The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda (33 page)

The imposing front door was already open, with a butler waiting immediately inside by the time they arrived at the top step. “We have come to pay a social visit to his lordship,” William said in a curt, matter-of-fact tone that he hoped would dismiss any argument the butler might consider making.

“Unfortunately—” the butler began to reply. His posture was stiff and unflinching.

“I am confident,” William continued, cutting him off completely, “that his lordship will be most thrilled to have his niece returned to him after so many years of absence.”

The butler’s otherwise blank expression instantly transformed into one of shock. His eyes moved past William to Lucy, who was standing a little behind him and with the hood of her cloak still covering her head. “Lady Lucinda,” he said, gasping a bit for air, “is it really you?”

William stepped aside to let his wife past. She drew her hood back to reveal her fiery red hair, and with tears glistening in her eyes and a quivering voice she said, “Yes, Peterson, it is.”

Peterson appeared to struggle with his own emotions for a moment and then stepped aside to let them enter. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said, nearly choking from astonishment. “If you’ll please follow me through to the parlor, and I’ll inform his lordship that you are here. He’ll be ever so pleased.”

William wasn’t so sure about that but decided to keep quiet. Steeling himself, he stepped forward and urged Lucy along with him, but as soon as they entered the parlor, he felt her hesitate. “It’s exactly the way I remember it,” she whispered. She left William’s side and moved further into the room, her eyes wide with wonder as she reached out to trail her fingers along the back of one of the chairs.

“Would you care for some tea?” Peterson asked, sounding a little awkward.

Lucy turned to him with a sad little smile. “Yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”

He quickly left the room, and William surmised that he was probably relieved to be afforded with a moment or two in which to compose himself and return to his usual butlerish demeanor. Remembering the constable who hadn’t said a single word thus far, William turned to him and gestured for him to join them. “Let’s have a seat while we wait for our host to make his appearance.”

The constable frowned at the pale blue silk armchair that stood before him but eventually nodded and stepped toward it. Sitting down across from him, William regarded Lucy who was still in the process of reacquainting herself with each of the objects in the room. “Won’t you join us?” he asked, feeling certain that she would fare much better if she was sitting down when her uncle stepped through the door.

She turned toward him as if in a daze and slowly nodded. The door opened again, and Peterson returned carrying a tray containing a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits. “His lordship is on his way,” he told them, appearing to be once more in perfect control of his features.

Seating herself on the corner of the sofa, as close to William as possible, Lucy took a careful sip of the tea that had just been poured. “Thank you, Peterson,” she told the butler, to which he nodded as he departed the room. He appeared just as dispassionate as when they’d first arrived, although it did seem as if his eyes now sparkled with happiness.

Reaching for his own cup, William settled back against his chair. He’d barely managed to do so, however, before the door swung open and an older gentleman stepped inside. He was of average height, with dark brown hair that now showed traces of gray. His eyes were blue, narrowing at the sides so that it looked as if he was squinting. As soon as he found Lucy, his lips drew together in a thin but wide smile. “Lucy! I cannot believe that it is you. I dared not hope that I would ever see you again.” His arms went wide as if he meant to embrace her. William stifled a groan. But when Lucy remained frozen on the sofa with her teacup suspended in midair, her uncle’s eyes narrowed even further, and he frowned. “Will you not come and greet me?”

William hazarded a glance in her direction. She looked pale and as though she might either leap from her seat and flail her uncle alive or simply collapse in a dead faint. Either way, William decided that it was a very good idea to take the teacup she was still holding out of her hand and set it on the table before she dropped it on the floor. He then looked at the constable who didn’t seem as though he had any intention of saying a word, so William decided to take matters into his own hands and rose to his feet. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is William Summersby. I am the Earl of Moorland’s son and Lucy’s husband.”

“Indeed?” the earl said, his features melting into a soft expression. “Then I must congratulate you it seems, though I must admit that I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t invite me to the wedding.”

“Lucy had her reasons for desiring discretion and privacy. She’s suffered greatly since her parents’ murder.”

“Such a tragedy,” the earl muttered. “I cannot begin to imagine what you must have had to endure. How did you even make it back to England?”

“With difficulty,” Lucy whispered, her eyes focused on the floor.

“She’s a very determined woman,” William added. “I admire her greatly. For six long years the only thing that kept her going was the desire for revenge, and when she finally found the man responsible and—”

“I beg your pardon?” the earl said, nearly choking on his words. “You…you have found the man who killed my brother and his wife? I’ve been searching for years but to no avail. You must tell me everything at once. Who is he?
Where
is he?”

“He was apprehended a couple of weeks ago at my estate when he attempted to kidnap Lucy. He apparently intended to take her with him to Turkey and to sell her there as a slave—a partial payment for services rendered.”

“Dear Lord,” the earl muttered as he sank down onto the seat behind him, “he’s told you this?”

“He’s told us a great deal more, my lord.” William could hear his own voice grow angry and cold. He’d had enough of this game. It was time to spring the trap. “In fact, he didn’t seem to be able to stop talking…about
you
.”

The earl’s eyes shot up to meet with William’s. “What are you saying? If you’re implying…”

“I’m not implying anything. I am simply stating the facts, and the facts are that Lord Stanton killed Lord and Lady Hampstead in cold blood as per your orders.”

“It’s not true!”

But William had seen that look of desperation on many men’s faces before—the kind of look that was tinged with guilt and fear. Lucy’s uncle wanted the title and the fortune, but he was a coward who’d sent another man to do the dirty work for him and now dreaded the punishment that was to come.

“Lord Stanton is presently being held in a cell at Newgate. He was supposed to hang for murder but has been offered a life sentence instead, in exchange for any information he might have, implicating someone else. He immediately mentioned you, so you see, there’s really no use in denying it.”

