One winters night, p.5
One Winter's Night, page 5
He spoke with such authority Lady Denham simply sighed in response. If the earl was able to overrule his mother’s opinion so easily, why had he not been honest about this organised marriage mart? Perhaps he’d been secretly hoping one of the ladies would impress him.
“Lord Denham is right,” Miss Pardue said. While petite in frame and stature, her rigid jaw conveyed a steely determination. “He must make no allowances for our sex. We must answer his questions openly and honestly for I doubt anyone will recall their mundane comings and goings once the magistrate arrives.” She turned her attention to Lord Denham. “In the interests of those ladies with weak constitutions, might I enquire what you did with poor Mr Bellham’s body?”
The comment tore another heart-wrenching sob from Miss Mason-Jones.
Miss Harper harrumphed. “I take umbrage at the suggestion I am somewhat lacking. In my opinion, anyone who dismisses the advantages of their sex is three pence short of a shilling.”
“Oh, please don’t argue,” Miss Mason-Jones blurted into her handkerchief. “Think of Mr Bellham outside in the cold.”
Lara glanced at the earl, whose curt nod, it was agreed, was a cue for her to reveal certain information. “Mr Bellham has been moved indoors and treated with the utmost respect, I can assure you.”
Miss Venables arched a brow at the news and whispered in Miss Harper’s ear.
“And how is it you know so much about this accursed murder, Miss Bennett?” Miss Harper said, extending her claws.
“The fact you have forgotten about my journey to West Chisenbury highlights Lord Denham’s need to account for everyone’s movements these last two hours.”
Lord Flanders raised his hand like a boy in the schoolroom. “I bear witness to the fact that Miss Bennett and Lord Denham rode to West Chisenbury. Had it not been for Miss Bennett locating a shovel, we might not have cleared the dreaded snow from my new carriage.”
Miss Pardue clapped her hands. “Bravo, Miss Bennett. It goes to prove that some ladies are just as resourceful as men.”
Viscount Northcott’s mocking snort echoed through the room. “Then why do we not see a chit commanding the cavalry? Indeed, what do you do, Miss Pardue, that might be scratched into the history books of men?”
Miss Pardue lifted her chin. “What I would do and what I am permitted to do are worlds apart, my lord.”
A smirk equal to her employer’s ugly grin played on Miss Venables’ lips. She whispered to Miss Harper again, and both ladies fought to suppress a chuckle.
Anger flared in Lara’s chest, but she maintained a calm composure. Those who lose their temper lose the battle, Montague always said. “Are you all so concerned with your petty squabbles that you have forgotten a man is dead?”
“Precisely,” Miss Pardue countered. “And where might we find Mr Bellham so we may pay our respects?”
“Are you at all related to the deceased, Miss Pardue?” Lara found it odd that someone would want to gaze upon the victim of a murder if they had no familial connection. That said, Miss Pardue seemed most eager to prove herself as worthy as any man.
“It seems the right thing to do under the circumstances,” the lady retorted.
“The right thing to do is eat our soup and discuss this in the drawing room after dinner.” Lady Denham swallowed a mouthful and then pushed the china away. “With such gruesome talk, one no longer has an appetite. I feel the need to rest upstairs. This whole business has shattered my nerves.”
Lord Denham arched a brow. “And where were you, Mother, after you left my study?”
The matron blanched. She clasped her strand of pearls as if her son might throttle her with the necklace. “Me, Hugo? Surely you don’t think I saw anything frightful outdoors?”
“Everyone must give an account of their whereabouts. You know what a devil Sir Ellis is for detail.” The earl cast the viscount a hard stare. “If anyone saw anything, I imagine it would be you, Northcott. Did you not arrive a few minutes before we stumbled upon the body?”
Evidently intrigued by this line of questioning, Lady Denham instructed the footmen to remove the soup plates and then fixed her attention on Lord Northcott.
