“You know who Isabella’s father was?”
“Ah, so now I’ve caught your attention.” Agnes lowered the cane slowly, her eyes darting about the empty hall. “Who are you?”
“Damien St. Lawrence, Earl of Saunders.”
“No, no. I heard all that already. I want to knowwhoyou are.”
“I am a friend of Isabella’s.”
“A friend, heh?” Agnes grunted her opinion of his answer. “No matter. Come along, I’ve got something to show you.”
She marched away from the drawing room, leaning on her cane yet keeping her spine stiff. She never once glanced over her shoulder to see if he followed. Damien ignored the doubts that crept into the back of his mind and accompanied Agnes. She led him through several grandly furnished rooms toward the private apartments at the back of the mansion. Eventually they entered a bedchamber decorated in shades of blue. The delicate furniture boasted a high polish, but the room had a closed, unused smell to it.
Agnes stared about the chamber vacantly for a moment, then advanced with great purpose toward a small trunk tucked away in the corner of the room.
“ ’Tis over here, young man. Come along now, you can’t expect an old woman like me to manage such a heavy burden.”
“What is this?” Damien asked as he dragged the trunk into the center of the room, surprised by its weight.
“These were Marianne’s things—at least, what is left of them. My brother had her room stripped and ordered all her belongings burned after he left her in Kent. But I bribed a footman to let me take what I wanted before they lit the fire. I stuffed this trunk full of anything I thought might yield me a pertinent clue. I’ve spent many an afternoon looking through these things, trying to determine who planted that seed in Marianne’s belly.”
Damien’s mouth twisted. “You didn’t send the trunk to your niece? Did it never cross your mind, madam, that Marianne, frightened and living among strangers, might have found comfort in having a few of her belongings?”
“Seeing the remnants of her former life would have reminded the foolish girl of everything she threw away with her impetuous and immoral behavior.”
“What was Isabella’s reaction when she viewed the contents of this trunk?” Damien asked.
“I never showed it to her.”
That cold answer, coupled with the sharp tone of Agnes’s voice, was all the justification Damien needed. Bending at the knees, he squatted down and hoisted the trunk on his left shoulder. Grunting loudly, he stood up, rocking back on his heels slightly until he regained his balance. Using his right hand to steady the burden on his shoulder, he headed for the open door.
“What are you doing? Where are you going with my trunk? I want you to open it here and tell me if you see anything of significance.” Agnes pounded her cane on the floor. “Put down that trunk, young man! I will not allow you to take it from this room.”
“Try and stop me,” Damien said, glancing down at Agnes’s horrified face. He stomped out the door, kicking it shut with his booted foot. Turning around, he leaned against the wall, a look of triumph on his handsome face. Fingers fumbling, he located the brass key and gleefully turned the lock.
Deliberately ignoring the sharp noises and indelicate language emanating from the other side of the door, Damien carried his booty through the house. He reached the main landing and smiled broadly, experiencing a sense of profound pleasure when he remembered the astonished expression on Agnes’s face.
He entered the great hall and encountered several footmen, but no one questioned him. Damien was grateful the earl ran such a rigid household; these properly trained servants would never think to interfere with the behavior of any member of the nobility, even if he was a stranger to them.
An expressionless flunky obligingly opened the front door, and as Damien exited he took great delight in dropping Agnes’s door key into the large potted plant by the entrance.
Damien found his horse tethered in the stables, and upon his command a young groom willingly saddled the animal. Damien mounted his stead and with the lad’s assistance positioned the heavy trunk in front of him, resting it awkwardly on the saddle. He would need to hire a carriage for the journey back to Whatley Grange, but Damien felt it prudent to put himself a fair distance away first.
Fishing into his pocket, he retrieved a coin. He flipped the crown in a high arc, and the groom caught the glittering silver piece in midair.
“By the way, Lady Agnes is locked in a second-story bedchamber. Please be sure to inform the household of her unfortunate predicament.” After a slight hesitation, Damien added with a sly wink, “In about three hours.”
Precariously balancing the heavy trunk in front of him, Damien rode down the sweeping drive, feeling an enormous sense of relief at leaving the mansion and its occupants behind him.
Damien leaned out the carriage window and smiled. After four days of traveling in a hired coach, Whatley Grange at last loomed in the foreground, a towering fortress of gray stone. It was a marvelous sight.
When the coach drew nearer, however, Damien was struck by the unmistakable air of dignified neglect. Conditions that had existed for years without drawing his attention were suddenly brought to the forefront. The formal flower beds were choked with weeds, the waters of the lily pond murky and gray, the arbors and shrubberies wild and overgrown.
Yet in Damien’s mind nothing could detract from the splendor of The Grange. He remembered the strict, expensive elegance of Isabella’s grandfather’s estate and realized he much preferred the reckless disorder of his own lands.
At least they still were his lands. Damien’s mouth curled grimly. He did not regret his trip to York, but concentrating on Isabella’s dilemma had relegated his own considerable problems to the background. Damien had no doubt that Lord Poole would make good on his threats and take control of The Grange if Damien was unable to secure the necessary funds to reclaim the mortgages.
The coach hit a deep rut and listed to one side. Damien braced his feet on the floorboards as the carriage righted itself and glanced at the trunk perched opposite him on the cushioned seat. It did not budge.
