Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Thank you for meeting with us, Brandon." Frederick nodded, gesturing the man toward a chair. "Please, sit down."

Brandon paused, glancing around the private sitting room before taking a seat in the proffered wingback. It was as uncommon for him to sit in this intimate room shared by only Grace and his lord as it was for Frederick to ask him to enter, but no other room, apart from their bedrooms, provided as much privacy from eavesdroppers.

"As you are well aware, we have recently become concerned about the events surrounding my brother's death. No one is as intimately acquainted with the workings of this house. Would you give a thorough recounting of the last day of my brother's life? Was there anything unusual?"

Brandon sent a glance to Grace.

"It's all right, Brandon. You can speak plainly." Frederick held her gaze. "Lady Astley and I are attempting to sort things out together."

"I've read Poe." She placed her hand on the back of a chair near Brandon. "I can handle any dastardly details you must narrate."

Brandon's lips tipped ever so slightly as he lowered his head. The man's posture withered for only a second before he raised his head to them. "Lord Edward hadn't been himself for weeks. Quieter. More reserved."

"And his health?"

He lifted his gaze to Frederick. "Apart from appearing more anxious, I didn't notice a difference, sir."

"And estate business?"

"I cannot say, sir. It seemed his wife had a hand in a great number of decisions." Brandon looked between Frederick and Grace, his expression lost. "Their arguments had become less reserved."

"But their arguments weren't so unusual, were they?" Frederick asked, remembering the extensive rows he'd overheard at times.

"It seemed they attempted to keep their disagreements behind closed doors at first, sir. But in the last six months of the elder Lord Astley's life…" Brandon searched for the word. "Well, it didn't seem to matter."

"And these disagreements, were they about the estate?" At Brandon's hesitation, Frederick continued. "It's all right, Brandon, I know you'd never wish to be improper, but this is important."

The butler looked down. "As far as I recall, sir, the conversations were about the estate and funds, and at times"—Brandon paused and swallowed audibly—"his wife's…friendships with other men."

Frederick took the couch across from Brandon. "Any names associated with these friendships?"

"I only recall that one was the man she's been most recently affiliated with."

Ah, so they'd been friendly before Edward's death.

"And the last time you saw her was the morning of Lord Edward's…er, the elder Lord Astley's death?" Grace asked, joining Frederick on the couch. So many titles to sort out within this family.

"Yes, a quite memorable exit hours before Lord Astley arrived." He nodded toward Frederick. "Or Lord Edward was discovered."

"Memorable, I'd say, so no one could dispute her exit."

Frederick glanced over at Grace, whose eyes twinkled with interest. "Did you note anything about Lord Edward that morning, Brandon? Lethargy? Nervousness?"

"Actually, madam, he complained of rheumatism in his legs." Brandon sat up straighter, his face paling by slow degrees. "And his hands were trembling with his tea, so he retired to his study to recline."

"Did he regularly take any medicine in the mornings, Brandon?"

"Yes, milady. His cordial draught. For his stomach."

Grace's gaze locked with Frederick's. It was all coming together.

Frederick turned to the butler. "Were you the only one who knew of this, Brandon?"

"I mentioned it to the young doctor who came right after we found the body. We couldn't locate Dr. Ingle, so Elliott contacted the new doctor in Edensbury. He seemed highly interested in your brother's situation, but the dowager countess sent him away when Dr. Ingle arrived."

So that she could cover up foul play?

His attention flitted back to his wife, and her wide-eyed look let him know he'd guessed her thoughts too. A sweet warmth branched out through his chest at the wordless understanding, although it was perhaps a little unsettling that he was beginning to think like a fiction-loving amateur detective.

Then came the painful realization of his mother's real involvement.

A murky picture of longstanding deceit was beginning to come together. Deceit with two possible offenders.

Frederick thought back through the events surrounding his arrival at Havensbrooke. "This young doctor, who was he? Dr. Ingle had traveled to a neighboring town for supplies, wasn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," Brandon answered, hesitant. "Dr. David Ross was his name, if I recall."

