Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (28 page)

As she went on, Perdita felt more and more guilty about having brought such perversity into their village. There was no doubt in her mind that had she not come here, none of this would have happened. As if he sensed her thoughts, Archer squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm.

“I thank you, Mrs. Jane,” he said aloud, “as I’m sure my parents would if they were here to do so. And we’re here about that same matter. I was hoping you could help.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “I’m sure I don’t know how I could help, but you know I’m willing to do whatever it is you need, Lord Archer.”

“We were wondering,” he said carefully, “if Lord Vyse’s things had been removed yet from his rooms here. My father is hoping that he might be able to glean some information about why Lord Vyse was here, or even who he met with. It would be a great help, Mrs. Jane.”

But Perdita could tell from the woman’s expression that her response would be bad news. “I’m that sorry, Lord Archer, but I’m afraid that friend of his, Lord Loftin, gathered them all up this morning just as soon as he arrived.”

“That’s all right,” Perdita said, trying not to sound disappointed. “We can just wait for Lord Loftin to return from wherever it was he was going.”

But again, Mrs. Jane shook her head. “He just left to go back to London. I thought he’d have said something when you spoke to him on your way in.”

“I’m afraid not,” Archer said before Perdita could reply. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Jane. I’m sorry to have troubled you in the middle of your work.”

They said their good-byes and were headed for the door to leave when Mrs. Jane came hurrying up behind them. “I’ve just remembered something, Lord Archer,” she said breathlessly. “When Lord Vyse came here he asked me to store one of his cases here for him. I thought it was odd, but we do occasionally get guests who like to leave some things in the storeroom because they don’t trust the maids and footmen not to steal them.”

Leading them to a door off the main hallway, she retrieved the large ring of keys from a chatelaine hanging at her waist. Finding the right key, she turned it in the lock and stepped into the darkness, finding a candle holder just inside the door by touch. When she’d lit it, Perdita and Archer could see into the chamber, and it was clear that others besides Lord Vyse had asked to store things here. Or that Mrs. Jane used it for storage herself. Stepping forward, she pointed to a small leather case sitting on top of a wooden crate. “There it is,” she said. “It’s a bit heavy, so I’ll just let you lift it, my lord.”

“Is there somewhere that we can be private as we look through it, Mrs. Jane?” Perdita asked once Archer had picked it up. “If Lord Vyse thought it was worth locking away in this room, then whatever is in there must be important. And perhaps valuable.”

The innkeeper agreed and showed them to a private dining room. When she’d gone, Archer set the case upon the table and began to check the locks. But to their surprise, it wasn’t locked.

“Curious,” Perdita said. “I should have thought he’d want to lock it if he thought it was important enough to keep hidden in the storage chamber.”

“Who knows,” Archer said, opening the case wide so that they could both look inside. The first thing he pulled out was a diary, which he handed to Perdita.

It was a very well made piece, she thought as she noted his name tooled into the leather of the cover. Opening it, she saw that it was a personal diary, though instead of his thoughts and feelings, the pages were covered with notations of what appeared to be wins and losses. At cards, at horses, at anything that could possibly be wagered over. Only near the end did he begin to write about his life. And then it seemed to be limited to his dealings with someone he called D:

D. is convinced that the duchess is responsible for O.’s death. But there is no way that we can prove it. We will remind her of it at every turn. Surely this will drive her to admit her crime.

Then:

D. chastised me for the public row with the duchess. Says it calls attention to our campaign and garners sympathy for her. But it felt good. I regret nothing.

And:

Vauxhall attack was perfection. The look on her face when Tewkes tossed the pig’s blood on her was priceless. I thought D. might give the game away, but I should have known better. Made of sterner stuff than I thought.

Dated just four days earlier:

I am beginning to think D. is wrong that the attacks will make P. capitulate. D. also seems to be becoming a bit unhinged about the whole thing. I wonder how much longer this can last.

Finally, on the night he was killed, Vyse wrote:

Asking the innkeeper to lock this case in the storage room so that D. doesn’t find it. I am convinced now that there is more madness to this plan than sense. The questioning of my motives again and again, along with the tirades about P.’s sins is more than a little unsettling. I will leave for London in the morning whether D. likes it or not.

