A Good Rake is Hard to Find (29 page)

Freddy frowned as the other man's words sank in. “You want me to fight Lord Darleigh? As much as I'd like to oblige, gentlemen, I must respectfully decline. Or haven't you looked at my face today?” The bruise on his eye had turned bright purple.

“It's not a request, Lord Frederick,” Lord Payne said. Or growled, rather. “It is an order. And you needn't worry about Darleigh messing up that pretty face of yours. For he'll be tied up while you have a go at him.”

But this statement did less, rather than more, to put Freddy at his ease.

“You're asking me to beat Lord Darleigh while his hands are tied? So that he cannot defend himself?” He knew that the Lords of Anarchy were not the stuff honorable dreams were made of, but at least he thought they played in the vague vicinity of honorable. Not so.

“In God's name, why?” he demanded. “What has Darleigh done to deserve such treatment?”

“That's not important,” Payne growled. “It won't make a difference. You're not the one who makes the decision, Sir Gerard is.”

“Suffice it to say,” Gerard interjected, “that Lord Darleigh has earned the displeasure of his fellow Anarchists. By trying to leave us. And you really must know, cousin, ‘Once an Anarchist, always an Anarchist.'”

Freddy stared at his cousin, a sense of inevitability pressing down on him. One way or another, they would make him beat Darleigh, he knew it in his gut. But he would try to talk them out of it while he could.

“I will not do it, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “And I think now I'll just go and inform Miss Craven that we should be on our way this afternoon. I apologize for leaving your party so soon, cousin, but I feel that it is necessary.”

“How would you feel if something untoward were to happen to your Miss Craven, cousin?” Gerard asked softly, his eyes narrowed as if he were sizing Freddy up to determine how far he could push him.

“What do you mean?” he asked silkily, his fists clenching against his thighs. “For I must warn you that if you are threatening Miss Craven, Sir Gerard, then I will be forced to demand satisfaction.”

Rather than flinch as any other man in his right mind would do, Sir Gerard grinned. “Are you calling me out, by God? I vow, you are amusing, Freddy, make no mistake about it. But let me assure you that if you do not do as Lord Payne and I ask, that is, use those brutal fists of yours on Lord Darleigh, I shall be forced to see to it that Miss Craven makes the acquaintance of any number of the gentlemen at this party. To such a degree that she might not be willing or able to marry you afterward. You understand that, don't you, cousin?”

And before Freddy could smash his fist into his cousin's grinning jester's face, he found his arms pinned behind him by Lord Payne, who had moved more quietly than Freddy had guessed a man of his size could.

“I will kill you for this, Gerry,” Freddy said through clenched teeth. “Kill. You.”

“There, there, old boy,” Gerard said, unmoved by his cousin's threat. “I will see to it that Miss Craven isn't touched, so long as you do as we ask.”

“Come along, Lord Frederick,” said Lord Payne as he gripped Freddy's arms. “We've got to get you ready for your fight.” And as Freddie was led through a door in the wall he'd not even known was there, he sent up a silent prayer that Leonora would, as his cousin promised, remain safe.

*   *   *

Despite her exhaustion from lack of sleep, Leonora found herself unable to settle down long enough for a true nap. After tossing in her bed for three quarters of an hour, she finally cried defeat and got up and got dressed again.

During one of their after-dinner conversations, Lady Melisande had boasted about the quality of horseflesh in the Fincher stables, so, knowing she hadn't the concentration to read, Leonora decided to go investigate. Perhaps a few minutes with the animals would clear her mind.

And if Jonathan had been a frequent visitor to South Haven, perhaps he too had touched those same stalls, scratched the noses of those horses.

It was a fanciful notion, but after the memorial stone by the pond, she was caught in some place where the memories of the dead seemed to hover among the living.

