The Dangerous Lord Darrington Page 8

  Beth walked over to the sofa and sank down, wanting to tell Miles to keep his counsel. ‘Is this necessary?’ she asked, keeping her voice light. ‘I have every hope that he will be gone in a few days.’

  ‘That is good news,’ replied Miles heavily. ‘It offends me that a man of such unsavoury reputation should be staying at the Priory.’

  ‘He is certainly capable of making himself agreeable. He is on the best of terms with both Sophie and Grandmama, but since he shows no inclination to flirt with any of us—’

  ‘It is not just that.’ Miles took a turn about the room, like a man struggling with some unpleasant subject. He said at last, ‘The man is no better than a traitor.’ Beth stared at him and he continued, ‘It is an old story and thus you may be forgiven for not knowing of it. When I went to Granby I met an acquaintance who spends a great deal of time in town and remembers the scandal. Darrington passed Government secrets to the French.’

  ‘I do not believe it!’

  Beth’s response was instinctive. It was much easier to believe the earl a libertine than a traitor. After all, she had experienced his charm, and although she had little experience she thought she could understand a man being carried away by lust.

  ‘It was hushed up, of course,’ Miles continued. ‘Nothing was ever proved and Darrington is related to some of the foremost families in the land. He was making a name for himself in the government, too, but was forced to give it all up once his reputation was tarnished. Any man who would betray his own country is a scoundrel, Beth! You would do well to distance yourself from him, especially when we are trying so hard to avoid a scandal in your own family—’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘We agreed we would not discuss that.’

  ‘Once we are married, my dear, never one word of recrimination or reproach shall pass my lips.’ Beth stared at him. She did not like the insinuation. As if reading her thoughts he said quickly, ‘I have offended you. Believe me, Elizabeth, I wanted to do no more than put you on your guard.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Lord Darrington has a fearsome reputation with the fairer sex and I fear I am a little jealous of him.’

  ‘And I have told you there is no reason to be anxious for me,’ she said, keeping a rein on her temper. She rose, wanting to bring the tête-à-tête to an end. ‘I do not believe you need be concerned about the earl. His friend is recovering well and I have every hope that Dr Compton will declare him fit to travel tomorrow. After that we need have no further dealings with the earl. Shall we join the others now?’

  Beth put all thought of their discussion to the back of her mind as she took Miles into the drawing room. Greetings were exchanged, Mr Davies’s health was briefly discussed, but when the party settled down and Sophie continued her recital, Beth found herself going over in her mind everything Miles had told her about the earl. She did not want to believe it, but Darrington himself had admitted he rarely went to London these days. Her experience of men was limited, so perhaps her judgement was at fault. He might well be a cunning and unscrupulous deceiver.

  It does not matter, she told herself firmly. It means nothing to me. In a few days he will be gone, and everything will be as it was.

  Beth rose early the following morning; by the time she joined Lady Arabella and Sophie for a late breakfast she was able to inform them that Dr Compton had already visited his patient.

  ‘He has said Mr Davies is well enough to travel back to Highridge tomorrow morning.’ She added mischievously, ‘It seems Mr Davies suffered no ill effects from your piano playing yesterday, Sophie.’

  ‘But surely he would be better not to undertake such a journey for a few more days.’ Sophie cast a beseeching glance at her grandmother. ‘Being carefully carried downstairs bears no comparison to being driven ten miles in a jolting carriage!’

  ‘Are you casting doubts upon the comfort of my travelling chariot, Miss Sophie?’ Beth looked up quickly to see the earl standing in the doorway. He had been out riding and brought with him an aura of health and vigour as he strode into the breakfast room. Beth felt again a frisson of excitement, of attraction, at the sight of him and fought it down, telling herself it had nothing to do with the earl, it was merely her own weakness. He was not even looking at her, but was smiling at Sophie and there was laughter in his voice as he addressed her. ‘I vow I am mortified.’

  Sophie had very quickly come to regard the earl as a friend, thought Beth ruefully, and now she merely waved away his joking comment.

