“Finding the place your brother and his wife lived in during their stay in Boston has proven rather difficult. However, I now believe I have found the property, which rivals Glanmore House for size. An older couple appear to live there now, but I cannot find proof that it has been sold to them, or, at this time, their names. I have spent a frustrating amount of time trying to discover how this couple have come to live here, but I have yet to meet anyone who is keen to discuss the pair with me. The fact that my questionsare evaded is strange in and of itself and I will continue with my questioning until I can provide an answer.
“I have been informed that a woman came to the inn where I am staying and asked whether she could speak with me, but unfortunately I was out and she has not returned. I cannot say for sure that the two are connected, but her arrival did come the day after I tried to interview a few members of the household.
“My theory, at this time, is that the couple residing in the house are Charlotte’s maternal grandparents, but if this is a secret, I cannot fathom what purpose it serves. It also raises the question as to why these people are not Charlotte’s legal guardians and why they have not reached out to you. To help with my investigation, I should be grateful if you could inform me as to whom this property was left in your brother’s will, or if there are any other specific mentions of it.
“My other queries have been more fruitful. I found the manufacturer of the carriage in which your brother was driving when the unfortunate accident occurred. Mr Croxford went to great pains to tell me how safe his vehicles are, which is natural, of course. However, when I expressed some scepticism as to his bias, he went into lengthy detail, not only about the construction of the carriage but about the nature of the accident. I believe he has wanted to discuss this with someone for some time. As the afternoon went on, I began to see his point and if you would like me to provide more details, please write and let me know. I transcribed our conversation and will otherwise give this to you when I submit my final report.
“Without the carriage in front of me, I cannot truly say that it was tampered with, but given the nature of the incident and the faults that are supposed to have occurred, I do not think the accident was natural. At this time, it is my belief that the deaths of your brother and his wife are a result of foul play. I am sorry for the distress that this will cause you all, but I feelsure that you were expecting something of this nature, or else you would not have involved me. I shall continue with my enquiries.”‘
Edward stopped speaking but his eyes appeared to continue to skim over some text.
Christopher cleared his throat, which felt blocked, the enormity of the contents of the letter taking its time to sink into his soul. ‘Is there more?’
Edward nodded slowly, his skin pale. ‘There is, but it is for me.’
Although Christopher was fairly sure the remains of the letter had to be about Edward’s marriage, the impulse to tease him had died as the rest of the correspondence had left a heavy ache in his chest. As brothers they had not discussed their growing suspicions over Sebastian’s death, but Christopher was fairly sure they had all thought the worst. With every letter Mr Hornel sent, the evidence became ever more damning: Sebastian had been murdered.
Even thinking the words knocked the air out of Christopher and he sank onto the nearest chair, his legs unable to hold him up any longer.
Sebastian, the only brother who had taken the time to play with him when he was a child, was dead, most likely because someone else had taken his life. When he was small, Christopher had revered his older brother; where Sebastian went, people flocked to him. He was a natural storyteller who made adults laugh as much as children.
It had only been a few days after his eleventh birthday, when Sebastian had come to tell him that he was moving to America. Even now, so many years later, Christopher could still feel the echo of the pain that had ricocheted through him. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Hot tears had burned the back of his eyes, but he’d refused to let them fall. Boys didn’t cry, certainly not sons of dukes.
Sebastian had left, never knowing how much he had meant to Christopher. He’d pushed the thought of his missing brother to the back of his mind; there was no point thinking about a man who hadn’t wanted to stay. He’d been a foolish, arrogant young boy who should not have let his pride get in the way. Christopher could have made the effort to write to him. In fact, he should have done so.
Now, he would never get to see Sebastian again. Never get to hear him laugh or listen to the comforting sound of his deep voice. Christopher’s eyes stung and for a horrifying moment, he thought tears might fall onto his cheeks, but he managed to breathe through it. He hadn’t let grief take over all those years ago and he wasn’t going to now.
Focusing on a spot on the rug in front of him, he concentrated on his most strongly held belief – life was for living, for fun and laughter, and this large, dark pool of blackness that was threatening to swallow him would not do so. This was all the more reason to stick to his plan. He would stay in London until the terms of Sebastian’s will were fulfilled and then he was going on his Grand Tour. Maybe he would go to America too. The world was large, and he was more than happy to get lost in it.
