helmsley.

The Runner formed the impression that Mr. Baxter believed his wife had overreacted to this sequence of events, which he dismissed as mere coincidences. He therefore departed London unaware that someone is trying to kill him. You are the only agent within a hundred miles of the house party’s location. I therefore implore you, if you are remotely well enough to undertake the journey, to go to Helmsley Castle with all possible haste. I believe you are acquainted with Lord and Lady Helmsley, but I have provided a letter of introduction explaining your presence at the house party, as well as a letter for Mr. Baxter.

Hopefully, the would-be killer has remained behind in London, but we must take no chances. You are, therefore, to remain at the house party, watching for any signs of another attack. I have also enclosed an analysis of Mr. Baxter’s political positions, and which of the house party’s known guests would face significant losses were he to succeed in enacting legislation in accordance with those positions.

Given the urgency of the situation, I will send as many additional assets to the Helmsley estate as can be made available. In particular, one of my best men will return any day from a lengthy assignment on the Continent. I will have him on the first carriage north.

I remain yours &c.,

H.K.

Clarissa swallowed. Just her second assignment, and she was already facing a life-and-death situation! A part of her was thrilled to have been given the chance to do something so important. But she was inexperienced, and she knew it. What if she was not up to the task?

She shivered, partly out of nervousness but also because the brick at her feet had already lost most of its heat. She was now certain that the temperature was dropping, and she was shivering beneath her cloak. How she wished she had thought to don a couple of flannel petticoats and bring a thick woolen carriage blanket! Well, there was nothing for it now. There hadn’t been time to pack properly, so she had hastily shoved a few things in her valise with the understanding that Lady Winnifred would send her trunk after her the following day.

Clarissa wedged herself into the corner, trying to find a little warmth amongst the sparsely padded squabs. It would be an uncomfortable journey, but it wasn’t far to Helmsley. She could endure it.

She read through the letter a second time. As an avid reader of the papers, she knew of Oliver Baxter. Young and charismatic, his name was often mentioned as a potential candidate for Prime Minister should the Whigs regain power. He advocated for a number of reformist initiatives that Clarissa supported strongly, including eradicating slavery from the British Empire. He also argued in favor of parliamentary reform, including an expansion of voting rights to include the working and middle classes and the elimination of so-called “pocket boroughs” whose populations had shrunk over the years, leaving a scant handful of voters whose support could easily be bought and sold.

Many a family fortune depended on these hotly debated issues, so it was easy to imagine that Mr. Baxter might have enemies.

Unfolding the second sheet of paper enclosed, she saw that Sir Henry’s thoughts had gone in a similar direction:

Possible Suspects:

(1) Mr. Ulysses F. Humphrey—Mr. Humphrey’s fortune is derived from a large sugar cane plantation on the island of Antigua employing slave labor. He faces significant losses should the emancipation proposals Mr. Baxter supports succeed.

(2) Mr. Richard Garroway—MP representing the pocket borough of Dunwich. Most of the town has fallen into the sea, leaving only thirty-two voters in the entire constituency. If Mr. Baxter succeeds in passing parliamentary reform, Mr. Garroway will surely lose his seat.

A different hand, one Clarissa recognized as that of Lady Winnifred, had scrawled an additional name in the lower margin:

(3) Arabella Anstruther, Dowager Duchess of Kimbolton—a good friend of Lord and Lady Helmsley and likely to be in attendance. Mother of fourteen children including eleven boys. Mr. Baxter has advocated for church livings and political appointments to be granted based on merit, rather than connections. He has been vocal in shaming those who bequeath positions in their gift to unqualified family members or who sell them outright. This has made it impossible for a number of the duchess’s shiftless sons to secure a living, and I have heard her complain bitterly about the expense of maintaining them out of the family coffers. She will become increasingly desperate as more of her sons reach the age of majority.

Clarissa sat back. How like Lady Winnifred to consider not only the male guests, but also the ladies. It was a good reminder that Clarissa must scrutinize every possible suspect.