“Archer, look here,” she said, her hands shaking as she showed him the passages she’d been reading. “I can think of only one person whose initial is D. and that’s Dunthorp. But why on earth would he wish to frighten me? I wasn’t even aware that he knew Ormond. Gervase certainly never mentioned him.”

He flipped through the book. “It could explain why he was there for so many of your incidents. Though I wonder at Vyse’s not ever naming him here. If he suspected Dunthorp of running mad, why not say his name in case someone looked through his belongings later?”

“It is odd,” Perdita said. “Though he said that he feared D. would find his journal, so perhaps he chose not to name him outright as a means to appease him just in case he did find it.”

“Look at these,” Archer said, handing her a stack of letters tied with a bow. “The correspondent is never named. Just signs them as ‘your dear boy.”

Taking them from him, Perdita opened the first one and her eyes widened. “This is Gervase’s handwriting,” she said. “How on earth did Vyse get hold of them? And to what end?”

“That throws a different light on them,” Archer said. “I’d just assumed they were Vyse’s. But you’re right. The writing doesn’t match that in the journal.”

One by one, she opened the letters, reading her husband’s sometimes sweet, sometimes crude words of affection for a woman she didn’t know. “I’d assumed he kept a mistress,” she said, shaking her head as she realized just how long this affair had lasted, “but it never occurred to me that it was the same one for the entirety of the marriage.”

“Perhaps he met her before you. And she was unsuitable so he married you instead.” Archer rubbed her upper arm, a gesture of comfort that she appreciated. “It is odd that Vyse would have these, though. I wonder if perhaps he and Dunthorp had plans to use them in their campaign against you somehow.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” she said, a shiver of unease running down her spine. “I just cannot quite believe that Dunthorp was collaborating with Vyse of all people. That night at the Elphinstone rout they behaved as if they’d never met one another.”

“I have little doubt that they are both quite capable of lying when they see fit,” Archer said, tucking the journal and the letters back into the case, along with a three-volume novel and a packet of tooth powder. “Let’s get back to the hall. I need to tell Father about what we’ve found. I’m not sure the journal is enough for him to have Dunthorp arrested, but it will definitely help the investigation.”

“What if the shooter comes again?” she asked, as he hoisted the leather case onto his hip.

“We’re going to ask Dr. Franks if he’ll give us a lift back to the hall,” he assured her. “I’m not taking the chance of traveling across country with you again until Dunthorp or whoever else it could be that shot at you is apprehended.”

“I just never would have guessed it of him,” Perdita said as they left the inn. “All the while he was pretending to woo me, he was planning to terrify me. I had thought I was becoming a better judge of character, but this just proves how wrong I could be.”

“This has nothing to do with your ability to judge character,” Archer said fiercely, “and everything to do with Dunthorp’s skill as an actor. You cannot hold yourself to blame for believing him. I cannot stand to think that these scoundrels have made you lose your trust in people.”

“I’m afraid that’s just something I shall have to work out on my own,” she replied, wondering who else might be deceiving her. She didn’t think Archer would do such a thing, but now she had to question her trust of everyone. Including Archer, no matter how much it hurt her to think it.

*   *   *

When they arrived back at Lisle Hall, Archer’s mother was pacing back and forth in the entrance hall. Upon seeing them, she threw up her hands in relief. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, “for you’ll never guess who is sitting in our drawing room!”

“No,” Archer said, “we won’t, so you may as well tell us who it is so that we can help.”

“The dowager Duchess of Ormond,” she said in a hiss. “Do you know how terrifying that woman is?”

“Grandmamma?” Perdita asked, puzzled. “What on earth is she doing here?”

“How did she learn your location?” Archer asked, answering her question with a question. “I made great pains to hide our leaving London at all, let alone the destination. For all she knows you’re still abed with measles at Coniston’s town house.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her to threaten Con and Georgie with social ruin,” Perdita said, shaking her head in exasperation. “She knows how worried Georgie is about her own middle-class origins reflecting poorly on Con.”

