Chapter 21

The last few hours had been a whirl of emotion, from the most thrilling erotic experience in Margot's life, to the subsequent reveal of her darkest secret, to now the injured man laid out on the grass in front of the townhouse.

To keep as much as she could steady in her mind was difficult, especially since she had Langley so close to her. Part of her almost wished him away so she could straighten her spiralling thoughts, although she feared soon, she would have to accept the truth of the situation: she was falling for him. No, more than that—she was in love with him. After all, she had trusted him enough with the secret she had thought she would never tell a soul.

Making their way into the fresh, warm gardens alive with the promise of spring, despite her injury and the revelation of Ashmore's death to the ton, the world continued to renew itself and begin again. At her feet, bright green grass sprang up, dotted through with tulips, and the air was heavy with apple blossom, so sweet that it stung her eyes. Margot wanted more than anything to halt her steps, simply sink into the luxurious sensation that this little garden offered. But time would continue to turn, and those precious snatched moments, the ones with the person she loved, could be gone before she knew it.

She was doubly grateful for his presence when Langley marched forward and examined the injured man lying at the steps leading up to the Ashmore abode. They were so near to the house that for a moment Margot wished they could just continue inside the building, to whatever conversation they needed to have—surely it would be better than checking the attacker over?

A tiny aspect of her feared this was a trap, and that at any moment the assailant would roll over and attack them once more. Margot braced herself for the move, prepared to hit, fight, and defend Langley and herself, if required. She was not about to let anything occur to her lord now she had finally realised the extent of her feelings.

"His pulse is weak." Langley pulled back and looked up at Margot. "I think, not that I am expert, that he has a fever. Either way, he needs a doctor."

"Caton," Margot said, the memory fresh in her mind. Besides, Pip could be trusted implicitly. "Your brother can help us. Ask him to come."

"Here." Langley stood and drew her away from the slumped figure on the ground. He pulled from his jacket pocket a small pistol, which he pressed into her palm. "I will send a servant for him. Stay here and watch him. If he moves, shoot. I will be back." He placed a kiss on her forehead and strode off down the garden towards the stables.

Turning, Margot levelled the pistol at the attacker. She had her own reasons for loathing the man—he had attempted to kill her, scarred her and then finally of course, he had killed her father before she had a chance to know the duke. It hurt. Less her cut up shoulder and more for what she had lost in that brief and violent shooting weeks ago. But looking at the man in this moment, his skin pale and sickly, with a greenish tinge, he did not seem to be such a threat. His hair was dark but greasy, and almost looked like it was falsely attached to his scalp. Finally, she studied his face, taking in the arched brown brows, the crinkle that framed his lips and freckled forehead, and she wondered what she had done to earn such enmity from a person she had never truly spoken to or known. It was such a contrast to the beauty of the spring garden, the presence of this poisonous, dangerous man. As she watched him, a strange fear rushed through her. His eyelashes were fluttering. He was rousing himself awake.

Margot straightened her spine, suppressing all those painful memories. "I am armed. If you come at me again, I will shoot you." She was pleased by how steady her voice sounded, even if it did not match the fear within her soul.

A frown creased the man's forehead, and she saw his arm twitch.

"If you move, I will fire," Margot said.

"You've killed me." Finally, he spoke, his words barely above a whisper. "With your blasted knife. It spread, whatever it was from that cut. And your fancy lordling too. Couldn't see straight… so I came here to right that."

"Why did you attack us? Why did you shoot Ashmore? Was it just about the diamonds? How did you know about them? Who are you?" There were a hundred questions which leapt to her mind, but none seemed as pressing as that final one. Nothing but knowing this would answer why he had killed Ashmore and been so desperate for the diamonds. Well, perhaps a great many people would be eager for the treasure, but how did he know about them?

Wetting his lips, the man seemed about to answer when there was a collection of noises that dragged Margot's focus away from the attacker. Voices from the townhouse. First her eyes travelled up to the pale and worried looking Mrs. Bowley. Hathaway stood next to her, looking equally concerned. When she looked back to the attacker, it was to see that he had finally shifted and was attempting to sit up. Margot took a step back to find herself crashing into Langley, who smoothly took the pistol from her unresisting grip and positioned Margot safely behind him.

It was for nought. The man had gone still, his hand still reaching out towards her, his grip now loosened. Was this move made from aggression or something else entirely? She was not sure. Either way there was a lifelessness to his gaze, which was unfocused, and Margot recalled all too well the funerals she had attended in Berwick-upon-Tweed, when the older villagers had died. She felt it in her bones—the assailant was gone.