"But Brandon, you didn't agree with his dismissal?" This from Grace. "What was it?"

"The young doctor wanted to investigate further." Brandon shifted in his chair. "He felt something was amiss. But Lady Astley strictly opposed anything hinting toward a scandal. I deferred to her, of course, but I see now that I should have approached you, my lord."

"You've done nothing wrong." Frederick sat in the chair opposite the older gentleman and leaned forward. "I could have sought clarification as well, and I didn't." His gaze met Grace's. "I think we need to meet with this Dr. Ross before we make any other inquiries."

Her smile slid from one rosy cheek to the other. "My dear Lord Astley, you are thinking like a sleuth."

"With the house party in two days and Mr. Piper's arrival in a few hours, I think we shouldn't confront your mother until we return." Grace stood near the window in their sitting room, watching her husband pace the floor, his clothes disheveled, his face drawn.

Oh how difficult all this information must be for him to consider.

"We need answers, Grace."

"But we also need as much proof as we can obtain to take into our confrontation with her." She caught his hand as he paced past her. "I have an idea."

He sighed but gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"I have my dress fitting in Edensbury tomorrow morning."

He turned fully to face her. "Oh yes, I'd forgotten." Silence shrouded them, binding them more tightly together. Her family lived across the sea. His family were possible criminals. They only had each other. "And what is this idea of yours?"

She tugged him down to the window seat beside her. "I don't think your mother killed her son. Perhaps, she knew about it—"

"Why the flower, Grace?"

Grace sifted through her inventory of fictional options involving some sort of hideous corruption, perhaps from Poe or Gaboriau. "Blackmail?"

"And what sin could Celia hold over my mother to silence her from a deed this serious?"

"Something dark enough to shake the foundations of Havensbrooke, I'd guess." His face paled. Oh dear, she should have worded that a little differently. "So I suggest after my dress fitting, we pay Dr. David Ross a visit. Perhaps he's the one who can shed some evidence on our conjectures, and then we speak to your mother."

Dinner with Andrew Piper proved a lighthearted affair. The man oozed quick wit and kindness, but when they retired to Frederick's study, the conversation took a decidedly serious turn.

Frederick, Piper, and Grace poured over dozens of financial books, a personal journal or two, and added the recent ledgers recovered from Edward's study.

"Your brother closed the glassworks two years ago," Grace said. "But there's no indication that the business wasn't viable any longer."

Piper blinked over at Grace and looked to Frederick, who couldn't help the hint of pride pushing up at the corners of his mouth. True, most women didn't usually speak of money and business affairs, but Grace was certainly unlike most women.

"But the gristmill became a point of contention years ago," Piper said, "just before I was dismissed. Mr. Rupert Cooper and your father came to blows, and in a fit of passion, your father closed it all down."

Rupert? Frederick's mind paused on the name, but he wasn't certain why.

"The gristmill closed by your father and the glassworks by your brother?" Grace shook her head. "No wonder the estate began to wane, and if Celia had taken over finances along with the natural expenses of covering the costs of such a large property…"

"She always seemed to get her way, if I recall correctly," Piper added, examining the ledgers strewn across the billiard table. "When I met with Detective Miracle about some of the inconsistencies in the books, he mentioned that the former Lady Astley had been married before. Did you know?"

Celia? Frederick nearly spit the drink he'd just taken. "Married?"

"It appears that your detective did a little digging and uncovered that she'd been married to a businessman with new money, nearly three times her age."

"What happened?" Grace's palm flew to her chest. "Oh, oh, let me guess."

Piper's lips twitched beneath his finely trimmed moustache.

"The husband was found dead within the first year."

Piper ran a palm over his mouth, studying Grace with a quizzically humored expression. "Very clever, Lady Astley." The man's blue gaze flipped to Frederick's. "You have a budding detective on your hands, my lord."

Frederick wasn't certain whether to smile or not.

"It's a repeated plot in many fiction books." She nodded, sending Frederick a wrinkle-nosed grin for her cleverness.

