The Sinister Spinster (20 page)

"I am a duke's daughter, Lord Falconer," she replied,
setting her hoop and threads aside. "My mother made quite certain I was well-acquainted with the duties expected of that station. And odd as it may seem, I like to embroider; I find it helps me think. Was there anything else you wished, or have you come only to question my domestic abilities?"

Adam was annoyed to find himself coloring. "I need to see Henry," he said gruffly, aware once more of his gratitude that she'd had the sense to refuse his suit. "Can you arrange it for me?"

"I can," Lady Elinore said, her light brown brows puckering in a frown. "Although it might be best if you tell me what it is you wish him to know, and allow me to pass it on to him."

Adam hesitated; he'd seen her and Elizabeth sitting together several times, and she'd been as quick as himself and Lady Barrington in defending her. Still . . .

"I should prefer meeting with Henry, if you do not mind," he said. "In addition to speaking with him, there is something I wish to show him."

"I am afraid I cannot allow that," Lady Elinore replied, her voice surprisingly firm. "It is certain to cause comment, and that we cannot afford."

"I know it will cause comment!" Adam retorted, affronted that she would dare question his authority. "That is why I want you to act as our intermediary. How can anyone suspect anything untoward if you summon your own footman, for pity's sake?"

"Nevertheless, it is a risk I should prefer not to take," she said, her face taking on an expression of feminine stubbornness. "We don't know who the thief and killer is, and what he may or may not know. Father said he told you to filter any information you might have through him, and since he is not here, you must filter it through me.

"It's not only Miss Mattingale who is in danger, you know," she added when he hesitated. "What do you think will happen to Henry if the villain ever guesses the truth about him?"

Adam swore silently, reluctantly conceding that she was right. "Miss Mattingale has been writing to her father in America," he said, doing his best not to sound petulant. "She gave me his letters, and I've examined them at some length. While his sentiments are decidedly questionable, I could see no hint of his having asked her to do anything illicit."

Lady Elinore tapped a finger to her lips. "Indeed? Are you quite certain of that?"

His temper stirred, but he didn't allow it to slip its reins. Instead he withdrew the letters and handed them to her.

"Study them yourself," he offered coldly. "But other than demanding that she return to America, her father made no request of her that can be considered treasonous. I've copied them out to be sent to your father. Have you anything you wish to add?"

Lady Elinore tucked the letters in her sewing basket along with her hoop and threads before answering. "As a matter of fact, there is," she said, glancing up at him and smiling. "You might tell Papa that I expect to see him by next week's end, and that he owes me that copy of Wollstonecraft he confiscated from me last year."

Adam shook his head. "You read Wollstonecraft," he said. "Why am I not surprised?"

She gave a pretty shrug. "I am sure I do not know. Now, if you do not mind, sir, I've a question I should like to ask you."

Adam tensed in sudden awareness of danger. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"Why did you offer for me?"

Adam stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you offer for me?" she repeated, her lips curving in an amused smile at his stunned expression. "And you needn't look so horrified, sir. I've no desire that you repeat the event. I am merely curious, that is all."

Adam fought down the sudden urge to shuffle from one foot to the other. "I suppose I offered for you for the same reason any man of my station offers for a lady," he
muttered. "Because I admired you, and thought we would suit."

"Indeed, and so you said at the time," she said, nodding her head. "But surely there had to be some reason other than that. You must admire any number of ladies."

What did she want from him? Adam wondered, beginning to feel desperate. "I also admire your father," he said, trying to recall whatever lunacy had prompted him into making such a thorough ass of himself. "I suppose I fancied the notion of our being related in some fashion or another."

"Did you desire me?"

"Elinore!" he exclaimed, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. "What the devil sort of question is that?"

"A reasonable one, or so it seems to me," she replied calmly. "When you were speaking of marrying me, you prattled on about bloodlines and heirs, so I assumed ours would be a normal marriage in every sense of the word. Did you desire me?"

Adam was beginning to feel like a victim of the Inquisition. "Of course I desired you," he said, praying for deliverance. "You're a beautiful woman, Elinore; you must know that."

