A Little Mischief (26 page)

The ladies would be leaving soon. Isabella needed to commence her plan.

She walked over to where a small writing desk stood near a window. “Ladies,” she called for their attention and waited until they quieted and looked at her before she continued.

“I’m afraid it’s time for you to go, but before you do, I have a request. I have a sheet of vellum and a quill on this table. As you pick up your coat and gloves, would you be so kind as to write your full name for me as you pass?”

“What for?” Lady Lynette asked.

“Auntie Pith and I are making a small gift for each of you, and I want to personalize them. If you would give me all three of your names.”

“I have four names,” one of the ladies said.

“It doesn’t matter how many names you have. I would like for you to list them all.”

The girls started lining up to write their names. “Isabella,” Lady Lynette asked, “Is it true you are going to marry Lord Colebrooke?”

Isabella stared at her for a moment. “Merciful heavens! No, no, it isn’t.”

“So the tittle-tattle that’s going around is wrong.”

“As you know, Lynette, not everything that’s written in the scandal sheets is correct.”

“That’s good, because Lady Katherine Spearmont told me Lord Colebrooke was taking her for a ride in the park today.”

Isabella was not prepared for the pain that stabbed her heart upon hearing this information. She put on a brave smile. “I’m glad to hear it, Lynette. Maybe that will put to rest any notion that the earl and I are making a match. Now, come sign the paper.”

Isabella turned away and took a deep, steadying breath. What was wrong with her? Why did it make her feel so dreadful to hear that Daniel was seeing another lady? She wondered if he would kiss Lady Katherine as he’d kissed her.

But of course he would. That’s what men did. And why did that thought feel as if it were ripping open her chest? She had settled her mind long ago that she didn’t want to marry. And even if she did, she knew there was no hope for her and Daniel. They were constantly at odds over things.

Suddenly it struck Isabella what the problem was. It was unthinkable, it was disastrous. It couldn’t be, could it?

Isabella Winslowe was jealous of another woman.

Eighteen

Daniel walked into White’s and went straight into the taproom and asked for a glass of port. If Miss Alice Eldridge had batted her eyelashes at him one more time, he would have swatted at them like an insect!

He didn’t know how anyone could talk so long without saying anything of value. What the devil did he care how well she could stitch a pillow or how many offers of marriage she’d already received?

One thing was certain, she wouldn’t be receiving an offer from him. If he married her, he’d end up sending her to the country to live out her days while he stayed in Town and spent his nights in the arms of a mistress.

“That’s not what I want out of a marriage,” Daniel mumbled to himself.

He picked up his glass of dark red wine and took a generous sip, letting the strong drink settle on his tongue before swallowing. Why had every young lady he’d talked to, danced with, or ridden in the park with over the past three days fallen short when he compared them to Isabella?

Most of the ladies he’d called on were beautiful. Some of them had lovely, shapely bodies that would stir any man’s fantasy, and still others had the right temperament to be a good wife. The problem was that not one had tempted him to kiss them as Isabella had.

Damn what he was feeling.

Why had she gotten under his skin like a hound after a fox? No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t shake her.

It was maddening.

Isabella filled his waking thoughts and his dreaming nights. She was flirtatious and receptive. She was intelligent and knowledgeable. She was playful and provoking. But were those the kinds of attributes he needed in a wife? He hadn’t thought so but lately he’d begun to doubt his earlier beliefs.

If wives were supposed to be like Miss Alice Eldridge and Miss Joanne Langley or even the more beautiful Lady Katherine, he was beginning to think he’d just as soon stay a bachelor. He was on the verge of saying to hell with marriage and let Bradford’s son take over the title when the time came.

Daniel shook his head to clear it, and then rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers. There was no doubt that Isabella had distracted him since the first day he met her. He could safely say she’d turned his life upside down. And even though he’d tried, he’d been powerless to stop her.

Taking his glass in hand, he quit the taproom and walked over to the billiards room, hoping to find Bradford. He could usually be found playing a game of billiards or cards late in the afternoon. Daniel leaned a hip against the door frame as his eyes searched the crowded room for his cousin.

Daniel pushed the noise of chatter, laughing, and the loud smacking of balls together to the back of his mind. He had gone to Bradford’s house three days ago to see him but had been told that his cousin had gone to Kent. He was expected back today. And Daniel knew his cousin well enough to know that if he had indeed returned today, he’d be in White’s by the afternoon.

Daniel had wanted to talk to him since Lord Gleningwold had left that damned glove lying on the dining-room table. If he didn’t find him at White’s, Daniel would go to his home and wait for him to return if necessary.

Even though Daniel had hired a runner to look into Throckmorten’s murder, he felt an eager restlessness that he needed to do more. Lord Gleningwold had a reason for bringing that glove over. He was making it clear he didn’t intend to let Throckmorten’s murder be blamed on anyone from his household even though the knife had come from his house.

Daniel was even more determined to see Gretchen wed. He didn’t want to go through another Season wondering if she was meeting secretly with anyone. He’d talked with her about Tom Wright and Sir Harry Pepperfield. Either man would make her a fine husband.

A hand clamped on Daniel’s shoulder and he jerked around.

Bradford chuckled with relish as Daniel faced him. “Easy there, old chap. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, a wide grin on his lips.

The only reason Daniel held his temper was that he had been looking for Bradford.

“I didn’t hear you come up with all the noise coming from the tables.”

Bradford shrugged his shoulders. “It looked to me as if you were in deep thought.”

“You never could see very well.”

“I guess it runs in the family. You jumped just like a man with a guilty conscience. Do you have one?”

