Page 20 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Andrew walked slowly down the hallway towards his grandmother’s bedroom. His heart ached; his chest tight with almost physical pain. Emmeline’s face haunted him, her big green eyes brimming with unshed tears even as she tried to hide her pain from him. His stomach was knotted with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He could not explain to Emmeline why he had to do what he did.

The only person he could talk to about it was his grandmother. She could help him understand. She could tell him what to do.

As he reached the door to her room, it opened. Dr Wainwright appeared.

“I am sorry, my lord.” His voice was sombre. “Your grandmother is slipping from us.”

“What?” Andrew rooted to the spot. “But that’s not possible .” Grandma was perfectly lucid only yesterday. She had been talking, reading books, full of life. It was not possible that within the space of twenty-four hours she had gone from recovering to being near death. His heart missed a beat.

“I regret to bear such tidings, my lord,” the physician said somberly. “But I cannot doubt that it is so. She has lost consciousness, and her breath is laboured and shallow.”

“What?” Andrew repeated. It seemed preposterous.

“I am sorry, my lord. But we must prepare for her departure from us.”

“No.” Andrew shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I shall see her now.”

The physician inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”

Andrew went into the room and Wainwright followed. Andrew sat down by his grandmother’s bed. She was still, her white hair dishevelled about her face, clinging to her brow with sweat. Her eyes were closed. Her breath was very shallow, as the physician had said.

“Grandma,” Andrew whispered. “No. No!” He wanted to scream, to shake her, to make her come back to him. He could not lose her. She could not go. He needed her! He turned accusing eyes to Wainwright. “How is this possible?”

“She is an elderly lady, my lord, who has suffered more than one dangerous fall of late.” His reply was smooth .

“And that’s fatal, is it?” Andrew demanded. “A fall?” Red, fiery anger rose up in him. Annihilating the physician wouldn’t help, but it was something he could do. The fellow had let a perfectly healthy patient deteriorate into an almost comatose one in the space of a day. That was certainly a ground for anger.

“Not usually, my lord. But in one already frail...” Dr Wainwright spread his hands. “I am sorry, my lord. I did all I could.”

“Get out,” Andrew said in a whisper. “Get out so I may speak alone to my grandmother.”

The physician raised a warning hand. “My lord...she has almost no strength. Do not tax her too hard...”

“ Out ,” Andrew demanded.

The physician bowed and left the room without further protest. Andrew sat with Grandma, taking her hand in his.

“Grandma,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please. Please, do not leave me. I need you. You are all the family I have left... you and Emmeline.” His voice broke as he spoke, his heart twisting painfully.” It felt as though he was a child again, losing his parents. The terror and fear were as big as they had been then.

His grandmother’s hand seemed to tighten on his for a second, but it was so brief that he was sure it was his imagination, since it went instantly slack again. He took a deep breath.

“Grandma,” he said in a tight, raw voice. “I love you. I love you so much. Please. Please don’t go.”

This time he saw her eyelids flutter, but no other sign of life came to him. The slight motion gave him hope that she could hear and understand. He had found one of Grandfather’s letters to Grandma from when they were courting. Theirs was not a love match, but they had exchanged romantic notes that had melted Grandma’s heart—or so she always said. Perhaps one of Grandfather’s letters would get through to her where his own words seemed not to make much impression.

“Wait here,” he whispered.

He hurried up the hallway to his study. He caught sight of a figure in the corridor. He frowned. It was a tall figure, dressed in a long frockcoat that he was sure was his cousin’s. He considered calling out to him, but the last thing that he needed just then was Ambrose’s company and so he ignored the shadowy form, which was, in any case, heading towards the stairs. He reached the study door and went in .

He paused.

“Someone’s been in here,” he said aloud. Horror rooted him to the spot.

Papers on his desk had been moved, books pulled from the shelf. Drawers had been opened, and a sheet of paper floated to the floor from the top of the desk. Andrew would never have left his own study in such disarray—he was always extremely neat and tidy. Chills moved down his spine.

“Ambrose?” he said confusedly.

It could not have been Ambrose. Why on Earth would his cousin be moving papers like a common thief? More likely that it was a real thief; someone who had sneaked into the building via one of the sections that were structurally unsound.