Hathaway hurried down the steps, turning and reaching out towards the body, bending, and checking the man's outstretched arm and then his neck, before stepping back and giving a tiny shake of his head. "He's dead."

With a wail that filled the garden, and presumably called all the servants in either house to their presence, Mrs. Bowley charged down the steps and grabbed hold of Margot. Her voice was magnified as she shook, and she required a great deal of reassurance.

Stepping away from both Margot and her sobbing companion, Langley moved around the corpse and to what lay behind the dead man. He knelt and scooped up the black bag, which had previously been hidden. Margot only saw it now that the man had shifted. The bag must belong to the assailant.

"Come inside, my dear," Mrs. Bowley said, tears falling dramatically from her round eyes. "I have been so worried for you. We all have. With the news of Ashmore's death, your Season is at an end, but I still—" Her gaze shifted to Langley for a fraction of a second, and Margot feared what her companion meant to say next.

"Yes, we should go in, especially as the doctor will need to be called to assess what caused his death." Margot cut her off. She turned and looked back at Langley. She felt a pang to run to his side. "If you can find a clue to his identity within his belongings, my lord, I would be grateful."

"He triggers the most bizarre memory in me." Hathaway had straightened up from examining the attacker. "Something alike, unnatural almost, to a woman I once knew. But she has been dead for years. Something about him pulls her to mind…" He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. The older servant stood, pivoted, and looked with concern at Margot. "Apologies, Miss Keating. A silly idea of mine, no doubt."

Walking closer, interrupting whatever Margot had planned to say next, was Langley, who held out the black bag towards her. "There is a pistol and a knife in there. We can have no doubt as to his intentions." In an undertone he added for her ears only, "It also seems to contain several rather familiar looking keys." On Langley's handsome face was a grim smile, one which spoke of satisfaction in finding a solution to the mystery of the other missing diamonds, if not necessarily the manner in which it had been resolved.

Taking the bag, Margot glanced inside and saw the shining spread of keys, so like the ones Langley and she had rescued over their… friendship? All these being found would end their union, and she certainly had kissed him enough to say she had held up her side of their bargain. Holding on to the weight of them now, rather than his arm, brought home to her acutely that her earlier desire for the steady annuity, whilst practical, did not speak to her heart or soul. Only the man before her did. The concept washed over her, and she took a step backwards, seeking a familiar influence only to find herself in the grip of Mrs. Bowley.

"Come, my dear one, let us go inside. The men can be trusted to deal with this business." With a much firmer grip than Margot had ever suspected that Mrs. Bowley possessed, her companion half pulled, half dragged Margot up the steps.

Inside the townhouse, Margot was surrounded. Servants rushed to her, and there were suddenly a great many voices, all fussing and requiring urgent attention. She felt strange returning to such a place, the townhouse that she had come to regard as home. A sense of warmth swelled inside her chest, and being safe within it, despite the villain's bag she still clasped in one hand.

Stood at a little distance removed from the hullabaloo was the remarkably tranquil Mr. Holt, the estate's solicitor. His solid expression was one of endurance, and little animation came to him when his eyes fixed on Margot. When she returned his look inquiringly, he stretched her a small tilt of acknowledgement and said, "Perhaps we can adjourn to the study, miss?"

Mrs. Bowley declared, "My charge is still very frail and anything distasteful should be kept until later, unless strictly necessary."

To this Mr. Holt looked rather startled, but he nodded. The gathered servants who clearly all wished to ask something turned and started heading back down to the kitchen, whilst Mr. Holt and Mrs. Bowley disappeared into the study. Turning, Margot grabbed the hand of her maid, Jessop, before the girl disappeared. "Please go to my bedroom and retrieve from under the mattress the drawstring bag you will find there. Bring it down and then straight to me."

Jessop nodded, looking concerned, but did not press Margot for a further explanation and hurried away up the stairs. Margot then walked down the hallway and into the study.

The next twenty minutes were not the easiest, from explaining the keys to providing all of them to Mr. Holt, since he was the executor of the duke's will. The solicitor received them in shock, murmuring something about this being different from anything he'd ever heard of before. Multiple keys, Margot thought as she watched him weigh the collection. Once Margot was done with her story, it was to a rather perplexed Mrs. Bowley and a rather admiring Mr. Holt's faces she looked. Neither Margot decided she liked. The disapproval of both was what she was used to.

After delivering the rest of the hidden keys to her, Jessop was sent to locate the butler, and whilst the other three awaited, Mr. Hathaway's arrival.

