The Sinister Spinster (19 page)

Lady Elinore's lips thinned in temper, but before they came to blows dinner was announced. Lady Galbraith, one of the countess's oldest friends, held sway at the head of the table, doing her best to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Conversation was sporadic and subdued, with the other guests concentrating mostly on their food. Lady Barrington made some attempts to enliven the evening with an amusing description of a party she had attended at Carlton House, but when her witty remarks met with uncomfortable silence she soon abandoned her efforts. Elizabeth wasn't in the least surprised when most of the guests announced their intention to retire to their rooms once dinner was finished.

One thing that did surprise her was Mr. Carling and Mr. Derwent putting in an appearance toward the end of the meal. They both looked decidedly the worse for wear, their faces pale and haggard. There was also a decided strain between them, and they scarce spoke to one another after taking their places at the table. Mr. Derwent seemed especially brittle, drinking more than was customary, even for him. Mr. Carling was also imbibing rather freely, although without the defiant abandon Mr. Derwent was exhibiting.

She wasn't the only one to notice their behavior, and more than once she caught Adam studying them with narrow-eyed speculation. Finally the meal was ended, and the guests rose to their feet.

"Going off to sleep, eh?" Mr. Derwent sneered, wine sloshing over the rim of his glass as he raised it in a mocking salute. " 'And in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.' I wonder what Charles dreams of, poor, stupid sot." And he downed the dregs of his glass.

Lady Galbraith gave him a look of icy disdain. "I think you have had rather too much to drink, sir," she announced in her loftiest accents. "You will oblige me by retiring to your rooms before you make an even bigger fool of yourself."

He blinked up at the older woman in drunken indignation. "What? Didn't I get the quotation right? Dashed odd. I've always had a bit of a hand with the old boy's words." He tipped his head back, blond curls spilling over his collar as he smiled spitefully at the scandalized guests.

" 'Treachery, seek it out,' an excellent bit of advice, eh?" He gave another drunken laugh. "Perhaps that's what got poor Charles killed. 'Virtue is its own punishment.' " He frowned thoughtfully. "Who said that, I wonder?"

Mr. Carling rose hastily to his feet, a look of horror on his face. "Come, Geoffrey, that ain't the way," he implored, taking the empty glass from his friend's hand and helping him to his feet. "Up to bed with you, now. You mustn't say anything else."

Mr. Derwent staggered as he freed himself. "Why shouldn't I?" he demanded belligerently. "Charles kept quiet, and look where it got him! And you know, Wills, don't you? You know!"

Mr. Carling looked as if he would swoon. He cast a terrified glance about the room and turned back to his friend.

"Geoffrey, please," he said, getting a better hold on the
other man's arm. "You're jug-bit. You don't know what you're saying!"

Mr. Derwent's face twisted in bitter fury, but before he could say anything else, Adam rose to confront him.

"Derwent, you are upsetting the ladies," he informed the other man coldly. "Leave the room. Now."

Oddly, the words had a sobering effect on the younger man. He straightened, and his face, which had been mottled with fury, turned pale instead. Accepting Mr. Carling's assistance, he left the room without uttering another word.

"Fool." Adam glared after him, shaking his head. "Damned fool."

Ten

After some discussion it was decided Mr. Colburt would be laid to rest in the Derrings' family graveyard. He had no family, and as he'd met his fate while under their roof, the earl decided burying the fellow was the least they might do. The day after the discovery of the body Lady Derring emerged from her rooms, and she wasn't long in making Elizabeth's position clear.

"Until this matter is resolved in your favor and I can dismiss you, you will be expected to carry on as you have always done," she told Elizabeth coldly. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lady," Elizabeth replied, refraining from pointing out that if the matter was resolved in her favor, it would mean she was innocent. She had no desire to spend one moment longer at Derring Hall than she had to.

"Naturally you will refrain from associating with our guests above that which is absolutely necessary to perform your duties," the countess added, her dark eyes spiteful. "I am sure you take my meaning, Miss Mattingale."