She noted her letters of introduction to Lord and Lady Helmsley and to Mr. Baxter, still folded and sealed. Tucking everything back together, she returned the letter to her valise and settled against the thin grey squabs.

Just as the brick at her feet lost the last of its heat, the coach hit a bump, jolting her slumbering companion awake.

He blinked groggily, then did a double take as he saw that he was not alone in the coach. “Blimey! I do beg your pardon, miss. Wouldn’t have nodded off had I realized I wasn’t alone.” He gave a great, seemingly involuntary yawn. “I’ve come up straight from London, you see, so I’m just about fagged to death.”

Clarissa did not see, not precisely, but she took it that this meant he was tired. “That’s quite all right, sir.”

He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Won’t be much longer now, though. I’m only going through to Helmsley.”

“Helmsley!” Clarissa exclaimed. At his curious look, she explained, “That is my destination as well. I don’t suppose you are bound for Helmsley Castle?”

“Happens that I am. I’m en route to the earl and countess’s house party.”

“As am I,” Clarissa said.

He smiled at her, and something inside Clarissa shifted. He wasn’t what you would call classically handsome. In addition to the bump on his nose, his smile was lopsided, and his fair hair a bit too shaggy. But in spite of these flaws, his features somehow came together in a way that was tremendously appealing.

She decided it was because he looked so affable, as if he were utterly delighted to find himself with her in that carriage, in spite of the fact that he was fagged to death , whatever that meant. And the impression that someone was genuinely pleased to be in your company held a strong allure.

He shook his head, rueful. “But look at me—I’ve gone and put the cart before the horse! I pray you won’t tell Lady H. how I prattled on without remembering to make introductions.” He smiled again, holding out a hand. “I’m Rupert. Rupert Dupree.”

The carriage veered off the road and tumbled over a cliff, falling end-over-end until it finally smashed into pieces on the rocks below.

Not really. But that was how receiving this news felt to Clarissa. It was impossible to understate how discombobulating it was to learn that the amiable fellow sitting not three feet away was Rupert Dupree , the very cad who had jilted her in the most humiliating manner possible and made a very creditable attempt at ruining her life!

His smile faltered. “I say, is everything all right?”

Was everything all right ? Of course, everything was not all right! She was stuck in a carriage with Rotten Rupert, and if she somehow managed to survive that, she would find herself confined to the same remote, snowbound castle for weeks on end!

Clarissa gripped the seat cushion as hard as she could, as she thought it a good idea to give her hands something to do other than reaching across the carriage to strangle him.

He studied her, concern creasing his brow. “Say, you’re not about to flash the hash, are you?”

This nonsensical medley of words managed to penetrate her angry red haze. “Am I about to what ?”

“You know—shoot the cat. Flay the fox. Cast the craw.”

“Cast the—” Clarissa peered at him, perplexed. “Are you asking me if I’m about to cast my accounts?”

He held both hands out in front of him. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I know carriage travel affects some people in that—”

“Mr. Dupree!” Clarissa snapped. “You have misunderstood. I am not feeling remotely queasy. I was merely startled when you said your name because”—she drew herself up, lifting her chin—“I am Clarissa Weatherby.”

She had expected him to turn pale, for horror to come into his eyes as he was forced to face the woman he had so grievously wronged.

Instead, his genial grin returned, bigger than ever.

“Are you really?” He laughed, looking delighted. “Well, this is a bit of a chance, isn’t it?”

Clarissa stared at him, dumbfounded. What was going on?

It was as if he did not understand that he was the most repulsive person she knew.

Of course, there were precisely two things she knew about Rupert Dupree, and one of them was that he was remarkably dimwitted. Two years ago, whenever she had told someone about her betrothal, the conversations always went roughly the same way:

First, there would be some variation of, “ Rupert Dupree ? You lucky thing!” which was followed by a strangely inevitable fit of giggling.

Next, the qualifier: “To be sure, the man is as dumb as a door-hinge. But still !”