"And it was never more than that? It was never my heart you wanted, my mind, my soul? You would have taken my body and been content with that?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, and then thought about it for a moment. "No," he said, realizing now that such a cold and bloodless match would have been the death of him. "The devil take you, Elinore," he muttered, glaring at her. "What is it you're after?"

"The truth," she said, settling back in her chair and looking oddly satisfied. "Now, as to the letters, have you any idea how Elizabeth has been corresponding with her father?"

The abrupt change of topic came as a relief and a surprise to Adam. "That is something I mean to discover," he said, intrigued that Elinore had come to the same conelusion
as he. "I was thinking of riding into the village tomorrow and speaking to the postmaster. He may have some information that would be of use."

"He may, but you'd be better advised to talk to the milliner."

"Mrs. Treckler?" he asked, his facility for remembering names standing him in good stead. "Why should I want to speak with her? I've no need of a new chapeau."

"Perhaps not, but her brother is the leader of the local group of Gentlemen, and has been known to carry letters for those wishing to avoid the more conventional methods of communication."

Adam's jaw dropped in astonishment. "How do you know that?" he demanded, recalling his teasing remark about Elizabeth's frequent trips to the milliner's and her prim reply. The little devil! he thought furiously.
Just wait until I get my hands on her!

"From Lady Derring's abigail," Elinore supplied, watching him with no little amusement. "My maid told her I was in a fret because I didn't have any silk, and she told Mary not to worry because Tom Pender would be making another run at high tide."

"But how do you know about the letters?" he asked, putting his anger aside for the moment. "Just because a man runs a load of silk and brandy past the excise men, it doesn't necessarily mean he is willing to carry letters, especially to enemy countries."

"That came from Cook. She told Mary if she had any letters she wished sent to her family in Ireland, Tom would take them for half of what the mails charged."

Adam manfully swallowed an oath. "We are mad to outlaw smuggling," he observed with considerable feeling. "We ought to legalize the whole bloody thing and be done with it."

"Ah, but then only think of the sorry mess we would make of it," Elinore observed with a chuckle. "No, we are far better served letting them operate outside the law. They are far more useful that way."

It seemed an odd remark for a lady, even Elinore, to make, but Adam shrugged it aside. He had far weightier matters to occupy his mind.

"Perhaps I should ride into the village today," he said grimly. "I find I may have some need for a new bonnet after all."

Lady Elinore gave a demure smile. "I am sure you will look delightful in it. In the meanwhile, I shall see Henry gets these. Have you anything else you would like to pass on?"

"Only that I want him to keep a sharp eye on both Derwent and Carling," Adam answered, remembering the dandy's drunken exhibition with a frown. "They're like to be in considerable danger now."

"Because of what that lackwit let slip?" she asked. "I'm sure he's already heard of it from the other servants, but in case he hasn't, I will let him know."

Once more her quickness of mind struck Adam, and this time he decided not to let the incident pass unremarked. "You seem rather well-versed in this sort of thing, if you do not mind my saying so," he said, eyes suspicious as he studied her.

"Not at all," Lady Elinore returned smoothly in her cultured tones. "A lady can learn a great many things from her footman if she but pays the proper mind."

Not certain how to take that remark, Adam elected to beat a strategic retreat. "Then I'll just bid you good day," he said, and turned to leave the room.

"Falconer, wait; there is one more question I should like to ask you," Lady Elinore called out just as he reached the door.

He paused, casting her a wary glance over his shoulder. "What is it?"

An expression that in another female might have been counted hesitation flickered across her classical features and was gone. "It's been a few years since you made your offer to me," she said, glancing down at her clasped hands.
"Since you are still unwed, I assume you've not made the same offer to anyone else?"

"No, I have not," Adam replied with a grimace. "Being called an unfeeling stone and having my head handed back to me is not an experience I care to know a second time."