While his resolve settled on him anew, he was vaguely aware of his brothers talking in the background. They appeared to be discussing security, especially with regards to Charlotte. Christopher closed his eyes, the thought of something happening to his niece almost too much to bear. No, he would not go to America. Charlotte had already lost so much; she would not lose one of her uncles. He would travel but he would always come back to her. Her life would be full of joy. He intended to make damned sure of that.
Chapter Ten
Sophia had been looking forward to riding around Hyde Park with Christopher. She found the habit of promenading around the open space at the same time as lots of other members of the Ton both faintly ridiculous and yet immensely enjoyable. The sensible side of her wanted to scoff at the pointlessness of the exercise, which was to see and be seen by the denizens of Society, but she couldn’t quite let go of the sheer joy of seeing everyone dressed up in their finery.
This afternoon, over by the boating lake, Lady Albrighton was a vision in a vibrant yellow ensemble. Sophia was desperate to get a closer look. If the lady was wearing that style and colour, then it was sure to be the next fashion that swept through the Ton and her sisters would want to know all about it. She fidgeted on her seat, debating whether to ask Christopher if he would mind manoeuvring his horses in that direction, but glancing at the side of his face, she held her tongue.
Earlier, as she’d waited for Christopher to arrive, she’d experienced a little flutter of excitement, imagining what it would be like to ride with him. She’d been sure he would make the experience incredibly diverting and she’d found herself smiling once or twice at comments she imagined him making. But the reality was, he’d not made a single one.
Since the moment he had arrived to pick her up, his mood had been strange. Oh, he’d been as polite as always, complimenting her on her outfit, listening to a few lines of dreadful poetry from Annie, but there had been something closed off about his features, no sign in his eyes of the man who usually laughed at everything. As they’d made their way along the wide paths of the park, he’d barely said a word, nodding at acquaintances but giving the appearance of a man deep in thought. He was a far cry from the person she had been expecting and she was beginning to think that others were noticing his mood. Breaking off the engagement was what she wanted, and so it shouldn’t be a bad thing if people saw they were not getting along, but the reality of it was worse than she’d imagined.
‘Is anything amiss?’ she asked, when he did not respond to a cheerful greeting from a man she knew to be a close friend of his.
He straightened, blinking a few times as if awakening from a nap. ‘I do apologise. I have been terribly rude; I have been woolgathering. You must be excruciatingly tired of my company.’
She waited for a moment, hoping he would tell her what had so occupied him, but he appeared to have finished. ‘Not at all. We all have times when we are not ourselves. Do you wish to return home?’
It was slight but she saw it when his shoulders dipped in relief. ‘Would you be terribly put out?’
Something panged around her heart, an emotion that felt suspiciously like disappointment, which it could not be. She did not want to spend time with Christopher; this whole outing was for show anyway. Hopefully, her despondency was down to not getting a better look at that outfit and not because she wanted to prolong her afternoon with her temporary betrothed. ‘Of course not,’ she said.
No sooner had she uttered the words than they were making their way out of the park, Christopher nodding briskly to the people theypassed. She pasted on what she hoped looked like a smile. It was strange because her lips and face felt as if they weren’t quite under her control, so much so that she doubted the relaxed, happy look she was trying to portray was anywhere close to natural.
As they made it out onto the wide roads that would take her home, her fingers twisted in her lap. When she had agreed to this farce of an engagement, she had not wanted the situation to take away what little pride she had in herself. She’d known that she and Christopher had vastly different personalities and had very little in common, but after their time at Gunter’s, she’d thought he had been interested enough in her to feign a friendship with her. This morning’s outing had robbed her of that belief.
At least it was only her maid who was witness to her humiliation. Her sisters teased her about being the boring, sensible sibling, but she knew they did not mean it cruelly. It was their way of saying that she was different from them, and if it hurt her occasionally, she had learned to hide it. Sitting next to one of the most popular men in Society, who was desperate to get away from her, she felt every one of those comments about her sensibility hit her hard. Drat the man for driving home the point that she was not the sort of person with whom he would naturally want to spend time.
Sunk in misery as she was, it took her a while to reason that they were not heading in the direction of her parents’ home. ‘This is the wrong way, Lord Christopher.’