Frederick resigned his concern and turned back to Piper. "And how did Celia's first husband die?"

"It was listed as"—Piper nailed Frederick with a look—"a heart condition."

Deafening silence followed Piper's declaration.

"But what proof do we have?" Frederick gestured toward the papers on the table. "Nothing. It's too late to exhume bodies to test for poisoning, and what would Celia have to gain from it all? I was still alive."

"Money." Piper tapped the ledgers in his hands. "Or it seems as though someone is. There are large and consistent funds missing from each of your brother's former accounts, and the notes for the fund trans-fers are not in his handwriting. It's a close attempt but not exact."

Frederick walked to Piper's side and peered over him to review the notes. "Celia, you think?"

"She signed as your brother?" Grace came to his side.

"It seems most of the accounts for the last few months of your brother's life were managed by the lady in question. He'd given her sovereignty."

"Or she'd taken it," Grace added.

"But one would think Mother would have recognized what was happening."

"Unless someone held something over her." Grace reminded.

A fire fueled beneath Frederick's skin, pulse pumping for justice. "Can you trace these funds?"

"Miracle was able to locate that information, actually." Piper sorted through a few more of the ledgers, comparing information, and then raised his direct gaze to Frederick. "An account held by Mr. Mason Parks of London."

Frederick braced his hand against the table. The web was much worse and more prevalent than he'd imagined.

And increasingly more dangerous.

Dr. David Ross was nothing like Grace imagined a country doctor to be.

"Lord Astley." The young doctor offered his hand, his smile at the ready. He turned to Grace. "Lady Astley. To what do I own this unexpected visit."

"I've come on a private matter, Doctor, as it concerns my brother whom you were kind enough to see to earlier this year."

The man's emerald gaze settled on Frederick and then switched to Grace. "I see. Please, sit down." Dr. Ross gestured toward two chairs in his private office. "And how may I help you?"

"I've heard good things about you, Doctor. And well—" Frederick stiffened in his chair. "I don't care to shilly-shally around the point. Time is essential. I'm sorry you were dismissed from Havensbrooke in so hasty and, as I understand it, impolite a manner after my brother's death. If I'd been more present of mind, I'd have come to you sooner to discuss your findings on that day."

"It was my understanding you'd only arrived back in the country. To discover your brother's unexpected death along with inheriting the responsibility of his title? I can imagine how overcome you must have been."

"Thank you." Frederick bowed his head in appreciation, and Grace ignored the urge to take his hand in front of the good doctor. "But since then, certain concerns have come to light that have brought me to your door. Do you recall that day?"

"Indeed I do." Dr. Ross sighed and stood, walking to a shelf nearby and sifting through some papers, finally withdrawing one from the pile. "I'm afraid you'll not like my findings."

"I don't think they'll surprise us, Doctor," Grace added.

Dr. Ross took his seat and leaned forward, offering Frederick the papers. "I have all of my observations detailed here. Your brother had symptoms consistent with poisoning, and not just any poisoning, but a quite common one which most doctors would note upon a cursory examination, especially after the butler answered a few questions for me."

"Hemlock."

Dr. Ross examined Grace's face. "Yes."

Silence stained the moment with a sudden dread Grace felt to her toes. This wasn't from a story or a fantasy. Without any doubt, Edward had been murdered.

"I suggest you alert the authorities, Lord Astley." David's palms pressed against the desk. "If the perpetrator knows of your doubts, this may put both of you in danger."

"I'm afraid it already has." Frederick turned to Grace, his dark gaze holding hers. "But we believe we know the culprit. We only need prove it, and you've given us some help on that score."

The declaration sent a wonderful thrill through Grace's entire body. Oh heavens, her husband would make a gloriously dashing detective. She could almost picture him with spyglass in hand. Marriage certainly proved much more exciting than she'd anticipated, and if they survived another week without being drowned, poisoned, or attacked by moonlight, just imagine how much more thrilling it could become.