To his surprise a faint blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks, but when she raised her head, her eyes were as remote as they had ever been. "Then a word of advice, if I may, my lord," she said. "The next time you offer for a lady, rather than cold reason, try offering her your heart instead. Much to my amazement, it would seem you do possess such an organ after all."

"Four?" Adam repeated, glaring down at the hapless milliner he'd spent the better part of half an hour interrogating. "You're certain it was four letters and not three your brother delivered for Miss Mattingale?"

"Aye, me lord, 'twas four, to be sure," Mrs. Treckler said, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron.

Adam noted her distress in grim silence. He'd disliked terrorizing a helpless woman, but his need to learn the truth left him no other choice. Threatening to have her brother hanged and her transported for smuggling might not have been the most gentlemanly thing he'd ever done, but it was effective. The moment the milliner realized he was in earnest, she'd been more than happy to provide him with whatever information was required. That the information was not what he wanted was of little consequence; it was the truth. All that remained was for Adam to decide what was to be done with that truth.

"How many letters did she send in return?" he asked, keeping his mind fixed firmly on the matter before him.

"The same number, sir, the same," Mrs. Treckler answered, blowing her nose with great vigor. "Four."

"When was the last letter received?" Adam pressed,
thinking quickly. There was no way of knowing with any certainty when the papers were stolen, but he believed it was likely they were taken within a few days of their arrival. That meant at least ten days had passed since the possible theft. If the last letter arrived within the past few days, that would do much to lessen the suspicion against Elizabeth. If it arrived earlier, however, the implications didn't bear considering.

Mrs. Treckler's face screwed up in a thoughtful grimace as she searched her memory. "Oh, more'n a sennight, I would say," she said at last. "And she sent her answer not so many days later. The day you was here, in fact," she added diffidently.

Disappointment, bitterness, and a dash of fear boiled up inside Adam, creating a potent witch's brew. He believed in Elizabeth's innocence, yet each step he took, each fact he discovered, pointed more firmly to her guilt. If he shared what he'd learned with Henry or the duke, it was almost a certainty that Elizabeth would be taken up.

"You're to tell no one that we have spoken," he ordered, fixing Mrs. Treckler with his sternest look. "And when the answer to Miss Mattingale's letter arrives, it is to be delivered to me. Don't even think of betraying me, or it will go very badly with you and your brother. Is that understood?"

"Aye," she promised, bobbing her head eagerly. "And I'll not play you false, I swear! 'Tis just . . ." Her voice trailed off and she twisted her hands in her apron.

"It's just what?" he prompted gently when she didn't continue.

She bit her lip and met his gaze. " 'Tis just, me lord, what if there ain't no answer?"

Adam paused in the act of pulling on his riding gloves. "What makes you say that?" he asked curiously.

"Because when I asked when Tom should look for an answer, Miss Mattingale said there'd not be one," Mrs. Treckler said, looking uneasy. "She sounded near to tears
when she said it, too, and I remember wondering if p'raps the old gent had died."

Adam thought for a moment. "Perhaps he has," he said, recalling his conversation with Elizabeth on the day they walked into the village. "Perhaps he has. Thank you, Mrs. Treckler. You have been of great help to me."

With the funeral set for the next morning, Elizabeth spent a frantic afternoon making the final arrangements. Because the service would be held in the Derrings' family chapel, only the house guests would be in attendance, much to the disappointment of the neighborhood. Several local ladies had dangled for invitations, but Lady Derring had stood firm. A guest might have had the poor breeding to be murdered under her roof, but she was determined he would not be allowed to turn the event into a seven days' wonder.

Elizabeth was returning to the kitchens for a final consultation with Cook when a grim-faced Alexi waylaid her in the hall.

"I have been recalled to London," he began without preamble. "Do you remember when I spoke of that traitor, Zaramoff?" he asked, his eyes as blue and cold as sapphires.

"Yes," she answered, sadly remembering learning of the old prince's death at the hands of his own son.

"I have been sent word he has been conspiring with the Austrians," Alexi continued, his mouth twisting in regal fury. "He means to advise the Czar to agree to Poland's independence."