Page 17 of Two Secrets to Surrender (Blackwood Legacy #2)

Chapter Sixteen

“ B loody bumpkins,” Redgrave muttered. “Can’t drive worth a damn.”

It was the following afternoon. Conrad was meeting with Marvell and Redgrave, the head manager at Godwin & Co., in his study at Honeystone Hall. Given the cut on Conrad’s cheek, the two had naturally asked what happened.

“Ainsley took a knocking,” Conrad said. “Luckily, he is fine. If it weren’t for his expert handling of the reins, the results could have been far worse.”

Redgrave cocked his head. “Did you see the other driver?”

Auburn-haired and beefy, with some of his muscle gone to fat, Redgrave was Conrad’s former prizefighting coach. Since Redgrave had proven a dependable ally to have in one’s corner, Conrad had kept the other on when he’d founded Godwin & Co. Redgrave assisted Conrad in making important decisions and kept the other men of business in line. He had the same winning instincts in this role as he’d had in the last.

Conrad shook his head. “It was too dark. All I saw were four horses—black, I think.”

“Did you report the accident to the local constables?” Marvell asked.

“I am not sure it was an accident.”

Redgrave’s bushy brows shot up. “You think this was a deliberate attempt on your life? By whom?”

“I don’t know the answer to either question…yet.” Conrad addressed his solicitor. “What have you discovered about Mrs. Denton?”

After discovering Isobel skulking around in his study, he’d instructed Marvell to look for any financial ties she might have to his competitors. As Marvell withdrew a file from his briefcase, he had the look of a haggard mole. The tip of his pale nose was reddened, and his eyes were watery as he squinted at his notes. Nonetheless, he launched into an efficient summary of the facts he’d unearthed.

“I could not find any monetary transactions involving Mrs. Denton and either Trowbridge or Smedley,” Marvell said. “However, I did find some social connections. Mrs. Denton apparently attended a showing at Her Majesty’s Theatre and was seated in Mr. Trowbridge’s box. It was a large party, and there were no reports of intimacy between the two during or after.”

“A passing acquaintance or something more?” Picking up a pen, Conrad tapped it against his blotter. “Ever since I outbid Trowbridge for those factories, he has been itching for retribution. I would not put it past him to employ a woman to spy on me.”

“A disagreeable fellow.” Marvell blew discreetly into a handkerchief. “As for Smedley, he and Mrs. Denton have attended several of the same social events in the last year. Two balls and a house party, to be exact. Again, I could not find any gossip surrounding the two, and Smedley’s wife was also present at those gatherings.”

Conrad drummed his fingers on the padded arm of his chair. “This isn’t much to go on.”

“Would you like me to keep digging?”

At Marvell’s blinking inquiry, Conrad felt his lips twitch.

“No,” he decided. “While I don’t trust her, at worst she’s a pawn in someone else’s game.”

“What about the incident last night?” Marvell asked. “Should I hire Foxworth and his men to look into it?”

Given the dog-eat-dog world of Conrad’s business, information was key. He kept investigators on retainer to stay abreast of industrial developments and the activities of his competitors.

“It wouldn’t hurt. But I don’t know for certain that the carriage struck us deliberately. I could have been run off the road by a drunken or careless driver.”

“Plenty o’ those about,” Redgrave agreed.

“Regardless,” Marvell said. “Any event that threatens your life is not to be taken lightly.”

“I agree.” Opening a drawer, Conrad removed the latest model Manton percussion pistol and set it on his blotter. “I will not be caught unprepared.”

“Just like the old days, eh?” Redgrave said fondly. “You never backed down from a fight.”

“Is that wise?” Marvell’s brow wrinkled. “A man is more likely to be injured by his own weapon than?—”

“Quit flapping your gums, Marvell.” Redgrave rolled his eyes. “Only an idiot would shoot himself, and Godwin’s no idiot. He can take care o’ himself.”

“Let’s move on.” From experience, Conrad knew to cut off the pair’s bickering. “Redgrave, did you follow up on the Pearce matter?”

