Page 20

Chapter Twenty

Elsa paced the study, wringing her hands, the pad of her footsteps failing to mask the frantic thud of her heartbeat. Lord Denby was as devious as the devil, his dullness a clever disguise. Did he know she held evidence of his family’s secret? Would the old letters be on his list of demands?

What if the men were to duel on the common?

In offering a challenge, Lord Denby must be confident he could beat a man of Daniel’s strength and skill. Or perhaps he had another trick up his sleeve, something just as sly and underhanded.

The slam of a carriage door outside stole her attention.

Elsa rushed to the window, hope flaring—then faltering. It wasn’t Daniel. It was Mr Daventry. She ran to the door, pulling it open before he could knock, afraid he was the bearer of bad news.

Signora Conti hurried down the hall, her face flushed and anxious. “No, no, Signora Dalton! The master said you mustn’t open the door, not for anyone.”

But Mr Daventry must have seen the panic in Elsa’s eyes. He stepped forward, addressing Signora Conti. “ Tranquilla , Signora ,” he said gently. “ Sono un amico . Non c'è nulla da temere .” He spoke again in English. “Be calm. I’m a friend. There’s nothing to fear.”

The housekeeper didn’t move. Her gaze flicked between them, sharp and assessing. “ Va bene ,” she said at last, her tone cautious. “But if anything happens to her, you will answer to me. Avete capito ?”

“I understand.”

Elsa ushered Mr Daventry into the study and updated him on recent events. “Clarence and Cynthia were murdered, probably by his father. They assumed they would be safe in Geneva.”

Mr Daventry rubbed his chin, mulling over the new information. “A father does not kill his heir. The aristocracy lives to preserve their lineage. This has the hallmarks of a jealous sibling. Lord Denby’s grandfather, most likely.”

Yes, that made perfect sense. Lord Denby wouldn’t want it known his grandfather had killed his kin to steal the barony.

“It’s shocking what some men will do for money,” she said, fear rising again because something about this duel seemed odd.

“Greed knows no rank and bears no conscience,” Mr Daventry said in his usual wise tone. “Still, Lord Denby could have weathered the storm had the truth come to light. The laws of primogeniture were upheld.”

“Yes, my brother would have no claim on the barony unless Lord Denby failed to sire an heir.” Her brother’s misguided actions had caused no end of trouble. If only he hadn’t read Father’s letter and gone on his own crusade. How different things might have been.

“But why challenge Dalton to a duel?” Mr Daventry mused aloud. “If Denby is trying to bury a secret, it invites precisely the wrong attention.”

“Something is wrong.” She felt it deep in her bones. “Lord Denby is a stickler for etiquette, yet tonight he ignored every rule.”

“The villain has us all caught in his web,” Mr Daventry said, his gaze darkening. “And Lord Denby, for all his airs and graces, must be spinning the threads.”

It all came back to that one wicked secret, a heinous act committed fifty years ago.

“Did you come with news of Mr Charmers?” she asked, trying not to picture Daniel marching ten paces across a misty common. She couldn’t lose him. This wasn’t the happy ending they’d planned.

“Only that he confessed to defrauding your father,” Mr Daventry replied. “He claimed he shared the money with Carver. That it was Carver’s idea all along.”

“But it had nothing to do with Magnus?” she clarified.

“No. He was told to name your brother if questioned.”

Good lord! The villain had thought of every scenario. “And the scarred man?”

“Paid by Carver to handle unsavoury matters.”

“Mr Carver died six months ago. Who’s been issuing the orders and paying his wages?” Certainly not a dead man buried on the grounds of Edenberry.

“It has to be Denby.” Mr Daventry’s words lacked conviction. “I’ll visit him at home. Perhaps I can prevent the duel and pressure him into confessing.”

A surge of gratitude had her clutching his arm. “Thank you. They left half an hour ago. You should go now. Perhaps I should come with you. ”

Mr Daventry frowned. “Can I ask why you chose to remain here?”