The viscount relaxed back in the chair. “Had Bellham not been so impatient to get here, he would be dining with us now. We stayed together at the Swan in Amesbury last night. He wanted to reach Wollaston as a matter of urgency and complained endlessly about problems with the weather. He did everything possible to make journeying together difficult, and so I left him to go on ahead.”
“Then by your account, Bellham arrived later than expected,” the earl said as he motioned for a footman to carve and serve from the silver platters. Others followed his lead, hunger banishing all morbid thoughts.
“Much later,” Northcott eventually replied. “It’s but a ten-mile ride, and he left at three. Granted, the weather doubled the time it took to get here. Where he went or what he did during those remaining two hours is a mystery to me.”
Famished after the ride out in the cold, Lara tucked into roasted pheasant and raised game pie with cranberry confit. While she ate, she watched those seated around the table inform Lord Denham of their whereabouts. All the ladies insisted they were washing and dressing during the time Mr Bellham drew his last breath. Consequently, they had kept the bedchamber curtains closed and heard nothing of any significance outside.
The viscount was the only person with both the time and the opportunity to attack Mr Bellham. But a man capable of cold-blooded murder wasn’t likely to confess at the dinner table. No. They must make him feel comfortable, partake in a few games. Hope he contradicted some part of his story.
That said, Mr Bellham had muttered a few other words whilst he lay dying. Words Lara had dismissed as those of a man who’d lost control of his faculties. Now, she wondered if they might be clues.
The first had sounded very much like strawberry. And as she glanced around the table, it struck her that earlier Miss Harper had worn a pretty ruby brooch in the shape of the fruit to secure her fichu. Miss Pardue had a small red birthmark on her cheek. Might that be what Mr Bellham meant? Miss Venables’ dress had tiny red flowers that looked very much like strawberries from a distance.
Was it just a case of Lara’s imagination running wild? Or was Lord Denham right? Had one of the prim ladies seated at the table taken a blade and thrust it into Mr Bellham’s chest?
Chapter Five
The melancholic mood in the drawing room after dinner made it impossible for Hugo to probe the guests about their relationship with Bertie Bellham. Society knew the fellow as a charming cad who few took seriously. During their fifteen-year acquaintance, Bertie had been embroiled in various scrapes and scandals. So much so, the countess had insisted Hugo withdraw his invitation. But Hugo had needed an ally, someone to save him from making a disastrous mistake. And Bertie had no problem speaking the truth or causing offence.
Did that have something to do with why Bellham lay dead in the bothy? Surely not.
And so, when all hope of making further investigations proved fruitless, he sought out Miss Bennett’s company, eager to discuss art and her father’s love of Italy. But Miss Mason-Jones had not stopped crying since learning of poor Bertie’s fate, and so the only woman in the room with anything interesting to say escorted Miss Mason-Jones up to her bedchamber in the hope of settling the girl’s nerves.
Bored, Hugo made his excuses and retired early.
Christmas Eve morning brought another deluge of snow. The maids scurried about clearing and lighting fires. Most guests requested breakfast in their warm beds. Miss Harper had insisted on having another hot bath, and the footmen were forever back and forth with silver trays and steaming buckets.
Hugo found Miss Bennett alone in the library, curled up on the window seat with a book, though she seemed more taken with the topiary trees in the garden standing to attention like little white soldiers.
“Good morning, Miss Bennett. Do you know you’re the only person brave enough to slip out from under the bedsheets and venture downstairs?”
She turned to look at him, her keen gaze perusing the cut of his sombre black coat, worn out of respect for his friend. “Not the only person. You’re here. If last night proved anything, it’s that we both have hardy constitutions.”
“And both have a fondness for the winter weather.” He crossed the room. It was unlike him to look for things he had in common with a woman. “I’m glad I found you alone.”
“Oh?” She closed the book, placed it on the seat next to her and gave him her undivided attention. “Is there something you wish to discuss with me?”
Hugo drank in the sight of her eager brown eyes and pursed lips. Did she embrace every task with the same lively passion? Would she kiss him in the confident way she tackled every other task? Curiosity burned. He imagined a wild temptress beneath the composed exterior.