“Aye. It was as you said. The bloke’s ripe for a plucking. According to my sources, Abel Pearce visited Jonah Westfield’s office and inquired about the railway scheme you recommended. Westfield lured him in with the promise of unending profit, and Pearce invested his remaining assets. All of them. When that railway bubble bursts, and my sources say it will happen soon, poof ”—Redgrave wriggled his thick fingers—“the dumb, greedy bastard will lose everything.”

“I want to be the first to know when it happens.”

Redgrave canted his head. “What did Pearce do to you, anyway?”

The memory flashed of standing behind his mama in Pearce’s ostentatious study.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, ma’am,” Pearce had said.

“Have mercy, sir,” his mama had pleaded. “We are kin, after all. Our great-grandpapas were both sons of Langdon Pearce. According to this deed, given to me by my papa, there is a small cottage here in Chudleigh Bottoms that belongs to the descendants of my line—namely, me and my son. We are in desperate need of shelter and ? —”

“When your great-grandpapa left this village, he abandoned his right to that cottage. Deed or no deed.” Pearce had irritably waved aside the paper. “As it happens, the cottage of which you speak is no longer habitable. It will soon be demolished and tenements built in its place.”

Stricken, his mama had begun to weep. “Please, help us. We have nowhere else to go ? —”

“There’s nothing I can do. I’m sure you understand.”

Then Pearce had turned his back on them—literally and metaphorically.

Conrad reined in his rage. “The bastard is getting what he deserves. We’ll leave it at that.”

“As you like,” Redgrave said. “Now that Pearce is all but done for, and you ain’t got a need for the spa, I wager you’re chomping at the bit to get back to London, eh?”

“I won’t be returning quite yet.”

“Why not?” Redgrave peered at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to this mudborough?”

“Chuddums has its merits.”

The main one being Gigi. Even though they’d parted mere hours ago, Conrad missed her. He thanked God that she hadn’t been with him when his carriage got struck. If anything had happened to her… His chest knotted. It was a good thing she’d asked to keep their relationship private for now. He would use the time to take care of any trouble…and to execute the final steps of his vengeance.

“I wish to speak to Marvell alone,” he said.

After Redgrave departed, Conrad said, “Fill me in on Grantley.”

“I have been monitoring His Grace’s situation, as you requested. His health continues to fail, and his physicians suspect he won’t survive more than a few months. Some of his debtors are panicking and calling in his debts.”

Due to his gambling and general profligacy, Robert Beaufort, the Duke of Grantley, owed a staggering amount. Not only had His Grace emptied the considerable coffers of the duchy, but he’d also left nothing behind for his wife, Lady Katerina, and their five daughters. At this point, he had but one card left to play.

“What about the betrothal of Grantley’s eldest, Lady Anne?” Conrad asked.

“As to that—” Marvell cut off, sneezing violently.

“What ails you?”

“Apologies, sir. It’s the blasted London fog.” Marvell wiped his nose. “It’s brought about this dreadful bout of catarrh. I’m hoping that the country air will relieve my symptoms.”

“You are welcome to stay the night. There’s plenty of room.”

“That’s kind of you, sir. Very kind,” Marvell said gratefully. “As for the betrothal, I learned that a colleague of mine was tasked with drawing up a contract between Grantley’s eldest, Lady Anne, and her distant cousin, Harold Stockton, the duke’s presumptive heir. No promises have yet been made. However, the Grantleys have sent out invitations for a ball in two weeks’ time. Given His Grace’s health, he has rarely been seen in public, which leads me to a conclusion.”

“You think Grantley plans to announce the betrothal of his daughter to his heir.”

“Yes, sir. Such a match would benefit both parties. Mr. Stockton comes from a branch of the family that has wealth from trade but little social standing. Lady Anne has the opposite problem. From what I’ve gathered, the duke has negotiated with Mr. Stockton to pay off his debts upon marriage and settle dowries upon his remaining daughters. In exchange, Mr. Stockton will have a wife who was born to play the role of duchess and will show him the ropes—socially speaking.”

“Stockton will lose enthusiasm for the match when he learns that he isn’t Grantley’s heir,” Conrad said pensively.

Anticipation simmered as he contemplated claiming his rightful place. All along, he’d been planning to destroy his older brother Robert…and now he had the perfect opportunity and venue to execute the final blow. The bastard was going to die knowing that Conrad had control of the duchy and the futures of his wife and daughters.