“I’m afraid I cannot say that would be implausible for the dowager,” Archer’s mother said with a frown.

“I suppose we’d best go face her,” Archer said. “Mama, how long has she been here?”

“Not very long. I’ve called for tea. I only came out here to pretend to see if there was a problem in the kitchens.”

“Give us a few moments alone with her,” he said, taking Perdita’s hand and leading her upstairs. Opening the door, they went in to face the wrath of the dowager.

*   *   *

“Well,” she said from her position in the room’s most comfortable chair beside the fire. “I thought you’d eloped to Gretna upon learning I was here.”

Perdita pulled away from Archer and went to kiss the old woman’s cheek. “Grandmamma, what a delight to see you here.”

At that, the old woman cackled. “Perdita, you might fool this young Lothario with taradiddles like that, but you won’t fool me. Even the saints in heaven would have difficulty delighting in the presence of the old woman who chased them down during their elopement!”

“It’s not an elopement,” Perdita protested, taking a seat on the settee opposite the dowager. “We left town because it was becoming dangerous for me. Especially after what happened at Vauxhall.”

She resisted the urge to take Archer’s hand again when he seated himself beside her. That would certainly not do anything to bolster her argument against their elopement.

“It was, indeed, Your Grace,” Archer said. “In fact, I was greatly afraid that something more permanent would happen to the widowed duchess if she were to remain in London.”

The dowager turned her gimlet gaze on Archer. “Yes, Lord Archer. I believe you’ve spent a great deal of time these past weeks worrying over Perdita’s safety, haven’t you. I cannot help but wonder if that concern has something to do with the size of her widow’s portion.”

“Think what you like, Your Grace,” Archer returned blandly, “the lady knows what my motives are.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that, sir,” she retorted. “I’ve seen how you’ve been trying to turn her head away from that simpleton Dunthorp. I daresay you are blessed with more brains than he has, but the fellow is a viscount. What are you but a younger son?”

“Grandmamma, please!” Perdita said, aghast. “You have no right to speak to Lord Archer that way.”

“I’ll say whatever I please in the quest to see that you don’t marry a fortune-hunter, Perdita,” the dowager said, banging her cane on the floor for emphasis.

“If it will make you feel better, Your Grace,” Archer said dryly, “I am not in need of a fortune, as it happens.”

Both ladies looked at him as if he’d sprouted corn from his ears.

“But, I thought…” Perdita began.

“I’ve had you investigated, young man,” the dowager said with a frown. “You haven’t a penny to your name until your great-aunt Alice kicks off. And she’s as healthy as a horse. I should know, because we were at school together.”

“Well, being at school together is not the same as being in close contact, Your Grace,” Archer said with conviction. “I regret to inform you that she died some time ago and I invested the inheritance she left me and made quite a tidy sum from those investments.”

Before the dowager could interject, he continued, “What’s more, my father made the deed of one of his small estates some twenty miles away from here over to me just last night. It is one of his lesser properties that he meant to settle on my eldest brother, but as he chose not to take it, I shall be its master instead.”

“Last night?” Perdita asked, still shocked about his father’s gift of the estate, her eyes wide. “After…?”

Archer nodded, and put his hand over hers. “He guessed where things were going, and thought you’d be more inclined to look favorably upon my suit if I had something to bring to the marriage besides my good looks and winsome charm.”

“But what about a title, sir?” the dowager demanded. “Even that bag of hair, Dunthorp, has a title.”

“Oh, Grandmamma,” Perdita said, smiling radiantly, “I don’t need a title.”

Before the older lady was able to respond, the butler appeared at the door and announced, “The Viscount Dunthorp,” in stentorian tones.

If Perdita and the dowager had been shocked by Archer’s announcement that he was now a man of property, all three of them gaped to see Lord Dunthorp step into the chamber.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Perdita. Then like a loved one sighting a traveler after a long trip, he beamed and hurried toward her, going so far as to kneel down before her and take her hands in his. She recoiled at his touch, remembering the notations in Vyse’s journal. If they were right, D. was Dunthorp and he’d not only been threatening her for months, he’d also killed Vyse last night and shot at her this afternoon.