He rang the bell for Mr Pearson. His hand hovered over the desk, thinking about tidying up. Instinct stopped him. Better that Pearson see the disarray with his own eyes.

“Mr Pearson?” he said as the butler entered. “If you could inform the staff that a thief has infiltrated the building? Someone has gone through my things,” he added, gesturing to the table.

“My lord!” Mr Pearson’s eyes widened in shock. “You don’t think one of the staff...” He trailed off.

“No,” Andrew said briefly. “I don’t. I think a thief has sneaked into the building, probably through the old ballroom. I want the staff to surround the area and ensure he does not escape.”

Mr Pearson bowed at once. “I will order it immediately, my lord.”

“Good.”

Andrew turned around, going back to the bookshelf. A book lay on the floor where someone had thrown it out in haste. He bent down to pick it up. It was a collection of philosophical maxims that had belonged to his father. It had his name written on the front in his own writing. He held it, clutching it briefly to his chest as though it could give him strength.

He pushed the book back onto the shelf and went to go and find Ambrose and Lydia. He did not believe his cousin had really ransacked his office, but it would be reassuring to be certain that he was somewhere else at the time.

As he walked past Grandma’s bedroom, he paused. The door was partly ajar, and he found himself going in. He needed to see her, to hold her hand. If anything could strengthen him, that would. Even when the thing he needed to face was her own loss, she was still the only person who could help him face it.

He shut the door and sat down by her bed. “Grandma?” he whispered.

“Grandson!” Grandma sat up, her eyes opening, her voice an urgent whisper. Andrew stared in shock and amazement, a huge grin breaking out on his face.

“Grandma!” he exploded, his delight making him laugh aloud. She raised a finger to her lips at once.

“Shh. Nobody must know I’m awake. It’s important.”

“Grandma?” Andrew frowned, thinking that perhaps the fall had damaged something in her mind after all. But her gaze was sparkling and completely lucid.

“It’s Ambrose and Lydia,” she hissed. “They must not know I’m awake. If they do, then they might proceed with their plan.”

“What?” Andrew whispered. “What plan, Grandma?”

“Lock the door, Andrew,” she instructed. “We cannot risk being overheard.”

“Of course,” Andrew said at once and stood to lock it.

He came back to sit down by the bedside.

“What plan?” he asked again.

“Ambrose and Lydia did not come to visit me out of familial concern,” Grandma explained. “They are in league with Dr Wainwright, and they mean to poison me. Once I am gone, they intend to kill you next. And soon, before you have produced an heir.” She sounded matter-of-fact, as though she was discussing the weather.

“What?” Andrew stared. “No. No, Grandma. That cannot be true.” The cousins were not pleasant company, but they were not killers. He was almost sure of it.

Grandma’s gaze held his. “I overheard them. They discussed it quite openly with the physician. It’s one advantage of people thinking you’re insensible. They talk freely.”

“Grandma!” Andrew’s chest tightened at her words, the horror of the implication settling heavily over him. Yet, there was something almost wry in her observation. She was so sly! He could not help admiring her, but the fear returned almost at once. “What did they say?” he asked seriously.

“They wish to secure the earldom. More even than that, they want the treasure. ”

“Treasure?” Andrew asked, thinking that perhaps, after all, the fall had affected her. “What manner of treasure?” he asked gently. “We’re quite destitute, Grandma. Without Emmeline’s dowry, we would have nothing but debt.”

“We think ourselves poor,” Grandma retorted. “But somewhere in these grounds is an ancient treasure—or so your uncle believed. He was close to finding it when he passed away.”

“My uncle?”

“Ambrose and Lydia’s father.”

Andrew gaped. “So, they really think there’s treasure somewhere in the estate grounds?” It was insanity. It was not possible.

Grandma lifted a brow. “You sound sceptical. It is a treasure from Elizabethan times. Captured from a Spanish galleon. It is worth a King’s ransom.”

“That is absurd! Surely, if such a thing existed, it would have been found long ago,” Andrew declared instantly.

