Fencing for Ladies (The Archer Family Regency Romances #5) (15 page)

Olivia felt ill with irritation.

“I have never heard such nonsense in my life,” Cynthia declared, resting her hands on her broad hips. “You are not going to listen to such a pudding-headed sapskull, are you?” She eyed Olivia. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t recommend you to, either.”

Two red splotches burned over Lord Saunders’s plump cheekbones. He straightened and said, “I do not see that Lady Olivia is in need of your counsel, young lady, and I will thank you to keep your comments to yourself.”

Margaret beamed at him. “You are so
forceful
, Lord Saunders,” she murmured.

Lord Saunders lifted his chin and stared at Olivia.

“Well, Lady Olivia?” Cynthia fixed her gaze on Olivia, as well.

Before Olivia could answer, Lord Saunders added, “If you continue with this outrageous behavior, I am afraid—”

Cynthia snorted. “I can well believe
that!
”

“I am afraid,” Lord Saunders repeated in a louder voice, “that I shall have to reconsider matters.”

“Matters?” Olivia could barely speak. Ice encased her limbs and even her lips resisted her efforts to open them.

He cannot mean that — this cannot happen — not now, not when I need someone — anyone — to believe in me — trust me!

Lord Saunders gave one, tight nod. “With regards to our future union.” His mouth tightened into a frown. “You do not seem to view me, or my opinions, with the proper respect.”

“You are so right, Lord Saunders,” Margaret agreed. “I have noticed it myself and have been quite appalled by my sister’s disregard for any normal feelings or
common
decency
,” she repeated Lord Saunders’s phrase with evident satisfaction.

He patted Margaret’s fingers, which still clung to his forearm.

Olivia finally opened her mouth to speak, but her whirling thoughts refused to settle on a reply. In the distance, she heard the cheerful howl of her dogs, followed by the clatter of their toenails on the floor.

The beagles were coming. Her thoughts fled.

“Well, Lady Olivia,” Cynthia said. “Answer the ninnyhammer. What is it to be? I cannot wait all day for my second lesson, and the ladies are waiting.”

Olivia’s gaze jerked from Cynthia to Lord Saunders to Margaret before landing on Latimore.

The butler appeared to be aware of the oncoming situation. His head was lifted and tilted toward the stairwell, clearly listening to the impending arrival of the next disaster.

“The dogs, Latimore. They have gotten loose again,” Olivia said at last.

“Very good, Lady Olivia.” Latimore left. Hopefully, he would apprehend the animals before they managed to make a terrible situation worse.

She rubbed her temple. What she really needed was one of Farmer’s hot possets and a few minutes of silence.

If only Lord Saunders could be blamed for Mr. Grantham’s murder.

Horrified at the thought, she straightened and smiled apologetically at him. “I am sorry, Lord Saunders. I have no desire to offend you or anyone, but I am going to the academy. You must, of course, do what you think is best.”

Margaret, who had been staring down at the floor, seemed to choke. She quickly pressed her fingers to her mouth to suppress the peculiar sound. When she glanced up, Olivia caught her gaze and suffered a dizzying sensation of shock. Margaret’s blue eyes were brilliant with gleeful triumph, and she was clearly biting the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. Her right hand clasped Lord Saunders’s sleeve tightly, and she’d wrapped her left arm around her own waist.

Her feet shifted in sharp movements as if she were dancing a very small jig within the restrictive circle of her gown’s hem. As Olivia watched, Margaret made a series of peculiar noises and swallows.

She was
glad
to see Olivia’s engagement crumble and was trying not to giggle.

How could she
? Olivia stared at her, bewildered by the flushed pleasure in her sister’s face.

“Good decision. No one could blame you, Lady Olivia. What I can’t understand is how you came to accept such a ninny to begin with,” Cynthia said. “Now I suggest we leave while you still have students left to teach.”

“Of course.” Olivia let her friend drag her down the stairs and out of the door, all the while wondering what had happened and what important fact she had missed.