The earl’s face drew together in an angry scowl. “You can’t prove any of it. Whatever Stanton might have said holds no water. Don’t you see, he’ll say anything to save his own neck.”

“Perhaps,” William acquiesced, reaching inside his jacket pocket and pulling out a worn piece of paper. He unfolded it and studied it for a moment while the whole room fell into silence. “But he did give me this letter, signed by yourself and promising an exorbitant amount of money in exchange for, and I quote: ‘ensuring that Lady Lucinda remains behind in Constantinople once the matter pertaining to her parents has been settled.’”

“But I…That’s not what I wrote.” His eyes widened in alarm as he realized his misstep. “I mean, whatever that piece of paper there says, it must be a forgery. It will never stand in a court of law.”

William’s eyebrows rose, and he handed the piece of paper over to the constable who also appeared to study it with much interest. Ignoring the earl’s claim that the letter was a fake, William zeroed in on the first thing he’d said instead. “Then what exactly did you write, my lord?”

“This really is rather compelling evidence,” the constable muttered, with a most serious expression upon his face. “Most compelling, indeed.”

The earl frantically raked his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to…” His eyes were panic stricken now as they looked from one person to the other. “It was Stanton’s idea. I’ll tell you everything if you will assure me that I will not hang. After all, I have killed no one. It was all his doing.”

William clenched his jaw, the rage building, and prayed that he would have enough self-control not to pummel this pathetic excuse of a man. “Unfortunately, Lord Stanton is already dead and offers you no opportunity to bargain for your life.”

“What? But I…You just said that—”

“I lied,” William told him in a rather casual tone. He moved a little closer to the earl and held the letter out toward him. “Take it—as a reminder of who it was that convicted you.”

It was a shaky hand that snatched the letter away from William. Taking it, the earl stared down at the page, a frown appearing upon his forehead as he turned it over. “It’s…it’s blank,” he muttered.

“Hm, quite so,” William concurred. “So you see, in the end, you really have only yourself to blame.”

“No,” the earl exclaimed. He seemed ready to grasp for words—anything that might help him. “No, you cannot do this. The evidence you claimed to have in your possession is non-existent. It is precisely as I told you. You have no proof.”

“Ah, but you have already said more than enough to merit a trial, isn’t that right, Constable?”

The constable nodded. “It most certainly is.” He got up and pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket. “And we can do this the easy or the hard way. It’s entirely up to you.”

The earl nodded submissively and began to rise from his chair, but just as he reached his full height, he made a grab for the pistol, attempting, as far as William could tell, to wrench it out of the constable’s hand. “Get down, Lucy!” His words of warning could not have come any sooner, for in the next second, the pistol went off with a loud boom. Lucy screamed and William jumped forward, wrestling the earl to the ground and pinning down his arm so the constable could retrieve his pistol. “Lucy—are you all right?”

A quiet squeak from behind the sofa table followed by a raspy “Yes” confirmed that she was indeed unharmed. William breathed a sigh of relief, but he did not relax his hold on the earl. “Get up, you bloody bastard,” he growled, easing off of him and hauling him to his feet. Spotting the hole above the sofa where the lead shot had struck, he clenched his jaw, realizing just how close they’d come to absolute disaster. “You almost killed her.”

“Is everything all right? I thought I heard a…Good heavens!”

Turning his head, William found Peterson standing in the doorway staring in bewilderment from one person to the other. “I shall be escorting his lordship out to the constable’s carriage, Peterson. Would you please remain here with Lucy while I do so. I believe she’s had quite a shock.”

“Erm…yes, yes of course,” Peterson muttered as he stepped forward.

William turned to go, but Lucy stopped him. “A moment, if you please.” She walked up to her uncle, who was looking more terrified and helpless by the second. “How could you do such a thing? Have you no conscience at all? My father loved you…I loved you…Yet you betrayed us all in such a cruel and despicable way. It’s beyond comprehension, and, unfortunately for you, it’s beyond forgiveness as well.” She then turned her back on him and walked back to the sofa, sat down, and averted her gaze from the man who’d taken so much from her.

When William returned ten minutes later after escorting the constable and her uncle out, she still hadn’t moved, but the redness around her eyes and the wet streaks upon her cheeks showed visible signs of crying. Given the circumstances, William would not have been the least bit surprised if she would have collapsed in a fit of hysterics. Her parents had been brutally murdered, the man who’d done it had kidnapped her, dragged her across Europe, almost sold her into slavery. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d discovered that the man behind it all was none other than her dear uncle. It was more than anyone should have to endure.

“Is he gone?” she asked, her gaze still focused on something far away in the distance.

“Yes, Lucy, he’s gone.”

She nodded her head and then turned to look at him. “Thank you for everything, William.”

Relief was visible in her bright green eyes—so much so that William found himself catching his breath. He was suddenly afraid to speak, fearing that he would choke on the words, for the emotions that suddenly whirled through him were so powerful that he found himself struggling for control. Rising to her feet, she came to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let’s go home,” she whispered as she pressed a tender kiss against his lips.

He nodded, drew her closer, and hugged her in a tight embrace. “What an excellent idea,” he murmured, ignoring Peterson’s discreet cough, which he knew was meant as a reminder of his presence. William didn’t care; the only two things that mattered to him at that moment were that Lucy was safe and that she was his.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

T
hey had left Hampstead House after promising Peterson that they would return for a visit after the holidays. There would be a lot to see to including a search for another heir to the estate, but for now, Lucy was simply happy to have the matter of her parents’ murder resolved, even though she would have wished for another outcome.