Grandma lifted her shoulder. “You take some convincing, Grandson. You’re just like my Randolph.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

Andrew took a deep breath. “I find that I have to believe you, Grandma,” he said slowly. “But what can we do? I can’t take my eyes off you. That murdering traitor, Wainwright, might do something to you.”

“He’s not got the better of me yet,” Grandma said dryly, one eyebrow lifted. “I noticed straight away that my tea tasted funny. I’ve been pouring it out of the window when they go out. I trust none of the trees has perished yet.”

“ Grandma ...” Andrew stared at her, admiration mixing with horror. “They were poisoning your tea?”

Grandma nodded. “Indeed. I still don’t know what they put in it. Not enough to kill me outright, whatever it was—I think their plan was to induce a slow deterioration. Which is why I have been acting so consummately.”

“Grandma!” Andrew exclaimed. His grandmother was a wise, intelligent woman. But she had depths that not even he had guessed.

“I think we need to act quickly, Grandson,” she said at once. Andrew’s mind was already reeling. They needed to tell someone. Dr Wainwright and the cousins all needed to be arrested. But what proof did they have? Aside from the fact that they had been poisoning Grandma’s tea, it was all speculation.

“What can I tell the Watch, Grandma?” he asked.

“Tell them,” his grandmother said slowly, “that Wainwright was responsible for the death of your grandfather. That ought to get them moving.”

“What?” Andrew’s jaw dropped. This was one frightening revelation more than he could take in such a short time. “They killed Grandfather? What are you saying?” A new feeling began to blossom within him, in spite of his horror. Hope. It had not been his fault. His grandfather had not died of apoplexy because he and Andrew had argued. He gazed at his grandmother, longing for her to tell him the true story.

“They poisoned him as well,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I suspected it at the time, but now, seeing their attempts with me, I am certain. They used something in his tea—something that caused his heart to fail gradually, ensuring no one would suspect foul play.”

“No.” Andrew gaped. It didn’t seem possible, and yet his grandmother believed it. And Grandma was the wisest, most observant person he knew. If she said it was so, then he could only believe it. “But that means...” he did not complete the sentence. If Grandfather were to have been poisoned, then Andrew would be liberated from the guilt. He no longer had to believe it was his fault.

“It was their fault, Andrew,” Grandma said, clearly guessing his thoughts. “If it was anyone’s. It was Wainwright’s fault. Not yours. It was never yours.” She reached out and held his hand and tears slid down his cheeks. The thought had haunted him for years, and now he was finally free. It was as though he had been let out of a cage.

He stared over at the window, the velvet drapes drawn tight across it, taking a moment to assimilate that huge fact.

“I shall inform the Watch,” Andrew answered slowly. “I shall speak to them about your suspicions regarding Grandfather’s death. But I fear I lack sufficient proof. Too many already believe it was my doing—it may sound as though I am accusing my cousins merely to exonerate myself.”

“The journals,” Grandma said instantly. “The ones your uncle kept, recording his search for the treasure’s location. If you can find them, they might provide the evidence needed to show that the earldom—and this estate in particular—is worth killing for. I believe he would have uncovered it himself had he not passed away before completing his search.”

Andrew inclined his head. “Yes, Grandma.” Something made sense that had not made sense before. Ambrose snooping in his study. It really had been him, and now Andrew knew what he was trying to find. A shiver moved down his spine.

He kissed his grandmother’s cheek and stood.

“I shall go and look now, Grandma,” he promised.

“Good luck,” she said. “I will play dead—or almost dead.”

“Yes,” Andrew replied, his heart twisting. “Please be careful. I do not want you in here on your own. I am sending Philipa to keep an eye on you.”

“Thank you, Andrew,” Grandma replied. Andrew pulled the bell to summon her maid, holding her gaze.

“No, Grandma,” he replied softly. “It is I who must thank you. I believe you may well have saved my life.”

His grandmother inclined her head, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Find those journals, Grandson. And keep out of harm’s way.”

“I shall,” Andrew replied, swallowing hard. “I promise.”

He shivered.

As soon as Philipa was stationed with his grandmother, with strict instructions to stay by her side no matter who was there, he ran.

He had to find the journals and stop a murder before it was too late.