Her shawl around her shoulders, she followed the path from the house to the stables, and was surprised to find them deserted. She was no expert, but weren't stables supposed to be in constant motion? With grooms and riders and the like taking care of … things? In truth she had little notion of what went into keeping stables since she spent most of her time in London where the mews to their town house was shamefully small. But surely things were much more stable-oriented in the country?

The quiet, however, meant that she could investigate without having watchful eyes on her, so she took advantage of it. The smell of fresh hay and clean dirt met her nose as she wandered into the shadowed recesses of the building. In the first stall she saw a pretty bay mare who knickered, and tossed her black mane when Leonora reached in to pet her nose.

“What a sweet girl,” she crooned at the big animal, and when the mare pressed her snout into Leonora's hand in search of a treat, she regretted not coming prepared to bribe the horses with apples or lumps of sugar. “I'm sorry,” she said, rubbing the spot between the horse's eyes—where the horse herself was unlikely to be able to reach for herself. “I promise next time, I'll bring a treat. Perhaps some hay?” She grabbed a handful from one of the bales stacked against the wall and that seemed to please the horse.

“Now,” she said, speaking to the horse since there was no one else about to have this discussion with. “Do you suppose someone would be mad enough to hide something in here?” Her eyes scanned the interior of the stable, looking for someplace that would afford a nook or cranny in which to stow cut traces or a sawed-through bit of carriage siding.

Then, she saw them. Two wide doors, facing across the wide expanse of the center aisle. Wide enough to hide a coach?

Or maybe an unscathed curricle?

Her heart beating with excitement, she strode quickly to the one on the right and tried the door. It was unlocked, and when she opened the door, it was completely dark inside. Opening the door wider, so the sunlight could get in, she looked inside and was disappointed to find only saddles neatly stacked, and a wall of bridles, and other tack that seemed designed for riding and not driving.

Shutting the door behind her, she moved to the other side and realized just how wide this door was in comparison to the other. From the other end of the barn they'd seemed identical. But now seeing them close up, she noticed one was definitely much wider. Curious, she thought as she tried the handle of this door. It, however, was locked.

Cursing silently, she scanned the room for somewhere a key might be stored. And noted the little office on the other side of the stable. When she pushed into the door, there on the wall, neatly labeled no less, was a row of keys. Finding one labeled “carriage room” she removed the key and pocketed it lest someone wander in and ask what she was doing.

To her relief, the key worked when she tried it in the lock, and deciding this room needed a lantern, she carefully removed one from where it hung on a peg, already lit.

Barn fires were quite dangerous, so she was meticulous about not swinging the lamp or touching it to any surface.

Opening the door of the second room wider, she held up the lamp, which cast a semicircle of light onto the contents.

And gasped.

She remembered the red paint with gold trim from the day Jonny brought it home, the grin on his face as wide as the Thames and as bright as the sun.

Leonora had twitted him about how much of his allowance had gone toward paying for the vehicle that had been built for speed rather than for safety. And he'd assured her that it was as safe as the driver who handled her.

Brushing away a tear at the memory, she carefully shut the door behind her.

It was intact. This sporting carriage that Sir Gerard and his cronies had assured her more than once had been stolen by thieves was hidden in a dark corner of Sir Gerard's stables and was very much intact.

If she'd had any doubts about whether her host knew more than he was telling about her brother's demise, then this must surely put period to them.

Setting her jaw, she hung the lantern on a peg on the wall of the carriage room and methodically examined the curricle from top to bottom, tip to tail.

For this curricle was not only unblemished, it was in the same condition as it had been when her brother drove it home from the carriage builders that first day.

She wondered if he'd realized then that his enthusiasm for driving would one day get him killed. Even if he had known, she suspected, he wouldn't have stopped driving.

For the one-hundredth time she wished that despite their grief she and her father had investigated things more thoroughly. She'd not even had the heart to examine her brother's remains when they were brought back to London for burial. Nor had her father, who had declared he wished to remember his son as he had been while living. Not in death.