“Daniel feared it was a trap. There was something peculiar about the wording of the note. It was too insistent, too focused on provoking a reaction. We agreed it was safer if I stayed here and waited for Clara. Lord Rothley went along.”

“Do you have the note?”

“Daniel took it with him.”

Mr Daventry nodded, the urgency in his manner unmistakable as he made to leave. “I’ll return with answers soon.”

“Please bring my husband home, sir,” Elsa pleaded, her voice trembling. “He was under no obligation to marry me. In doing so, he brought trouble to his door. I pray I have a lifetime to prove he made the right decision.”

He paused, offering a reassuring smile. “All will be well. One cannot stand in the way of true love any more than one can stop the sands of time.” Then he turned, bowing to Signora Conti, who let out a breathy sigh, clearly charmed despite herself.

From the study window, Elsa watched Mr Daventry write something in his notebook. He handed the note to his coachman, who took up the reins and left Bedford Square without him. Then the agent crossed the square on foot.

How odd.

Five minutes passed, though it felt like five hours.

Every thirty seconds, Elsa returned to the window, praying for Clara’s return. Signora Conti brought tea and almond cake, but Elsa had barely taken a bite when a sharp knock shattered the silence. The caller was determined to rouse the entire street; their insistent hammering echoed through the house .

Signora Conti hurried to the door, calling, “ Calma , calma . Do not make so much noise.”

Elsa rushed to the hall, her heart racing.

As the door swung open, Miss Denby stood before them, her face streaked with tears, her bonnet askew. She was sobbing so hard that each breath seemed to tear at her throat. “Mrs Dalton, thank heavens you’re home. You must come quickly!”

Dread filled Elsa’s heart. “What is it? What’s happened? Tell me!”

“M-Mother sent me.” She choked on her words. “They’re to fight the duel tonight, not at dawn. Oh, you must talk some sense into your husband. I fear he means to shoot my dear brother. Mr Dalton has already bloodied his nose.”

Elsa wasn’t surprised. Daniel had reached the end of his tether.

“Wait. Let me fetch my pelisse, and I’ll accompany you to Denby House.” Elsa hesitated for just a moment, tension tightening in her gut, knowing this matter wouldn’t be resolved until one man lay dead on the common.

Miss Denby grabbed Elsa’s arm with such force she nearly stumbled. “It’s too late. The duel is to take place south of Greenwich Park, beyond the observatory. If we leave now, we might still stop them.”

Elsa froze, her pulse thudding in her ears. How had things escalated so quickly? Lord Rothley was meant to be the voice of reason. He had gone to calm tempers, not inflame them.

She glanced at the plush carriage parked on the street, the driver dressed for the evening in a tricorn and heavy greatcoat. A fine mist had begun to settle, curling through the streets and drifting beneath the lamplight like ghostly fingers .

“Is my husband alone?” she said, a small test to settle her unease.

“I think there were two men with him,” Miss Denby said, “but with Foofoo’s constant yapping and mother’s terrified cries, I scarce paid them any attention.”

Knowing Lord Rothley, he would avoid Miss Denby’s gaze.

“Mr Dalton, he insisted you wait here,” Signora Conti said, folding her arms under her ample bosom, her chin raised in defiance. “I gave him my word you would not leave the house tonight.”

“What if Lord Denby shoots him?” She shivered, the thought freezing the blood in her veins. “How will I live with myself, knowing I might have prevented a tragedy?”

Signora Conti drew Elsa aside and whispered, “Nonnina always said, ‘When trouble comes, it wears slippers, not boots’.”

Elsa glanced at the distraught Miss Denby, a slip of a woman who had never had to fight for anything her entire life. While only a fool would ignore the warning, the prospect of saving Daniel outweighed the risk.

“Signora, I’m sorry for putting you in this position,” Elsa said gently. “But tell me, if you could save the man you loved, would you sit here and do nothing?”

Signora Conti’s brown eyes softened. “I would cross mountains and seas to save someone I loved.”