Clarissa had found this baffling. If her intended was indeed very stupid, why was she so universally regarded as fortunate?

She had attempted to ascertain the answer through discreet questioning. She had learned that, although Mr. Dupree had inherited an estate from a childless aunt that produced a respectable income of two thousand a year, he was not what you would call absurdly rich. Nor was he regarded as particularly handsome. His elder brother, Viscount Riddington, had already produced three sons, so there was no appreciable chance that he would one day inherit his father’s earldom. The source of his appeal remained elusive.

Finally, a similar conversation had taken place with someone Clarissa knew well enough to ask. She and her sisters were taking tea with Jane Crowley, the married daughter of their more prosperous neighbors, the Ramsays. Clarissa mentioned her recent engagement, and Jane promptly said, “Lucky girl!” then broke into the requisite fit of giggles.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Clarissa moaned. “Because in the next breath, I know you’re going to tell me that he’s—”

“As dull as an anvil,” Jane supplied.

“Precisely!” Clarissa peevishly snatched a ginger biscuit from the tray. “What, I should like to know, is fortunate about that ?”

Jane’s eyes went wide. “Do you truly not know?”

“Know what?”

Jane glanced about as if to make sure her parents were not within hearing range. Instinctively, the four Weatherby sisters leaned forward.

Jane waggled her eyebrows. “Mr. Dupree is exceptionally talented in the bedchamber.”

Clarissa, who had never in her life been stunned speechless, found herself stunned speechless. She could feel her cheeks burning as she exchanged astonished looks with her sisters.

She set her biscuit on the saucer of her teacup with trembling fingers. “How do you know this?” she finally managed to blurt.

Jane laughed. “Rumors! Only by rumors, I swear.” She arched an eyebrow. “Although the rumors are remarkably consistent. So, cheer up, Clarissa—you may find yourself happier in this marriage than you think.”

The conversation moved on, even if Clarissa hadn’t been able to attend to a word of it. She had fumbled through the rest of the visit and was lucky not to have broken her teacup.

And now, here she was, face to face with the man who had humiliated her. Who was reportedly the most bacon-brained man in all of Britain.

Who was exceptionally talented in the bedchamber.

“How have you been?” he asked, voice brimming with affection, as if he were an old friend rather than her archnemesis.

“Not so well, Mr. Dupree,” she replied in a clipped voice. “Not so well at all.”

His face fell. “Oh, no. It’s not something to do with one of your sisters, is it? You have three of them, if I recall correctly.”

Clarissa lifted her chin. “You recall perfectly, and my sisters are thriving. In fact, my eldest sister, Eleanor, is recently wed to the Duke of Norwood.”

He leaned forward, abruptly cheerful again. “I heard about that! I was only in London for less time than it takes to milk an aardvark—”

Clarissa squinted at him. “Less time than it takes to what ?”

“—but it was on everybody’s lips. I was at school with Norwood, you know.” He shook his head, smiling softly. “Capital fellow. Absolutely capital. I daresay your sister is going to be well-pleased with him.”

“Thank you. I’m sure she— ugh. ” Clarissa rubbed her temple. What was she doing ? This was not a normal conversation, and Rupert Dupree was the most despicable man she knew.

Why did she have to keep reminding herself of that fact?

Clenching her jaw, Clarissa began again. “I mentioned that I have not been doing so well. My troubles began around two years ago when I received a great blow to my reputation.”

His face fell. “How awful. I suppose that explains why I hadn’t heard anything about it. You see, two years ago is right around the time I left for the Continent.”

Did he truly think he could play dumb? That she would let him off so easily? Not a chance! “Indeed, the incident which proved so damaging occurred on the eve of your departure.”

“Did it?” Confusion was a natural expression on Mr. Dupree’s face, one Clarissa took it that he wore with some frequency. “That’s quite the coincidence.”

Clarissa glared across the carriage. “No coincidence at all, Mr. Dupree, considering the catalyst to my downfall was you jilting me!”