I am going to show Robert’s family the same mercy he showed me and my mama.

He wondered how Gigi would react when he revealed the truth, because if things continued the way they were going, his new status would undoubtedly affect her. He told himself she wouldn’t mind: people, in his experience, didn’t tend to look a gift horse in the mouth. Moreover, she was loyal. He would focus on courting her—on binding her to him heart, body, and soul. Once he accomplished that, he could count on her to weather any storm with him.

“Get me an invitation to the ball, Marvell,” he said.

“The reopening is going to be a disaster,” Letty wailed.

Gigi exchanged a worried look with Xenia, who was chaperoning as promised. Owen had escorted them, and to Gigi’s delight, her brother seemed less withdrawn. Not only that, but he was also putting his skills to use. At present, he was working on the spa’s garden.

“All will be fine,” Gigi soothed. “The road to success always has a few bumps.”

“While these individual incidents could be called molehills,” Letty said, wringing her hands, “they are adding up to be a veritable mountain of disaster.”

She wasn’t wrong: the bath had suffered an unfortunate series of setbacks. First, the discovery of the caldarium had apparently disturbed a nest of rats. The vermin had started invading the bath yesterday. Panicked, Letty had hired the local ratcatcher, a copper-haired lad by the name of Todd Cobbins. Cobbins, aided by his terrier Bobby, was currently waging war with the vermin. While the duo was undeniably fierce, they were outnumbered. Gigi had last glimpsed the pair holding back a furry tide in the pump room.

“Cobbins seems to know what he is doing,” Gigi said with determined positivity.

“Even if he manages to eliminate the rats before the opening, there is still the damage left behind by the deer,” Letty said glumly.

It never rained but poured. Deer had somehow found their way into the gardens, wreaking havoc on the hedges and shrubbery.

“Owen will take care of it.” At least, Gigi hoped he would. “He worked on the gardens at Bottoms House, and the groundskeeper says he has a natural flair for outdoor design.”

“What about the champagne?” The usually composed spinster looked ready to bite her nails. “I shall have nothing to serve my esteemed guests.”

This was the cherry atop the bad luck cake. Expecting the delivery of the bubbly today, Letty had instead received an apologetic message from the London merchant. Apparently, thieves had ransacked his warehouse, making off with the crates of champagne meant for her.

“We’ll think of something,” Gigi said. “Maybe Mr. Thornton could help us?”

“He’s never served champagne at the Briarbush Inn.” Letty snorted. “According to him, champagne is a French conspiracy to sell overpriced grape cider.”

“We have some bottles in the cellar,” Xenia offered. “You are welcome to them, Miss Letty.”

“Oh, Lady Harrington, I couldn’t possibly?—”

“Thank you, Xenia.” Gigi gave her sister-in-law a grateful look. “That is generous of you.”

“Think nothing of it. I only wish we could do more. A few bottles won’t be enough for the crowd expected at the gala.”

“What if we served mineral water instead of champagne?” Gigi mused. “It’s bubbly. And more healthful.”

“An excellent idea,” Letty said darkly. “If we wish for the guests never to return.”

Gigi sighed. “We have five days left. I am sure we will think of something.”

“First the rats, then the mangled garden. Now this. Sometimes I am afraid that…that…”

“What are you afraid of, Miss Letty?”

“That this village is cursed.”

To Gigi’s astonishment, her stalwart friend burst into tears.

“There, there, dear.” Gigi patted the other’s shoulder while Xenia rummaged for a handkerchief. “You’ve a case of pre-opening jitters. There is no curse.”

“Are you saying that you do not believe in the legend of Bloody Thom?” Letty sniffled.

Gigi thought of her dreams and hesitated. “Well, no. Not exactly.”

“Ever since Thomas Mulligan died, the village and this business have been going downhill.” Letty dabbed at her eyes with Xenia’s handkerchief. “Now I know the haunting business at Bottoms House a few months ago was a hoax, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the legend is a sham. I’ve lived here my entire life, and believe me when I say, Bloody Thom is real.”

“I believe you.” Xenia’s expression was thoughtful. “I have felt his presence at the manor.”