“I wish to invite your opinion of what we learned whilst dining last night.” He glanced briefly over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Northcott had opportunity but no motive.”
She moved the book to the floor and patted the padded seat. “Sit down, my lord, else I shall have a terrible crick in my neck.” When Hugo obliged, she said, “From first glance, it is clear the viscount is used to dominating those around him. Not knowing the deceased, I am left pondering Mr Bellham’s character. Without knowing more about him, one cannot begin to understand the murderer’s motive.”
To say that her logical thought process impressed him was an understatement. “Would you prefer the vague version spoken while ladies sip tea in the drawing room? Or the version exchanged in a smoke-filled room while men down copious amounts of port and brandy?”
A smile played on her lips. “One imagines the latter is closer to the truth.”
“Indeed, though not necessarily commentary fit for a lady’s ears.”
She laughed, and he found the sound infectious. “My lord, having spent the last eight years spying on my grandfather’s friends while at their card games, I learned enough about ladies’ talents in the bedchamber to make you blush. I suspect Mr Bellham’s escapades are mild in comparison.”
“No wonder my mother swooned upon hearing Lord Forsyth’s name. She is quite narrow-minded in her views. Little amuses her, and she is rigid when it comes to following society’s dictates.”
“She was not always so stern.”
Hugo frowned. “How would you know?”
Surprisingly, Miss Bennett was a little lost for words. “What I mean is something must have happened in her life to make her that way. A great disappointment or a terrible sadness. Rules enforced by overbearing parents.”
Marriage proved a crippling disappointment. Hugo could not recall a single time he’d seen Penelope de Wold laugh. Could not recall ever seeing her truly happy. It was one of the reasons he’d gone along with this foolish charade, hoping she might wake from the solemn, subdued mood and see how impossible it was for two incompatible people to forge an alliance.
“I’m the youngest of three children. The only one who survived infancy,” he said. “And a loveless marriage would certainly taint the spirit, which is why her insistence that I wed is quite baffling.”
Indeed, had her own miserable marriage taught her nothing?
“Then my heart grieves for her loss.” Miss Bennett sighed. “Perhaps she has been conditioned to believe in a system where wealth and status are placed above love and happiness. Perhaps it is too painful for her to admit she is wrong and so she forces her opinion because denial makes it easier to live with a broken heart.”
The rush of warmth in his chest came not from a moment of enlightenment, but from the sudden realisation that he liked spending time with Miss Bennett. He liked hearing her insightful opinions. He liked the way her lips moved when she spoke, the way her eyes kept him enthralled.
“Do you think it is ever appropriate for two people who aren’t in love to marry?”
Her quizzical expression stirred his blood just as much as her smile. “Never.”
“But what if two people are compatible in almost every regard?” Hell, he usually avoided talk of wedlock. “What if physical attraction is enough to send mercury shooting from a glass tube and yet it’s too soon to know if they might fall in love?” She’d admitted to finding him handsome. And by God, he would capture her mouth in a heartbeat.
Miss Bennett glanced down at her hands resting in her lap. “You refer to yourself, of course.” It was the first time she had spoken without looking him in the eye. “I only hope you’re not speaking of Miss Harper. Though I hate to think ill of anyone, I conceive she hasn’t a good bone in her body.”
“No, I am most definitely not speaking of Miss Harper.”
She looked up at him. “I see. Then my advice would be to spend more time together. Determine if it is possible for anything to grow beyond esteem and a respectful regard.”
“And how might I achieve that in a house full of guests, Miss Bennett?”
The lady pursed her lips again. She seemed a little shy, which only added to his fascination. “Well, I have an idea that might help you on both scores.”
“Both scores?”
“To determine if you have the capacity to love, my lord, and to give you an opportunity to probe the guests for information about Mr Bellham.”
“I am all ears, Miss Bennett.”
She shuffled around to face him, and their knees almost touched. “You should call everyone to the drawing room, explain that we’re stuck in this house and that Mr Bellham would want everyone to embrace the festive season. We will partake in the usual games. Good old traditions set to restore everyone’s faith and equilibrium.”