Elizabeth clenched her jaw, holding on to her temper with a will. Even though she and Adam hadn't been alone once since that wondrous kiss, she was aware of the speculative glances cast her way by the ladies, who'd noted his preference for her company.

"Yes, Lady Derring," she said, resentment simmering inside her as she kept her gaze fixed on the wall over her ladyship's shoulder. "Your meaning is more than plain."

The countess frowned at Elizabeth's stiff tones, and she gave a disapproving frown. "The funeral will be held tomorrow," she continued coldly. "You will be allowed to attend services at the church, but I see no reason for you to remain while he is buried.

"Indeed," she added with a sniff, "I can think of nothing in more questionable taste. Following the church services you are to return here to make sure all will be ready for the funeral breakfast. I will not have it said we did not see poor Mr. Colburt on his way in the proper fashion."

She continued in this manner for several minutes, rattling on until Elizabeth's patience was frayed and her jaw was aching from having been clenched so tight. Finally her employer ran out of orders and insults, and Elizabeth was dismissed. Naturally she wasn't allowed to leave until the countess hurled one final word of warning at her.

"Just mind you watch yourself, Miss Mattingale," she said, her voice fairly dripping with malice as she smirked at Elizabeth. "For I assure you,
we
shall be watching
you."

Holding her head high, Elizabeth walked out of the countess's drawing room and straight into Adam's arms. His hands closed around her shoulders and his worried amber gaze scurried over her tense features.

"Elizabeth, what is it?" he demanded, ducking his head to better study her face. "You're shaking."

"With temper, my lord, I do assure you," she replied, her heart racing in her chest. Being this close to him was both torment and pleasure, and she knew she had best put some distance between them. If she didn't, she feared she'd do something foolish. Something foolish like kissing him or, worse still, putting her head on his shoulder and accepting the comfort and safety his presence offered. Drawing a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I must be about my duties,"
she said, smiling stiffly. She tried moving away, only to have his fingers tighten their hold.

"The devil with your duties!" he snapped, his eyes flashing with temper. "I want to know what is wrong. Has someone upset you?"

Abruptly Elizabeth decided she'd had enough of arrogance and demands. The growing softness inside her hardened, and she placed both hands on his chest and shoved as hard as she could.

"I am not upset!" She enunciated each word slowly so they would penetrate the thickness of his skull. "I am angry."

He studied her for several seconds before replying. "I can see that," he said, his lips curving in a slow smile. "Dare I ask with whom?"

Elizabeth gave careful thought to kicking him as hard as she could but decided against it. Considering her shove hadn't moved him so much as an inch, she'd probably end up breaking her toe.

"If you must know, I was hipped with Lady Derring," she said, scowling up at him. "But if you don't release me at once, I warn you I shall be more than a little vexed with you."

His smile deepened. "Then I fear you'll have to be vexed," he said, his hands sliding down her arms to grasp her hands. "I need to speak with you, and I prefer to do so in private. Come." And he led her out into the gardens, ignoring her indignant efforts to win her freedom. When they reached the center of the garden, she managed to pull free and turned to face him.

"Well, we are here," she said, glowering up at him. "I hope you know Lady Derring will doubtlessly have me drawn and quartered for this. What is so important it could not wait?"

"Have you been writing to your father?"

The unexpectedness of the question was like a slap in the face. "I—I beg your pardon?" she asked, so shocked she couldn't think.

"You heard me." His expression, like his tone, was implacable. "Have you been writing to your father? Don't lie to me, Elizabeth. Your very life depends on your being completely honest with me."

"I had no intention of lying," she replied, knowing the words in themselves were a lie. "It is just that I don't see what my father has to do with all of this."

His expression hardened. "Don't be naive, or expect me to be," he advised in a soft tone. "You know full well he has a great deal to do with what has happened. Now, have you been writing to him, or have you not?"

Faced with such a naked demand for the truth, Elizabeth could not prevaricate. "A few times, yes," she said, refusing to hang her head in shame. "He is my father; I cannot be expected to cut him dead merely because Lord Derring commanded it."