“Then you know I must go.”

Signora Conti grumbled in Italian. “You have shown your heart, cara . Now, I will show mine.” She rushed to the hallway cupboard, giving Elsa a cloak and grabbing a shawl for herself. “Let us go before fate plays its hand. In my country, we do not wait for destiny; we make it ourselves. ”

If Miss Denby minded the housekeeper’s company, she didn’t show it. She beckoned them to hurry. “In this weather, Mr Dalton could kill my brother and dispose of his body, and we would be none the wiser.”

“My husband won’t shoot Lord Denby, not without just cause,” Elsa said as she climbed into the elegant equipage. The fact Miss Denby had permission to use the vehicle proved reassuring. “The same cannot be said for your brother. He has tried to ruin my family on multiple occasions.”

“That cannot be true.” Miss Denby waited for Signora Conti to close the door, then tapped on the roof, a signal for the coachman to depart. “I have never known a kinder soul.”

Elsa wondered if they were discussing the same man.

Was Miss Denby blind to her family’s failings, or was her gentle persona merely an act?

“Perhaps wickedness is in the blood,” Elsa said, determined to inform Miss Denby of the facts. She grasped the overhead strap as the carriage lurched forward and gathered speed. “In the time it takes to reach Greenwich Park, perhaps we might discuss your family’s history.”

“What is there to tell?” Miss Denby said, rocking in the seat as if willing the conveyance to go faster. “Life is rather dull. I’m afraid you won’t find a marauding pirate in the Denby line.”

“Don’t you know what happened to your great-uncle Clarence?”

Miss Denby’s eyes narrowed. “Of course. He drowned in the lake while living in Geneva. The barony later passed to my grandfather. There’s a memorial garden for Clarence at Wendlow Follies.”

“Your brother’s estate in Hertfordshire?”

“Yes, though my brother doesn’t own Wendlow, I do.” Miss Denby suddenly rapped on the roof and cried, “Do hurry, Graves, or we won’t arrive in time.”

They sat in silence, the rattle of the wheels and passing lights a blur as they raced towards Greenwich. Signora Conti gave Elsa a discreet nudge and nodded subtly toward Miss Denby. The lady appeared distraught, her lashes damp and hands knotted, yet there was an unsettling twitch of a smile on her lips. She seemed more satisfied than terrified.

But what did Miss Denby have to gain by causing mayhem?

What was the depth of her involvement?

“Had the men already left Denby House when your mother instructed you to fetch me?” Elsa asked as they passed St Clement’s and journeyed along The Strand. At some point, they needed to cross the river to where the city lights dimmed and the shadows thickened.

“Mr Dalton and his friends were leaving for Greenwich while my brother waited for his coachman to ready the carriage.”

“He keeps two vehicles in town?”

Miss Denby laughed like the question was absurd. “Of course.”

“Perhaps Lord Denby decided not to leave,” Signora Conti said.

“Why wouldn’t he leave?” Miss Denby sounded more irritated than afraid for her sibling’s safety. “My brother is no coward.”

“Did they mention summoning a doctor?” Elsa asked.

“Not that I heard.”

What if one of them suffered an injury, or did they plan to fight to the death? And why would Lord Denby meet three men in Greenwich Park and not insist on taking someone who could corroborate his version of events?

Not just that.

Why hadn’t he stopped his sister from leaving when he knew she’d called for a carriage? Where was Miss Denby’s maid? Lord Denby would never permit his sister to travel alone at night. And wouldn’t the coachman have knocked on the door rather than risk embroiling a young woman in a scandal?

“No wonder you’re upset,” Elsa said, observing Miss Denby carefully. “I suppose this business will hinder your marriage prospects. A stain on your brother’s reputation will affect you terribly.”

The confident tilt of Miss Denby’s chin didn’t suit a woman feigning distress. “It’s of no consequence. I have no desire to become a breeding machine to appease some foul-breathed fool.”