It could have been anything, she thought, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the possibilities. It was even possible—though hardly likely—that Jonny was alive somewhere and they'd buried some poor stranger in the Craven plot. She leaned her head against the stable wall and took a deep breath. What a waste. What an awful waste of a good man.

When she had regained her composure, she took one last look around the room, and noticed a flash of white in the corner of the box beneath the driver's seat.

Curious. She stepped forward and lifted the seat to reveal the hidden compartment there where drivers stored personal items, like gloves, handkerchiefs, and she knew in her brother's case, a bottle of blue ruin he'd bought in his salad days to add authenticity to the game of pretend that he was a driver on the stage line. The scrap of white cloth she found, however, was far too small to be a man's handkerchief. And it was embroidered in the corner with the initial
C
.

Lady Darleigh's first name was Corinne. Might she have left this here during a ride? Or perhaps Leonora's brother had hidden it there. Either way, it was a clue, and one she needed to show Frederick immediately.

Carefully closing and locking the door to the carriage room behind her, she slipped back into the office to hang the key where she'd found it.

She was stepping out of the office when she looked up to see Lord Payne striding toward her.

“Miss Craven,” the big man said, a bit of green shining from between his front teeth, “you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself. You're likely to run into trouble.” He stepped closer, and if he intended to intimidate her, she thought, it was working. “I wouldn't like it if anything were to happen to you.”

Swallowing, Leonora stepped back from the man. “I am always getting up to some mischief, Lord Payne. You must know that about me by now. But I will heed you for now. I think there might be a storm coming from the looks of those clouds.” She gestured to the horizon, where a very few dark clouds had gathered. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go have a bit of a lie-down before supper.”

Boldly she brushed past him and all but ran down the path and into the house.

She didn't stop until she reached her bedchamber, where she closed and locked the door behind her.

 

Twenty-two

“Where have you been?” Freddy asked from where he'd been sitting before Leonora's fire contemplating the dilemma he now faced. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, and turning to brace her back against the door, she scowled. “Do not frighten me like that! What on earth do you think you're doing hiding in the shadows of my bedchamber?”

“I was waiting for you,” he said calmly. “And thinking. But I must ask again where you've been. Because I know the look of a lady who's gotten away with something and you definitely have that look.”

Sighing, she walked farther into the room, and removing the pins from her hat, placed it on a side table along with her wrap. “I was in the stables, if you must know,” she said, excitement making her eyes sparkle. “I found something there. Something important.”

Reaching out, he pulled her unceremoniously onto his lap. She gave a little shriek, but soon settled against him, relaxing a bit, though he could feel the tension of excitement in her. “Something to do with your brother, I suppose,” he said, threading his fingers into hers.

He'd received a bit of a reprieve regarding the business with Lord Darleigh, for that man had been out on a trip to town with a few other club members when he, his cousin, and Lord Payne had left the study that afternoon. His cousin said that they would call him when the time for his punishment of Darleigh came, but Freddy hoped that he and Leonora would be long gone before that.

“I found Jonny's carriage,” she said, bringing him back to the present, pressing her hands against his chest. “Do you understand how important that is, Freddy?”

“What condition is it in?” he asked, excitement making him sit up straighter. “Was it damaged at all? Could you tell what happened to your brother?”

“There's not a scratch on it,” she said, oblivious to his physical discomfort as she shifted in his lap. “It's in perfect condition. You were there when Sir Gerard told me it was stolen.”

“We've known it was a lie,” he said. “Or at least we suspected as much. But now we have confirmation. Your brother didn't crash his carriage, or take a turn too fast. He was set upon.”

“Wouldn't there be blood on the carriage seats?” Leonora asked. “I saw nothing like that. Perhaps he was killed elsewhere?”

“Or my cousin has a very good valet,” Freddy countered. “I know my own can remove just about any stain you put in front of him. He'd grumble about being asked to clean a carriage, but I have no doubt Gerard has a man who is loyal enough to keep secrets. Else he'd have been brought to the authorities by now.”