"I'm not here to argue that with you," Adam said, waving that aside. "I want to know what you wrote him, and what he wrote you. Do you still have his letters?"

Elizabeth thought of the letters she'd tucked away in the band of the hatbox. She'd hidden all but his last letter there after the fright she'd had, which was why they'd escaped detection during the search of her room. She knew if she told Adam she'd destroyed the letters he'd believe her, and because of that she could be no less than honest.

"Yes, I do."

"Where are they? Why weren't they found when your room was searched?"

"Because I'd hidden them," she answered truthfully. "I knew his lordship disapproved of the correspondence, and so I always took care to put them away after I'd finished reading them." She met his watchful gaze. "Shall I get them for you?"

His eyes flickered, as if surprised by the offer. "If you would," he said, inclining his head gravely. "Thank you."

Elizabeth flinched. "If you'll wait here, then, I'll go fetch them," she said, and hurried away, praying she
reached her room before the tears stinging her eyes began falling.

Hell and damnation! Adam cursed silently, watching in frustrated impotence as Elizabeth slipped into the house. He would have given all he possessed and more to spare her this, but he knew he could not. He'd long suspected she'd defied Derring's orders, and knew as well how that defiance could be used against her if the truth ever came out. The only way to save Elizabeth was to make her innocence plain to all, and for that he needed her father's letters. He only prayed the information they contained would not hang her rather than free her.

The thought had him sweating, and by the time Elizabeth returned he was hanging on to his control by a fraying thread.

"Here you are, my lord," she said, averting her eyes as she handed him the packet. "I would like them back, if I may. They are all I have left of my father."

The pain in her voice shredded his heart. "I will try," he said, glancing at the packet of letters. There were six in all, and he flipped through them before glancing at her again. "Is this the lot?"

She gave a jerky nod, her gaze still avoiding his.

"Which were written after Lord Derring's edict?"

"The last three," she said, raising her gaze to meet his. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

Her use of his title hurt almost as much as the tears he could see drying on her face.

"Elizabeth," he said, raw with the need to touch her, "I am sorry. You must know I am doing this only to prove your innocence."

She studied him sadly for several moments. "Must I?" she asked quietly. "To whom are you trying to prove my innocence, Lord Falconer? To the others, or to yourself?"

Adam had no answer and could only stand silently as once more she walked away from him.

He spent the rest of the afternoon studying the letters. The invectives Elizabeth's father poured forth against England had his lips thinning several times, but he was certain they didn't constitute treason. Under the recently passed Combination Acts, he supposed they could be considered seditious, but sedition was a far cry from treason. If Mr. Mattingale ever returned to England, he would doubtlessly face arrest, but from what he had read, he could find nothing that implicated Elizabeth in his crimes. The realization had his shoulders slumping in relief.

Not wanting to trust the information to anyone, even his valet, he spent several more hours meticulously copying the letters and setting them aside to be sent to the duke in London. It was while he was franking the letters that he realized he hadn't asked Elizabeth how she had maintained the correspondence with her father. A visit to the local postmaster was clearly in order, he decided, tucking Elizabeth's letters inside his jacket. But first he wanted to find Henry and let him know that his spy had been misinformed. The worst thing Mr. Mattingale had asked of Elizabeth was that she move to America as soon as she could manage.

Realizing he couldn't seek out Henry on his own, he went in search of Lady Elinore. He found her in the morning parlor, sitting in a patch of watery sunlight quietly embroidering. The sight brought him up short, and he leaned against the door to watch her. Almost at once her head came up, and her clear gray eyes met his gaze inquiringly.

"Is there something you find amusing, my lord?" she asked in the coolly polished accents he'd once considered essential in his marchioness.

He pushed himself away from the door, embarrassed at having been caught watching her like a moonling. "Not at all," he said, advancing toward her. "I am merely surprised to see you so happily engaged in the womanly arts. I thought you a bluestocking who disdained such things."