Frederick phoned Detective Miracle with the new details from their meeting with Dr. Ross when they returned home, and the detective planned to take the first train to Havensbrooke the next morning to meet Grace and Frederick after the house party. Tension tinged the air. They were hurtling toward some unseen culmination in this dark plot, and the only thing to do was prepare as best one could.

Frederick's wife dazzled the guests upon entry at Keriford Hall in a gown of midnight blue lace, silk, and beading, a sash of a paler hue cinched around her waist, enhancing curves he knew so well.

Her hair was a halo of fiery red, piled into a mass of curls on her head and decorated with a thin band of silver. He held his breath at the sight of her. And she was his. The awareness reverberated through him afresh every time he acknowledged God's gift in giving him Grace.

Lady Caroline Keriford welcomed them forward, a vision in dark rose, her expression honed to perfection. Grace must have inherited her eyes from the Rosemunds, because her aunt shared the same captivating hue.

"Aunt Caroline, your home is beautiful." Grace released Frederick's arm to embrace her aunt. "Thank you for this wonderful gesture tonight."

"I couldn't leave you to the wolves of the aristocracy without a proper introduction, my dear." Lady Keriford peered over Grace's shoulder to offer Frederick a wink. "But I daresay you're in excellent hands. Mr. Andrew Piper is a mutual acquaintance, and quite complimentary of the new Earl of Astley."

Frederick dipped his head in acceptance of the compliment. "He's the best of men."

"Yes he is." She offered her hand to Frederick, which he accepted with a bow.

"And so is Lord Astley." Grace lifted her eyes to her husband, one eyebrow winging high in a flirtatious tilt.

A smile warmed his face at her unabashed admiration.

"You're acting as if you truly like one another." Lady Keriford chuckled. "Very uncommon indeed."

"Our American counterparts do bring a shock to the institution, don't they, Lord Astley?" This from Lord Keriford who joined his wife's side in greeting. Lord Keriford had done well in his marriage, by all accounts from the outside world, and the two made an amiable pair if first impressions held any credence.

"I'm quite certain I married well."

"Of course you did. You married into my family." Lady Keriford ushered them forward with a laugh. "I'm pleased to have you so close, Gracelynn. It's been much too long since I've seen family."

Music filtered from the room ahead of them, a space boasting high, elaborately carved golden ceilings and a pale oak floor that glowed in the carefully placed lighting. "I should prepare the two of you, though. At the last minute, Lord Elston brought a guest not unknown to you, Lord Astley."

Frederick halted at the threshold of the doorway, tension constricting his chest with warning. Almost as if drawn by magnetic force, Frederick's gaze found the root of the aggravation. Surrounded by a group of ladies and gentlemen at the far corner of the room stood Celia Percy in her mourning gown. The very fact she'd shown up to the house party filled with some of the upper crust of English society defied every social expectation, yet from the faces of the enraptured throng, no one seemed to mind. His mother would have been horrified that Celia had taken some of the more relaxed views of mourning by wearing half-mourning attire, let alone showing up at a house party when her husband hadn't even been in the grave a year.

"I was surprised at her arrival, of course, since she's still in mourning." Lady Keriford offered a one-shoulder shrug. "But this is such a small party, and though some of the more astute members of the gentry may scoff, I felt it couldn't hurt anything really. She seemed determined to celebrate your happiness, so I overlooked propriety this once. Family, you know."

"This once?" Lord Keriford offered his wife his arm and a crooked grin. "You've been overlooking propriety since the day you stepped off the boat from America."

"You are right." She laughed and took his arm. "But I do attempt to avoid scandal, at least." Her gaze settled on Grace. "Which is the only point you need to remember in this British upper class. You're allowed a great many liberties as long as none of them end in scandal."

"Come darling, let's announce the guests of honor." Lord Keriford drew his wife away from them, leaving Frederick a few seconds with Grace.

"She's even better than I imagined."

Frederick really should have failed to be alarmed by Grace at this point.

"Raven hair, deliciously deceptive eyes, and a smile with all sorts of alluring secrets." She touched his arm. "Oh Frederick, no wonder you fell so desperately."

"Stay near me, Grace." He shook his head and leaned closer, lowering his voice. "If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."