"I suppose," Mr. Holt mused into the stretching silence, "you would like to wait until the duke's heir arrives, but if you must know I have no idea what any of these keys do, or where the vault might be for them."

"I assumed given the young man will be the new duke, he will have the right to look himself. Whatever they might open," Margot said. In truth she had hoped Mr. Holt would know where the keys were supposed to go. It was unsatisfying to feel as if she would never see those diamonds her father had lost his life for.

The door opened, and Hathaway stepped into the study. Margot realised she had been hoping for Silvester to arrive alongside the butler.

Hathaway bowed. "Apologies for interrupting, ladies. Sir, I thought you would want to be informed of the Runners' findings in regard to the dead man who was found in the rear garden?"

Everyone who was present nodded, and Margot turned her eyes towards the window, wondering if Silvester was still down there with the Runners and the attacker's body. What he would be doing, and if the Runners would entirely believe the account of what had happened. Perhaps Langley's title would give him enough clout to reassure them of the veracity of his statements.

"As I mentioned earlier, Miss Keating, I thought the man's appearance bore a striking resemblance to a woman who used to work at this residence. She was a Miss Nettling. As it turns out, my suspicions were correct. The dead man's name was Francis Nettling. Please rest assured I had no idea of this connection prior to his body appearing in the garden, or I would of course have informed yourself, Mr. Holt, and the Runners immediately."

"Of course, you would have, Hathaway," Margot said reassuringly. "His grace trusted you entirely."

"Is this how the attacker knew about the family diamonds?" Mr. Holt asked.

"That was the assumption the Runners and Lord Langley came to when the man's papers were found on his person."

"Miss Nettling must have discovered the secret through eavesdropping… and told her son…" Margot stopped herself wondering what other dark secrets the Ashmores had hidden, aside from the diamonds and her bastardy, of course. Margot turned her face towards Hathaway and gazed directly at the butler.

With kindness written on his stately face, Hathaway smiled. "Miss Nettling worked for the family decades ago, with the former duke, his late grace's older brother. As you say, miss, Miss Nettling must have passed on the secret of what she overheard to her son."

It fit together. As the discussion continued, Margot wrapped her arms in consolation around herself, wishing that poor Miss Nettling was really dead. After all it would be hideous to have sent her son off to find the diamonds only for the search to be the reason, he was dead.

Mrs. Bowley saw the slight shiver from Margot and got to her feet. "Very well, Mr. Holt, I trust between you and his lordship next door all this will be kept under wraps. The well-being of my good name and my dear charge cannot be involved in this scandal. Speaking of which, Miss Keating is presumably exhausted, and I would suggest she retire upstairs."

Part of Margot would have liked to resist this idea, but the thought of sinking into her own bed had her nodding, and Mr. Holt got to his feet with a bow. "I think, given it was you who risked life and limb, Miss Keating, you should be the one to give the new duke these keys and tell him about the treasure. It does feel appropriate." With that the solicitor bowed and departed.

Margot was ushered upstairs and Mrs. Bowley promised to send her a tray shortly. It proved unnecessary, as despite the many hours of rest and recuperation Margot had experienced at Doctor Caton's, as soon as she lay down on her own bed, sleep found her. It was only half a day later, when a soft knock woke her, that Margot realised hours had slipped by.

Rising, she opened the door and allowed Jessop in with a tray of supper. Her maid set about fussing, making the bed once more, puffing the pillows, and finally moving across and drawing the curtains. Clearly enjoying having Margot back in the house again.

"Oh my." Jessop giggled and pointed down into the partly lit garden below. "That's Langley, at it again. We do find it amusing downstairs what a libertine the earl is."

Moving away from her tray of food, and the crusty warm bread and roast chicken, Margot reached the window and looked down into Langley's garden. Striding through the dim lawns and towards the house was the unmistakable sight of an elegantly dressed blonde, who Margot recognised all too well as Lady Georgianna Herbert, Langley's previous lover. Bitterly, Margot thought that for all her notions, neither Langley nor she had ever discussed faithfulness between the pair of them—some naive or forlorn hope that it was obvious she would expect monogamy. The same, it seemed, could not be said for Langley, who looked to have called his lover over tonight.

Jessop and she watched, one pair of eyes dancing with amused curiosity and the other watching with increasing horror as Lady Herbert hurried up the steps, and then onto the veranda. The doorway to Langley's townhouse opened, light pouring out of it, and Lady Herbert tilted her head up and smiled in greeting at someone hidden inside, but who was clearly well known to her.

"I know he was so considerate to you today," Jessop said, "but I suppose it is as my mother always said: a rake is a rake, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Isn't that right, miss?"