  ‘I am sure his lordship’s carriage will be very comfortable,’ declared Lady Arabella.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘We cannot trespass upon your hospitality any longer, Miss Sophie,’ the earl interrupted her gently. ‘You have all been most kind, but Mr Davies and I must return to Highridge tomorrow. There are any number of matters that have been left unattended since this accident.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Sophie nodded.

  ‘We will find cushions and blankets to support Mr Davies’s leg,’ offered Beth, noting Sophie’s anxious face.

  ‘Thank you.’ She tried to ignore his smile, forcing herself to believe it was insincere. He continued, ‘Perhaps Miss Sophie would oversee the arrangements for the patient’s comfort.’

  This suggestion met with immediate approval and when it was decided that Mr Davies should be carried down to the drawing room again, Beth realised that she could expect no help from her sister for the remainder of the day. This did not worry her overmuch; knowing that Sophie and the earl would spend their time entertaining Mr Davies and Lady Arabella, Beth knew she would be able to attend to her own business without fear of interruption.

  Guy should have been pleased—he had done his best to avoid Beth Forrester and so far he had succeeded admirably. A full day’s riding yesterday had meant he had not seen the bewitching redhead at all and so far today he had shared only a few words with her over breakfast. He had spoken with Dr Compton when he had arrived to see Davey and made it very clear that he was now anxious to get his friend home with all speed. The good man had not failed him and all was now arranged for them to leave in the morning.

  He was enjoying a lively game of Halfpenny Loo with Davey and Sophie in the drawing room; Lady Arabella was dozing in her chair and Beth had excused herself, saying she had work to attend to. With luck, thought Guy, he would only have to endure one more dinner and supper in her company before leaving the Priory for good.

  Guy caught himself up. Endure? He was being unfair; that was not the way to describe what he felt in her company. No, her company was not a penance. It was the loss of it that would be difficult.

  Having seen Davey taken carefully back to his room and delivered into the hands of his valet, Guy changed into his dark coat and satin knee breeches in readiness for dinner, but he did not hurry downstairs. Beth had shown little desire for his company since their walk together in the ruins of the old church and, much as he wanted to see her, he decided it would be better for them both to spend as little time together as possible. He therefore remained in his room until he judged it almost time for dinner to be announced. His soft-soled shoes made little noise on the boards and his descent into the great hall was not noticed by the two people deep in conversation there. Beth and her butler were standing to one side of the staircase, talking earnestly. Their voices were hushed, but the bare stone floor and walls of the chamber meant their voices floated up the stairs to meet him.

  ‘He’s very restless, ma’am,’ Kepwith was saying, an anxious note in his usually expressionless voice. ‘I don’t think he should be alone. Perhaps Miss Sophie…’

  ‘No.’ Beth’s reply was emphatic. ‘We will not worry Sophie with this. I will go down to him as soon as we have finished dinner.’

  ‘I wish you would let me send for Dr Compton, madam.’

  ‘And so I shall, if the situation warrants it, but I do not think it is so very bad. You will let me have the keys after dinner and I shall attend—’ She broke off when she became aware of someone on th
e stairs and glanced up at him.

  Good God, what have I done to deserve such a look?

  It was gone so quickly that Guy could almost believe he had imagined the horror in her eyes. Not for the world would he be so uncivil as to mention it. He said, ‘I beg your pardon. I could not help overhearing—has Mr Davies suffered a relapse? He was well enough when he was taken back up to his room…’

  ‘No, no, I was merely reassuring Kepwith that Mr Davies is going on very well.’ She turned back to the butler: ‘You may go now. And announce dinner as soon as possible, if you please.’

  With a bow the old retainer walked away and she watched him in silence for a moment until the chiming of the clock recalled her attention. She said, ‘I feared I should be the last to come down to dinner.’

  He knew her society smile was designed to keep him at a distance and he responded in kind, holding out his arm to her. ‘Shall we go in together then, ma’am, and brave Lady Arabella’s wrath?’