A block away from the fencing academy, Alexander saw Greenfield rounding the corner.

“Is that not Greenfield?” Belcher asked, gesturing toward the soberly dressed inquiry agent. Despite his professed intention to go to his club and drink as much as possible, Belcher remained at Alexander’s side, almost as if he didn’t want to be alone.

Well, he’d always been a social beast and preferred crowds to solitary enjoyments. In fact, Alexander had never seen him so much as pick up a book or even a newspaper. No such private interests plagued Belcher.

Alexander nodded and swallowed an impatient sigh.

“Perhaps he has discovered something new. Let us join him.” Belcher picked up the pace and dashed across the street without the least concern for the passing carriages.

One team of horses, jerked back by the driver of a small cabriolet, neighed and danced over the curb to nearly trample the pedestrians on the walkway. The driver swore vociferously and shook a meaty hand in Belcher’s direction.

Belcher laughed and shrugged.

After ascertaining that no one had been injured, Alexander hurried after Belcher. He wanted time to think, but more than that, he needed to know what progress Greenfield was making. If any.

Seeing him leaving the vicinity of the academy seemed hopeful, however. If he had already decided that he had enough evidence to convict Lady Olivia, he wouldn’t have bothered to continue the search. Some doubt had to remain in his mind.

“Greenfield!” Belcher hailed the officer.

Greenfield paused at the corner and turned, an expression of polite inquiry on his face. “Mr. Belcher.” When he caught sight of Alexander, he added, “Lord Milbourn.”

“Still investigating?” Belcher asked, slapping Greenfield on the shoulder as he chuckled heartily.

Greenfield studied him briefly. “There are still questions to be answered, sir.”

“Questions? You seemed fairly sure at the inquest,” Belcher said. His fair eyebrows rose. “The button and all that nonsense.”

“Not sure enough to name the responsible party,” Greenfield reminded him gently. “Questions do remain.”

Belcher glanced at Alexander and shrugged expressively, his brows rising higher still as if he were unable to conceive of any nails that had not been pounded firmly into the lid of Lady Olivia’s coffin.

“Motive?” Alexander suggested.

Greenfield’s gaze cut to him. “Motive, indeed.”

“It seemed obvious enough to me,” Belcher said.

“Obvious?” Greenfield asked, leaving the brief question hanging like a carrot in front of a donkey.

Belcher raised his hands, palms up, and took the bait. “Well, surely — an argument — clearly an accident committed in the heat of the moment. Lady — that is, any lady might panic if she were alone with a man who became too insistent.”

“And the housekeeper?” Alexander asked, impatient with Belcher’s easy explanation.

“Coincidence? Burglar? Must the two deaths be related?” Belcher shrugged.

“That is another question, indeed, sir,” Greenfield said. He glanced around the busy street and edged closer to the curb.

A gap in the traffic presented itself, and Greenfield walked briskly across the street, followed closely by Belcher and Alexander.

“Where are you heading?” Belcher asked, undaunted by the officer’s determined air and brisk pace.

The second of silence preceding Greenfield’s reply spoke volumes about his annoyance at Belcher’s persistence, but he answered calmly enough, “I wish to speak to Mr. Archer.”

“Archer?” Belcher frowned.

“Mr. Edward Archer,” Greenfield clarified.

“Surely, he is not implicated! Why, he never set foot near his sister’s academy, did he? And surely he would not allow suspicion to fall upon Lady Olivia, if he were involved,” Belcher said.

Grantham’s journal
. Belcher’s words reminded Alexander of that awkward piece of evidence. Just what tales had he told within its pages?

Greenfield shrugged and hurried faster.

“Well, I, for one, believe you are following the wrong trail, Mr. Greenfield,” Belcher said. He glanced at Alexander and winked. “Perhaps we can assist you?”

“Assistance is always appreciated, sir,” Greenfield replied.

Alexander had to admire the man’s self-control. There was only the slightest edge to his voice, revealing his irritation. Alexander almost pulled Belcher back to suggest he go to his club as planned, but he resisted the impulse. If he continued to annoy Greenfield, the inquiry agent might let something slip.