Guilt stabbed Gigi. Xenia had shared the dreams she’d had about Thomas and Rosalinda, which had coincided with her and Ethan’s courtship. Yet now Gigi was having dreams of her own, which she hadn’t disclosed. She was afraid of revealing too much to her perceptive sister-in-law. If she told Xenia about her dreams of the ghostly lovers, Xenia might put two and two together and realize that Gigi was engaged in a secret affair.

At the thought of Conrad, Gigi felt a dreamy tingle. While it wasn’t easy being discreet, it was necessary. If her brothers found out about her clandestine trysts, they would call Conrad out and put her under lock and key for the rest of her existence. Moreover, she was enjoying the freedom of courtship without external pressures. Conrad was a complex fellow, yet he was letting her in bit by bit, and their burgeoning intimacy thrilled her.

She liked how she felt in his presence: free and wholly herself. Other suitors saw her as a prize to be won. When they looked at her, they saw her wealth, social position, and superficial charms. Conrad was different. He was rich and didn’t need her money. He didn’t treat her differently because of her background. While he had no qualms about letting her know about his physical attraction to her—and, oh my stars, the feeling was mutual—he praised her other qualities too. He thought she was clever, brave, and resourceful. He treated her like an adult worthy of trust…like his equal.

“While Bloody Thom might have taken a hiatus from wreaking havoc upon our village, I fear he is back,” Letty was saying. “You know the poem about him and how it ends.”

The verse, known by all the local children, was haunting and enigmatic, especially the last stanza which had recently been rediscovered:

Beware, beware the rattling chain

The flapping robes stained red and bold

Beware the moans and wails of pain

For ’tis Bloody Thom they do herald.

He brings death to all who cross his path

Be they creatures with feathers, fur, or skin

Green will wither and fortunes dwindle until his wrath

Is quenched by a true reckoning

He plays a mournful ballad of blame

Shaking the manor with his ire

His cry for justice is like a flame

Scorching all with unholy fire.

Alone, alone in his manor of sadness

Bloody Thom does howl, trapped by rage

Alone, he curses the village in his madness

Until love’s seasons free them from their cage.

“By discovering the truth about Thomas and Rose, that they were lovers, not enemies, I thought we had laid his spirit to rest,” Xenia said somberly.

“There remains much we do not know.” Thinking of the dream she’d had of Thomas and Rosalinda, trapped in their sanctuary of stone as fire raged around them, Gigi shivered. “For instance, we don’t know who murdered him and why and what became of Rosalinda.”

“Until then, I think Bloody Thom will continue to have a hand in our misfortune,” Letty said. “Chuddums will not find peace until he does.”

“Perhaps we can help him find absolution.” Xenia gnawed on her lip. “Solving the hoax of his sightings shed light on the real Thomas and Rosalinda. We discovered Rosalinda wasn’t a witch who cursed him but a beautiful young traveling woman. In my dreams, she and Thomas were lovers, a fact Wally later confirmed through his recollections of them as a young boy. And since those facts came to light, things have improved. Personally, I was lucky enough to marry the man of my dreams?—”

“Ethan was equally lucky to have found you,” Gigi cut in. “My brother was a curmudgeon until you came along.”

“He and I are both fortunate.” Xenia blushed. “And Chuddums seems to have benefited as well. Since we chased that nasty gang of Corrigans out of the village, the economy is improving, and people have hope again.”

“You’re right.” Gigi brightened. “Perhaps these drawbacks at the spa are merely signs.”

Letty’s forehead pleated. “Signs of what?”

“Signs that we need to discover the rest of Thomas and Rosalinda’s story. Perhaps Bloody Thom is causing trouble because he wants us to dig deeper—to find out the truth about what happened to him and Rosalinda. Once we do, we may free him from his rage, and he will leave the village alone.”

“Ethan and I fell in love during autumn,” Xenia murmured.

Gigi tilted her head. “Beg pardon?”

“I was just thinking about the phrase love’s seasons ,” Xenia explained. “What if it literally refers to a season when a couple, who has parallels to Thomas and Rosalinda, falls in love?”

“That is an interesting theory,” Letty said.

“There are four seasons, which may mean four couples need to fall in love to lift the curse.” Xenia turned twinkling brown eyes to Gigi. “With winter in full swing, I wonder whose turn it will be to find their soulmate?”