  Guy watched Beth during dinner. She looked serene enough, but he noticed that she merely toyed with her food and seemed distracted, almost impatient for the meal to be over. It did not surprise him, therefore, when he returned to the drawing room after spending the minimum amount of time enjoying his brandy in solitary state, that only Sophie and her grandmother were waiting for him. They were playing backgammon and Guy declined their invitation for him to take a turn and very soon he excused himself, saying there were letters he wanted to write.

  He made his way directly to Davey’s room, where he found his friend sleepy after enjoying a good meal and a bottle of wine.

  ‘Has Mrs Forrester been here?’ asked Guy without preamble.

  ‘Not since this morning, when Compton called,’ returned Davey, yawning.

  ‘Are you sure you are telling me the truth?’

  ‘Of course I am! Why should I lie to you?’

  Guy frowned. ‘Your leg is not paining you? Or mayhap your ribs hurt, after being carted downstairs today?’

  ‘Nothing out of the way,’ replied Davey. ‘In fact, I would have been happy to be carted downstairs, as you phrase it, to join you all for dinner, only Compton would not hear of it. He said I could only be brought down to the drawing room in the afternoon as long as I promised to rest after that, ready for our journey tomorrow.’ He sighed, wincing as the breath pulled at his ribs. ‘You know Guy, glad as I shall be to get back to Highridge, I shall miss the company here.’

  ‘One young lady’s company in particular, no doubt.’

  Davey grinned, his boyish face flushing.

  ‘Miss Sophie is an angel, is she not? So accomplished, witty, delightfully unspoiled—’

  ‘Have a care, Davey,’ cried Guy, startled. ‘She is also very young.’

  ‘Eighteen.’ Davey nodded. ‘I shall have to go slowly, but I am in earnest, Guy. And I think she likes me, too. I wonder if my sister would come and look after me? There could be no objection then to Sophie visiting…’

  Guy laughed and clapped him on one shoulder. ‘You must write and ask her, once you are safely back at Highridge! But for now you must rest, my friend. We have a long journey tomorrow.’

  Reassured on one point, Guy left, but other questions nagged at him as he made his way back to his room. If Kepwith was not referring to Davey, then who was he concerned for? A servant, possibly, but if that was the case why should Beth want him to believe they were talking about Davey? He rubbed his chin. She had distinctly said she would go down to him and had asked Kepwith for his keys.

  He stopped. A sudden memory came to him of the night Miles Radworth had demanded more wine. Beth had been at great pains to ensure that he did not fetch it himself.

  Guy began to walk again, past the door to his allotted room and through the winding passages that led to the back stairs where he had surprised Beth a few nights ago. There was no one in sight, but the clatter of dishes and voices echoing from below told him that the servants were busy. He hesitated for only a moment before setting off down the stairs. However unusual it might look, he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

  He descended into darkness, for the warren of service rooms that ran beneath the main house was underground with only a few windows high in the walls of the kitchen and servants’ hall, and no natural light at all in the central passageway. A single lamp glowed on the wall and it took a few moments for his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. The passage stretched away before him with several blocks of light spilling out on to the floor from the open doorways. There was no one in sight, but shadows occasionally fell across the doorways and the noise and chatter he could hear suggested it was the kitchens. An open door opposite the stairs showed him the lamp room and he quickly helped himself to one of the bedroom candles that were arranged neatly on a narrow shelf.

  Lighting his candle from the lamp, he headed away from the kitchens to a door beneath the stairs, leading back under the older part of the house. He reasoned that the stone undercroft of the old building would make an ideal wine cellar. The same reasoning told him that if the door did indeed lead to the wine store then it would be locked and Kepwith or Beth would have the key. Nevertheless, after coming this far it was only natural that he should try the door.

  It opened easily.