Elsa laughed, though nothing about this situation amused her. “Yet you seemed interested in Lord Rothley when we spoke the other day. You thought he’d make an excellent match.”

“Because, like me, the marquess would rather sever a limb than marry. Such a man would make the perfect companion.”

Lord Rothley had no intention of taking a bride because two miserable people living under one roof was too much for his staff to bear.

“He is undeniably handsome,” Elsa said, noting how all signs of panic had left Miss Denby, like a mask discarded once the curtain fell.

“The ladies say he has wolf-like eyes: amber in the light, brown in shadow, black when angry, danger lurking in his cold stare.”

Evidently, Miss Denby admired wolves.

Was she just as cunning beneath her innocent charm?

“Yes, Rothley is quite formidable.”

“Ideal for a lady like me who means to challenge convention.”

“Even so, I do anticipate a problem,” Elsa said, her mind racing with questions about Miss Denby’s role in this game of deception. Perhaps she didn’t want her brother to marry. Perhaps she was trying to protect him. Or was Elsa simply misjudging her?

“Why? Because Lord Rothley is in love with a woman who left him a decade ago?” Miss Denby asked, clearly aware of the marquess’ troubled past.

“No. It’s something about you.”

“Me?” The lady jerked like someone had pressed a pistol into her back. Her eyes flared with dark inquiry. “What could he possibly find offensive?”

“The marquess dislikes brown hair,” Elsa lied.

“I shall make him fall in love with the colour.”

“Will you make him fall in love with you too?”

“Of course.”

“Just as you did with Mr Carver?”

“Yes—” The answer left Miss Denby’s mouth suddenly.

Elsa’s eyes widened. Just as Miss Denby had spoken without thinking, so had she. The question had slipped out in haste, and now, she had the means to trap the devious minx.

“I didn’t realise you were so naive.” Elsa adopted a haughty tone, every word chosen for maximum impact. “Did you know Mr Carver asked me to elope with him? That he kissed me in the woods the same day he carried me to his bed?”

While Miss Denby glared, Elsa pushed harder.

“He undressed me slowly, caressed every inch of my bare skin.” In reality, the man made her skin crawl. “He said he loved me. That?—”

“That's a lie!” Miss Denby gripped the seat, her gloved fingers clawing at the material.

“He never wanted you. He said you had him tangled in your web.” It was not in her nature to be cruel, but nothing mattered more than uncovering the truth. “He wanted a wife and a family and thought your liberal ideas were absurd.”

Miss Denby’s cheeks burned redder than when she’d been crying fake tears. “No! He wanted to leave Chippenham and travel abroad.”

“He did travel abroad. He bought a chateau in France with the money he stole from my father.” Elsa gave a mocking snort. “Or he would have done if you hadn’t come to the cottage that day, found me in his bed, and drove a dagger into his black heart.”

Miss Denby froze, her lips trembling, the mask of innocence slipping.

Signora Conti made the sign of the cross and uttered something about the blessed Madonna.

“I wasn't sleeping,” Elsa said, lying again. It occurred to her that Miss Denby lacked the strength to kill Mr Carver and would not have journeyed to Chippenham alone. “I saw you with your accomplice, though I hear he’s gained a horrid scar.”

Miss Denby didn’t pretend to look bewildered. She exhaled as if arranging a murder had proved tiresome. “Mr Carver overplayed his hand. His snooping saved my family from suffering a dreadful blow. But he knew too much.”

“And so you got rid of him.”

Miss Denby gave a sad pout. “It was such a shame. He was rather handsome, but he threatened to expose me if I didn’t align with his grand plans.”

“You mean he planned to tell everyone your grandfather murdered Clarence and Cynthia Denby?” Mentioning their names made Elsa’s heart lurch. “That my mother was the child who survived?”

“You have no proof that is true. Mr Carver scoured the house and found nothing to suggest the comments he’d heard were anything but a sick woman’s fantasy. I doubt your father even kept a journal.”

Though tempted to reveal the evidence, Elsa remained tight-lipped. It was better to let Miss Denby think she had the upper hand.