“No. Do you?” Daniel asked, looking him over carefully.

Bradford was impeccably dressed in the latest fashion of waistcoat and neckcloth, as usual. And, for this first time since Daniel had been home, Bradford’s eyes weren’t shot with blood. The puffiness and dark circles were gone, too. For once he wasn’t half-foxed.

“Not me. Guilt is something I don’t have any use for. That’s something only respectable men have to worry with. I heard you were looking for me while I was out of town.”

Daniel said, “That’s right. I was just about to check the wager book. Come with me and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Bradford eyed him warily. “You buy me a drink? That’s never happened before.”

“You should take me up on it. It may never happen again.”

“If you’re buying, I’m drinking. Let’s go.”

After checking on their wagers and settling then-bets, Daniel and Bradford made their way into the taproom and sat down at a table. Bradford was served a tankard of ale, and he took a generous swallow.

Not wanting to get right to the point and put Bradford on the defensive, Daniel first took the time to ask about Bradford’s son and the latest trouble the Lord Mayor was in with some members of Parliament.

After a few minutes he finally said to Bradford, “Have you heard the latest about Throckmorten’s murder?”

Bradford nodded. “Yes. Remember I was with you when Chilton told us he’d been stabbed.”

Daniel watched his cousin’s face closely for any sign that might give Daniel reason to suspect him of the murder.

“There’s been more about it since you’ve been out of Town.”

“What?”

“They discovered that the knife came from Lord Gleningwold’s house.”

“You don’t say? I read the
Times.
I must have missed it.”

“I’m not sure it’s hit the streets yet. Lord Gleningwold told me. He confirmed it was the knife he used to cut the wax from letters.”

“How would a footpad have gotten hold of Gleningwold’s paper knife?”

“That’s one of the unanswered questions.”

A frown drew Bradford’s brows together. “Is Gleningwold suspected of killing Throckmorten?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Wait a minute. Throckmorten was at Gleningwold’s party. Now that I think about it, that was the last time I saw him.”

Daniel continued to study Bradford’s face as he talked. If he had anything to do with Throckmorten’s death, he was a good actor. He showed no signs of knowing anything Daniel was telling him. He didn’t appear nervous or even uncomfortable talking about this, and his hand was completely steady as he picked up the heavy tankard to take a drink.

Bradford sat back in his chair and started looking at Daniel’s face as closely as Daniel searched his. “Are you telling me the authorities think someone who was at Gleningwold’s party took the knife and stabbed Throckmorten and dumped his body in the river?”

“I’m sure that must be one of the assumptions, yes.”

“That was very clever of the murderer, wasn’t it? Using a weapon from another man’s house.”

Daniel nodded. Bradford picked up his ale and drank. Again, his hand was steady. This conversation wasn’t bothering him at all. Was that because he was completely innocent or because he didn’t give a damn about the man’s death and, as he had stated earlier, felt no guilt?

“Were you good friends with Throckmorten?”

Bradford set his tankard back down. “We got along well together, if that’s what you want to know. We covered each other’s back in games, lent each other money. Yes, you could say we were good friends.”

“Did you owe him any money when he died?”

Bradford looked quietly at him for so long Daniel didn’t think he was going to answer the question.

Finally his face relaxed and he said, “Yes. I owed him a lot of money when he died, but he knew he would get every dime of it back. I always pay my debts.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“And I sure as hell wouldn’t kill a friend over a few hundred pounds.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Daniel said and picked up his glass of port, feeling confident that his cousin had nothing to do with Throckmorten’s death.

“Why are you so interested in Throckmorten?” Bradford asked.

Daniel said, “I was just thinking what a shame it was that someone killed him.”

***

The afternoon sky was a wide expanse of pale blue streaked with wispy white clouds. Bright sunshine fell on Isabella. Knowing it wasn’t the fashionable thing to do, she’d taken off her bonnet and lifted her face up to the bright sky to feel the warming rays of the sun on her skin.

She sat on a bench in the back garden pretending to read a book of poetry, but the only thing that had seen the pages was the glare of the sun. The book was a good cover for her. She certainly couldn’t tell Auntie Pith that she was thinking about Daniel and how handsome he’d been last night dancing with Lady Katherine. Nor could she tell her aunt how much she wished she had been the woman in Daniel’s arms.

Isabella had caught Daniel’s eye a few times throughout the evening, but they hadn’t spoken to each other. That’s the way Daniel had wanted it. He had told her he would send word to her when he was ready to talk to her about Mr. Throckmorten’s murder, but so far there had been only silence from him.

Isabella’s throat tightened when she remembered how positively happy Daniel and Lady Katherine looked as they joined hands and followed the steps of the quadrille. She had seen them together at more than one party over the past three days, and she knew they had gone for another ride in the park again yesterday afternoon.

She hated herself for doing it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he had kissed Lady Katherine or any of the ladies he’d called on the way he had kissed her. The very idea of Daniel kissing the duke’s daughter with such uncontrollable passion made Isabella’s stomach twist into tight knots.

Suddenly the sun had her hot.

Isabella picked up her book and fanned with it. She must get hold of herself and be practical about this. Of all the ladies Isabella had seen Daniel dance with, Lady Katherine would be the best choice for him. She would be the perfect wife, a fine lady wife indeed.

The duke’s daughter was beautiful and proper to a fault. She would know how to manage a large house and all the servants. She’d know how to give elegant parties. She would be quiet and dutiful, and never open her mouth to question his authority on anything. And the very ladylike Lady Katherine would probably faint if she ever saw a dead body.