  Guy slipped inside and closed the door behind him. A quick glance showed that his guess had been correct. He was in a large stone vault, the walls of which were lined from floor to ceiling with bottles of wine. The lower racks were grey with dust. He remembered Beth brushing the dirt from her skirts and nodded to himself. There was a chaotic pattern on the dusty floor indicating that the butler had made innumerable trips to the cellars to collect wine for the table. As Guy moved away from the door he could see more distinct footprints on the floor. The wine racks ended and he found himself walking between neatly piled trunks and boxes and the occasional piece of heavy wooden furniture, no longer required by the family upstairs. As he held his candle aloft the soft glow showed him a heavy wooden door in the stone wall ahead of him. Cautiously he tried the handle. It turned easily, silently, as if it had been recently oiled. He opened the door an inch and paused, listening intently. From the far side of the door he could hear the murmur of voices then, louder, a distinct groan. Gently he pushed the door and it swung open with a whisper to reveal another gloomy vault. This one looked as if it had at some stage been used as a stable, for there were high wooden partitions projecting halfway across the floor. A soft glow of lamplight could be seen between two of the partitions. Guy extinguished his candle, closed the door behind him and moved forwards silently, stopping for a moment as he heard Beth’s voice.

  ‘Hush, my love. Here, drink this. It will help you.’

  Guy moved forwards again until he could see the little tableau illuminated by a storm lamp hanging from a hook on the wall. Beth was sitting on the edge of a low wood bed in which lay a gaunt, bearded figure, propped up against white pillows. Guy was standing outside the circle of light and they did not notice him at first. He watched as Beth held a cup to the man’s lips, then she wiped his mouth with tender care. As she did so the man looked up and saw Guy standing in the shadows. His start alerted Beth and with a little cry she jumped to her feet.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed at him, planting herself between Guy and the man in the bed.

  ‘So this explains your night-time wanderings,’ he murmured, ignoring her question.

  The man behind her shifted nervously. ‘Who is it, Beth? Do you know this man?’

  Guy raised his brows. ‘Well, are you not going to introduce us?’

  ‘Please.’ Even in the dim light he could read the urgent appeal in her eyes. ‘Please, go away and forget what you have seen here.’

  ‘Beth, who is this?’ The man in the bed spoke again and Guy moved to one side so that he could see him.

  ‘I am the Earl of Darrington,’ he said conversationally. ‘And who are you?’

  The man propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Simon Wak
eford. Beth’s brother.’

  Guy’s brows went up. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘So shall I be, if I am discovered.’

  Chapter Eight

  Beth clasped her hands together until the knuckles gleamed white. She would have given anything to prevent this meeting. Why had she not locked the cellar door behind her?

  ‘Ah.’ Simon collapsed back on his pillows. ‘So you are one of our guests. It is your friend who has the broken leg, I take it?’

  ‘That is correct.’ The corners of the earl’s mouth curved upwards. ‘I understand now why Mrs Forrester was reluctant to let me stay.’

  His eyes were upon her, but whether they held mockery or sympathy she did not know because she would not meet his look. Beth felt quite sick with anxiety. She was unsure how to deal with the situation. She heard Simon voice the question that was uppermost in her mind.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I do not know, since I have no idea yet just what I have stumbled upon.’

  With a calm assurance that infuriated Beth, he dragged a three-legged stool to the end of the bed and sat down. ‘Perhaps one of you would like to explain everything to me?’

  ‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Beth challenged him.

  ‘You don’t, but I am not going away now until I know the whole story—unless you intend to enforce my silence by murdering me.’

  Beth threw up her hand. ‘Do not joke of such things!’

  A heavy silence fell over them.

  ‘We have no choice, Beth.’

  She turned to look at her brother, her heart aching at the sight of his gaunt, tortured features. Reluctantly, she nodded and turned to face the earl.

  ‘Simon is accused of a murder he did not commit.’ She gazed defiantly at the earl, but he remained silent, a look of polite enquiry on his face. She continued, ‘He was in Portsmouth, on his way back from the Continent, and went to the aid of a Frenchman and his wife who were being robbed, but one of the thieves was wounded and planted a necklace in Simon’s bag before he died. By then the victims had sailed for France, so he had no one to speak for him.’