“Why didn’t you kill me when you found me in Mr Carver’s bed?” Poor Signora Conti must wonder what sort of woman her master had married.

A sly smile played on the devil’s lips. “It was certainly tempting. Quite an unexpected gift. I should have listened to Mr Graves, but my brother would have been the prime suspect. So we devised another plan.”

“To make it seem like Mr Carver was my lover and not someone who’d helped an injured woman in the woods?” she said, suddenly realising Mr Graves must be the coachman.

“You must admit, it was an ingenious idea. Had there been an investigation, your sordid rendezvous at The Raven Hotel would have served as proof of a love affair.”

Elsa wondered how Miss Denby became so vindictive. But a darker question loomed. “Who stripped off my clothes and smeared blood on my thighs?”

“Certainly not Mr Graves. I wouldn’t allow it. He’s going to live with me at Wendlow Follies. It pays to have a loyal man at hand.”

Many questions flitted through Elsa’s mind … about the cologne and what excuse Miss Denby had given for travelling to Chippenham. But in the end, it all came down to one thing.

“You had two men killed, tried to frame me for murder, and enlisted Mr Carver to ruin my father—all to cover up a crime committed over fifty years ago?”

Miss Denby clasped her chest and sagged back against the squab. “Clearly, you don’t know everything, Mrs Dalton.” Her mocking chuckle grated. “I suppose I can tell you now. We’ll reach Greenwich soon, and everything will return to normality.”

Elsa glanced out the window as they neared London Bridge, aware this was a trap, relieved Daniel wasn’t preparing to duel at Greenwich Park, and wondering how they might escape. If only she’d kept a blade strapped to her thigh.

“Had you kept out of my affairs, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Miss Denby said, her hand creeping towards the lap blanket beside her on the seat. “Wendlow Follies is within my grasp. I’ll be the first woman in seven generations to survive long enough to inherit. Do you honestly think I’d let gossip about Clarence Denby ruin that?”

Before Elsa could make sense of her rambling, Miss Denby drew a pistol from beneath the blanket, cocked the hammer, and aimed at her.

Elsa met her gaze without flinching, as nothing fazed her now. “Do you plan to shoot me here or wait for somewhere dark and discreet?”

Miss Denby’s lips curled into a smile as she gripped the pistol. “A lady doesn’t bloody her own hands. Mr Graves will see to it once we’ve left the city.” She glanced at the housekeeper, her eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. “You should have listened to your master and stayed at home tonight.”

Signora Conti smiled. “My purpose here is clear. I would rather die in service to love than be consumed by hatred.”

Elsa reached for Signora Conti’s hand, clasping it tightly. “When we return home, we’ll eat almond cakes and drink sherry.”

“And make Torta della Nonna , or maybe we will just eat the cream.”

Elsa chuckled—her laugh a Norse maiden’s armour. “Yes, while I explain how I ended up in a dead man’s bed. Rest assured, my husband already knows every detail.”

Annoyed they weren’t on their knees, begging for their lives, Miss Denby waved her pistol. “I’ve heard it said that fear makes people mad, but I have never witnessed the phenomenon myself.”

“But you have,” Elsa said, noticing they were crossing London Bridge. Fog rose from the river, wrapping everything in a ghostly shroud. Each lamp light vanished as quickly as it appeared, forcing the coachman to slow to a crawling pace. “Fear is the reason you’re pointing a pistol at my heart. And your actions are the definition of madness.”

“Protecting one’s birthright is not madness, Mrs Dalton. Some would call it survival. And one needs a rational mind to devise a cunning plan.”

Elsa braced herself, preparing to strike. “Yet you made two foolish mistakes.” She nudged Signora Conti. “You underestimated how hard an Italian woman will fight when cornered, and your tongue is looser than your drawers.”

Without warning, Elsa shook off her fear and lurched forward. She shoved Miss Denby’s arm aside, grabbing the barrel of the pistol in a tight grip. The cold metal bit into her palm, and she yanked hard, aiming the muzzle at the carriage roof.