An amazingly obliging Belcher threw more questions at Greenfield, most of them so ridiculous that Alexander had to work hard to suppress his laughter. Not even an exasperated sigh escaped from Greenfield. However, as they approached the Archer’s townhouse, his brief answers disintegrated into ambiguous grunts. Not that Belcher noticed. He just kept babbling on like a merry little brook.

“Here we are, sir,” Greenfield said, his hand on the wrought-iron gate in front of the elegant terrace. “If you will excuse me, my lord?”

Both Belcher and Greenfield looked at Alexander.

He ignored the faint plea in Greenfield’s eyes. “We will come in with you, Greenfield.”

“That is not necessary. I’m sure you gentlemen have more important matters to attend to.”

“Nothing more important than a large glass of brandy at the club.” Belcher laughed and slapped Greenfield on the shoulder again.

Greenfield winced, sighed, and opened the gate.

A few minutes later, Latimore escorted the three of them into the library at the rear of the house. Edward Archer was seated, quill in hand, at a large mahogany desk near the windows at the rear of the room. He glanced up when Latimore announced them, signed the document in front of him, and placed the quill in a brass holder on his right.

“You two did not get very far,” he said as he rose and leaned across his desk to shake their hands. While his expression was polite enough as he gestured for them to sit in the chairs in front of the desk, his eyes were slightly narrowed and tight at the corners with annoyance.

“Ran into this fine fellow.” Belcher slapped Greenfield on the shoulder yet again before flopping down in one of the chairs. He stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, and grinned.

“Lord Milbourn?” Archer frowned at him as if he’d expected Alexander to show a trifle more consideration about returning so soon with Belcher.

“We were concerned, Archer,” Alexander said mildly. He took the seat on the end, leaving Greenfield to either stand or sit in the chair in the middle.

Greenfield moved behind the chair and rested his hands on its back. “I apologize for the interruption, sir, but I have a few questions.” He paused for a second before adding, “Perhaps you would prefer to speak in private?”

Archer caught Alexander’s gaze and let out a long breath. He looked down at the top of his desk with a frown and pushed the top sheet of paper an inch to the right with his forefinger. Then he picked the papers up, tapped their bottom edges against the blotter to align the sheets, and set the pile on the left corner of his desk.

“We are old friends. I don’t know what you could possibly ask that they do not already know.” He sat heavily and folded his hands on the brown blotter in front of him. “Proceed.”

“Very well, sir.” Greenfield didn’t look pleased with Archer’s response, but he drew out a small notebook and pencil. He flipped the book open to a blank page and looked at Archer. “We have Mr. Grantham’s journal, sir, and several other papers.”

“Yes. You mentioned those at the inquest. What of them?” Archer’s clasped hands tightened.

“His finances were of some interest, sir,” Greenfield replied with a hint of chiding underlying his quiet tones. He glanced at first at Alexander and then at Belcher. “Perhaps one of you gentlemen knows the source of his income?”

“Why the devil should we know that?” Archer asked. “He had some source, obviously. Family money or some sort of an estate. He went to Oxford, for God’s sake.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, making some of the thick curls stand up like storm-darkened waves. “He always seemed well-off. Comfortable.” He glanced at Alexander with raised brows. “He paid his wagers, did he not? Milbourn won enough of them — he certainly ought to be able to confirm that.”

Alexander nodded and leaned back, bringing his right foot up to rest the ankle on his opposite knee. “He certainly never complained when he paid what he owed. He was never a poor loser, no many how many times he lost.” A lopsided grin twisted his mouth as he tapped his fingers on his right ankle.

Greenfield cleared his throat. “He did not inherit a large estate, sir. As far as can be determined.”

“Investments. Other holdings.” Archer shrugged and lightly rapped his knuckles against the leather blotter. “One doesn’t question one’s friends about their finances, sir.” He rapped twice, harder. “He was more Wraysbury’s friend than mine.” He glanced at Greenfield, his eyes glittering with sardonic amusement over the thought of the inquiry agent attempting to question an earl.