Hugo hummed. “And with the guests occupied, it would give us an opportunity to snoop around the bedchambers.”
“And you an opportunity to spend more time partaking in enjoyable activities with your potential brides.”
Oh, he could think of a perfect activity he might enjoy with the only woman he would ever consider meeting at the altar.
“Though I should warn you.” Miss Bennett placed her hand on his sleeve, sending a delicious shiver up his arm and across his shoulders. “The mere mention of merriment will send Miss Mason-Jones into a fit of hysterics.” She glanced at the door. “Might I trust you to keep a secret?”
After all that had happened last night, he was surprised she asked. “As we already share many secrets, Miss Bennett, you must know you can tell me anything.”
The lady bit down on her bottom lip—an attractive action that tugged at the muscles in his abdomen. “Miss Mason-Jones is in love with Mr Bellham. I suppose I should say was, but his death doesn’t change how she feels.”
“In love with Bellham?” Hugo experienced not the slightest disappointment at the news. “Then why the devil did she come to Wollaston and partake in this debacle?”
“Her mother insisted, although was too ill to make the journey. As you already know, your mother agreed to act as her chaperone.” Miss Bennett leaned closer, and he caught a whiff of an exotic scent, unlike anything he had smelled before. “Indeed, Mr Bellham made it quite clear that he had no intention of marrying Miss Mason-Jones, or anyone else for that matter.”
Hugo inhaled again and noted a hint of jasmine.
“From your sharp intake of breath, it is clear you suspect the worst,” she continued.
“What is that intoxicating perfume, Miss Bennett? I smell jasmine but cannot distinguish the other notes.”
Miss Bennett blinked. “My perfume?” She sniffed her wrist as if she had forgotten she even wore a scent. “Oh, it is jasmine, with citrus and a hint of some spice. It’s from Atkinsons, a gift from my grandfather.”
“It’s unusual and highly intriguing.” The aroma made a man want to press his lips to the column of her throat and nip the delicate skin. “Unique.”
She nodded. “Montague finds it amusing to tease me. He said jasmine is the flower of love and passion.” She laughed. “It is supposed to render the wearer irresistible.”
And Lord Forsyth was not wrong.
“Indeed.” Hugo blinked himself out of another erotic daydream. “Do you often refer to your grandfather by his given name?”
“I’m afraid he is rather unconventional and insists upon it.” She stared at him, no doubt waiting for a response to her earlier remark.
“Forgive me, what did you say about expecting the worst?”
She shuffled forward, and this time their knees did touch. “Mr Bellham gave Miss Mason-Jones every reason to believe he would offer for her, if you take my meaning.”
Purely because he wished to prolong this intimate tête-à-tête, he said, “He made certain promises?” Bellham’s only promises were spoken in the bedchamber.
A blush stained Miss Bennett’s cheeks. “I suppose you want me to spell it out. You are just as provoking as my grandfather. Mr Bellham bedded her, and she came here hoping for more of the same.”
Her frankness made him want to kiss her. “With the intention of persuading him to marry?”
“Of course. While I’ve heard it said many times that a lady finds pleasure in a gentleman’s bed, Miss Mason-Jones doesn’t strike me as the rampant sort.”
“Rampant?” Hugo couldn’t help but laugh. No woman would dare speak so openly in his company. Indeed, a man might find himself a little in love with anyone who did.
“This conversation is highly inappropriate, I know.”
“Yes, but highly informative. You have discovered Miss Mason-Jones’ motive for murder.”
Miss Bennett’s eyes grew wide. “A murder of passion? No. I cannot believe it. Indeed, you must not repeat what I’ve told you to a single soul. Not even Sir Ellis.”
“You have my word.”
Silence descended.
No doubt her mind conjured images of Miss Mason-Jones as a beast in the guise of a timid mouse. But he didn’t care. He could sit comfortably with Miss Bennett despite the lack of conversation.