They wrestled for the pistol, but it slipped free and clattered to the floor, skittering across the wooden boards as it spun to a stop.

“Open the door and run, Signora!” Elsa shouted, her heart racing as she fought to stop Miss Denby reaching for the weapon. “Hurry! Before the vehicle picks up speed.”

Signora Conti’s eyes flashed with understanding. She grabbed the handle and flung the door open. Elsa barely had time to brace herself when the housekeeper seized her arm, pulling her out into the cold, damp night.

They hit the ground hard, grazing their hands on the stone, their skirts tangled around their legs, but panic forced them to their feet.

“Run, Signora!” came Elsa’s hoarse cry.

The dim lights of the city loomed in the distance, but they were swallowed quickly by the thickening fog. Figures began to materialise, their forms ghostly and indistinct, barging past them with no awareness of their peril.

“Don’t wait for me, Signora!” Elsa shouted, avoiding a collision with a passerby. “I’m right behind you. Don’t?—”

A sharp pain seared through her scalp as a hand yanked her back by her hair, slamming her to the ground with brutal force.

“You’re not going anywhere,” a rough voice growled. Elsa didn’t need to see the man’s face to know it was Graves. “Do as you’re told, and death will be quick. I haven’t come this far to lose everything now.”

Elsa’s mind raced, but she refused to let fear overtake her. “It’s too late,” she spat, her words a defiant rasp. “We have evidence?—”

But Graves was already dragging her backwards, his grip like iron around her waist as he hoisted her onto his broad shoulder. She kicked and struggled, but his arm tightened with every movement.

Elsa’s mind raced to Daniel, to everything that had led her here. She couldn’t let it end like this—not now.

Her breath came fast as Graves carried her away, his voice a gruff mumble in her ear. “You should’ve stayed out of this. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

She twisted sharply, driving her elbow into his ribs. “The magistrate knows. He knows you killed Lord Grafton.”

Graves cursed. “I should’ve finished you in the cottage, and again that night in the mews. I won’t make the same mistake to?—”

A stern voice sliced through the fog like a blade. “Release my wife, or I’ll kill you where you stand!”

She looked up, defying gravity, and locked eyes with her husband. Relief flooded her body; love filled her heart. “Daniel!”

Graves turned sharply, shrugging Elsa off his shoulder with a grunt. He raised his fists, his eyes gleaming with grim confidence.

Mr Daventry emerged from the gloom like the devil’s disciple. He offered no warning, no chance for surrender. He barrelled into Graves, striking with brutal force and driving his fist straight into the scarred man’s jaw .

Despite his size, Graves dropped like a felled tree.

“Where is Miss Denby?” Mr Daventry demanded, standing over Graves’ unconscious body.

Elsa pointed into the fog. “In the carriage, but be warned, she has a pistol and is utterly deranged.”

With a satisfied grin, Mr Daventry said, “Signora Conti is in the hackney cab parked further along the bridge. Wait with her there. I’ll need Dalton’s help to escort these scoundrels to the police office.” And with that, he dashed into the mist in pursuit of the wayward Miss Denby.

That’s when it hit her—how close she’d come to dying. Her shoulders shook, and tears fell, but Daniel was there, his strong arms wrapping around her.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely, pulling her closer. “You’re safe now. Thank God Daventry was nearby. He was leaving the square when I arrived, though we barely made it in time.”

She clung to him, dazed, a tremble rising and spreading through her limbs. “Miss Denby told me you agreed to duel tonight. I thought you were fighting in Greenwich.”

“She lied. She sent the letters and waited in the square until I left for Denby House.” He cradled her, shielding her from the gathering crowd. “I’m sorry, Elsa.” He pressed a lingering kiss on her temple. “As God is my witness, I’ll never leave you again. I love you. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“I love you.” She closed her eyes, collapsing into the warmth of his body and the familiar smell of his cologne. And for the first time in years, she finally felt at peace.