"Who's to say you won't need me to protect you, my chivalrous husband?"

As creative and inventive as her mind could be, his bride had no idea of Celia's cunning. Manipulation was one thing; murder was another.

At that moment, the music died, and Lord Keriford's voice swelled over the quieting throng of about forty people. "Thank you for joining us this evening for our Christmas celebrations. We would like to welcome our guests of honor, Lord and Lady Astley, in their first public appearance in England as man and wife."

Frederick's attention swept directly toward his sister-in-law, who didn't disappoint. Her dark eyes met his, and her lips curved into a smile as wicked as that of the serpent in the garden. His stomach curled. It all seemed so clear now, so obvious. The death of her first husband. The game she'd played with Frederick's affections. Whatever scheme she concocted in his brother's death.

Frederick forced a smile and turned to the hosts. "Lady Astley and I thank you for your generosity and kindness. And thank you all for celebrating with us this evening."

"Take up your glasses everyone!" Lord Keriford held up his glass. "To the bride and groom."

The room erupted in the expected echo of congratulations followed by an immediate quiet as everyone took a sip of their drinks—everyone except Celia.

Frederick and Grace mingled with some of the guests, Frederick taking the happy opportunity to introduce Grace to those living in Havensbrooke's general vicinity.

As Celia approached through the crowd, Frederick turned to Grace.

"Will you go and speak with your aunt? Let her know we'll be leaving as soon as dinner ends due to…" He searched for an excuse.

"My being overtired?" She shrugged, attempting to help him.

"Would anyone actually believe that, darling?"

Her eyes brightened. "Well, I am a new bride."

Her beautiful smile drew him closer, his lips dropping to her cheek. "You are indeed."

With a squeeze to his hand, she retreated through the crowd until she'd made it safely to her aunt's side. Frederick's relaxed expression hardened as he turned to the scent of lilacs and the ominous presence of Celia Blackmore Percy.

"So that is your blushing bride?" She swirled the liquid in her glass, following Frederick's gaze across the room. "What a lovely child ."

Even her voice lathered false. Frederick kept his expression stoic. "I hadn't expected to see you here."

Her dark brow angled high, fully aware of his implications at her rebellion against the social norms. "I simply couldn't refuse an opportunity to share in the joys of my brother-in-law's happiness after such loss." Her lips reflected the appropriate emotion that her eyes failed to convey. "How could I stay away?"

"A handwritten note would have appealed to convention a bit more."

She took a slow drink, biding her time. "I've never been fond of convention. Besides, I heard you were asking about me in London, so I thought perhaps"—her gaze trailed over him in a way he understood full well—"your sweet little American wasn't quite up to the task."

"Do not fear, Celia." His gaze bore into hers. "Your very thorough lesson on the value of faithfulness and honesty has ensured my fidelity."

"Fidelity?" The light in her eyes faded a little, but she recovered with a raised brow. "How quaint. I had wondered about the value of this unexpected marriage, but I see a quite profitable connection."

"For me, yes." The undercurrent in her words churned with threats. "I'm immensely grateful I hadn't conceded my heart to a lesser woman."

The sting hit its mark. Her stare faltered slightly, but she was quick to rally. "How is your mother?"

Frederick forced his features still. "She's as content as she is able."

This almost resurrected the woman's smile. "An accurate answer, no doubt, but how is her grief? To lose a husband and son in five years' time? There's no wonder what sort of stories she might concoct to appease her heartache."

"Even the most sorrow-induced stories bite with some truth."

The hitch in her smile spoke volumes. "I wouldn't attempt to dig too deeply, Lord Astley."

"A threat does not become you."

Her laugh rang false. "I don't threaten, my dear Frederick." She never moved her gaze from his. "But do remember, curiosity is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."

Her words fired a warning shot Frederick felt to the core. There was no more time to wait. Tomorrow Detective Miracle and Frederick would present their evidence to the authorities before something more sinister led to another scar on the Percy name. Or worse, on his heart. His gaze rose to find Grace.