Greenfield would be fortunate if he was even permitted in the servants’ entrance to the earl’s mansion, much less allowed into his presence. If anyone questioned him, it would be the House of Lords, as part of the murder inquiry. Assuming it got that far.

“Though I doubt Wraysbury knows any more about Grantham’s estate than I do,” Archer added, before clasping his hands together on top of the desk. The gesture politely suggested that their interview was over.

“Why the interest in Grantham’s finances?” Belcher asked, oblivious to the air of finality settling around Archer’s rigid shoulders.

“He opened an account recently and initiated some investments,” Greenfield replied slowly. Reluctance to reveal the details of the case was evident in the thinning of his mouth and the way his gaze drifted from one piece of furniture to another, avoiding catching the gaze of the other men in the room.

“What of it?” Belcher laughed and slapped his knee. “Must have won a few bets for a change. Good for him.” His laughter turned into low chuckles. “And excellent for his heirs, of course.”

Alexander listened and stared at the beveled edge of Archer’s desk, perfectly aware of where Greenfield was so delicately and expertly leading them. He took a deep breath and looked at the inquiry agent. “You seem to be suggesting something more than luck at wagering, Mr. Greenfield.”

“What?” Belcher straightened and with raised brows and wide eyes, he looked at Alexander and then Greenfield. “Are you suggesting he was blackmailing Lady Olivia?”

Greenfield tilted his head to the left and gazed at Belcher with an expression of mild curiosity. “What makes you suggest Lady Olivia?”

“Well, she — that is — you realize, well, I honestly don’t know. I was just — never mind me.” Belcher threw up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t know what I am saying.”

“Have you found evidence of blackmail, Mr. Greenfield?” Alexander asked when Belcher’s babbling trailed off.

“There were some notes,” Greenfield said slowly, as if cautiously measuring each word. “In the back of his journal.” A brief smile flitted across his face. “Somewhat cryptic as they were written in the form of initials, dates, and amounts. And there were other letters.…”

Belcher snorted. “Wagers.”

“I have to say, Mr. Greenfield, that if Grantham were engaged in blackmail, he would find my brother, the earl, a difficult nut to crack.” Archer smiled grimly. “As are all the Archers. You cannot have a loose screw like our cousin John Archer in the family without adopting a somewhat callous attitude toward public opinion.” His grin twisted. “And the fact that my sister, Lady Olivia, is engaged in founding a fencing academy for ladies, should indicate to you what
she
thinks of Polite Society’s opinion.” He flashed a quick, considering glance at Belcher, before he focused on Greenfield again. “And she is not here at the moment, even if you wished to speak to her. Therefore, I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere, if blackmail is your concern.”

“Indeed, sir.” Greenfield nodded in agreement. His gaze shifted to Alexander. He frowned briefly and stared down at his hands, folded together in his lap. “You know a Mr. Underwood, sir. Do you not?”

Archer’s mouth tightened, and his gaze hardened. “I do. What of it?”

“Was he having any difficulties of which you were aware?” Greenfield put the question delicately.

“Nothing that I care to discuss with you.”

Greenfield’s brows rose. “Indeed, sir. Perhaps we might discuss the matter in private. At your convenience, of course. In fact, I had hoped to speak to each of you privately. I am sure you understand.”

“We know each other too well, already, to worry about such things,” Belcher said with a grin. “Light your fuses and fire the cannons, Greenfield.”

Archer and Alexander exchanged glances.

Archer said, “I agree with Mr. Greenfield. Privacy is best for such matters.” He stood, frowning. “You may use this room for your interviews. To whom would you prefer to direct your questions first?”

“As you say, sir, Mr. Grantham was more a friend to the earl than you, and Lady Olivia is absent. So if you don’t mind, perhaps I may have a few minutes of Lord Milbourn’s time.” Greenfield raised his brows as he looked at Alexander.