William had been a steward’s son, or possibly a tenant of Rose Hall. The two boys had been close in age. Gabriel’s father was fond of William and paid for his education alongside his own son and heir. But unlike Gabriel, William had been studious and mild-mannered and planned to go into the law, or perhaps the clergy. It reached a point where His Grace preferred William to his own son.
At some point, Adriane’s family had let the estate nearby. Gabriel was certain that William loved her at first sight. Gabriel was equally certain that she preferred him to William. But William didn’t see it and had set off to university to earn a living to support Adriane.
And then came the event. Gabriel spoke in the vaguest of self-deprecating details. His Grace was upset with Gabriel for some reason and spoke of wishing William was his son and heir, not Gabriel. That was when Adriane had found him. And he took her, in a horse barn of all places, laughing when she asked him to speak to her father. It was the worst thing Gabriel ever did, to seduce and abandon a gently bred lady, and he regretted it always.
Several months later, William tracked Gabriel to town. He raved that Adriane was ruined by Gabriel’s actions and had been thrown out by her own family. The conversation ended in fisticuffs. It was then that Gabriel swore never to touch another innocent. But he still didn’t look for her. He learned later that William had incurred the duke’s wrath and been cut off when he left the study of law to enlist in the army.
That had been the entirety of the story until that unseasonably warm day in Yorkshire. I could only surmise that William had found her in France while in His Majesty’s service. If her bawdy, disconcerting speech from our one meeting was any indication, he hadn’t found her in Versailles, but a back alley somewhere.
The story picked up again only after Adriane’s suspected death, when William found Gabriel at the races and requested a meeting. Gabriel had assumed it was for assistance with funeral expenses. I knew better now.
To think, I had felt sympathy for the wretched man. I had even once found the notion heartachingly romantic. For a man to leave every privilege he’d worked for to join a war for the sole purpose of finding his lost love, only to find her lost to madness.
Fury now burned where pity had once flourished.
That wretched man was my primary suspect—my only suspect. I needed to know him better than I knew myself if I was to bring him to justice.
He spoke excellent French and made free with his insults while using it. He had eventually gone into the law, and he worked with Kate’s brother. His left hand was stained with ink, indicating a preference. He’d carried a sword that day in Yorkshire, and it was safe to assume he’d learned to use a rifle in the military.
William was also shy or skilled at feigning timidity, and he was certainly not often in society or I would have stumbled across him years ago. And he kissed like he would never get another opportunity.
So little information to proceed with, especially since much of it was likely not pertinent to my investigation.
I needed more.
I could set up a meeting with Lord Leighton, but he likely shared an office with William. And Kate would certainly begin wedding planning if asked her to arrange a less formal meeting between me and her brother
I could not ask Her Grace. She was unobservant at the best of times. If she even recalled William’s existence, it would be a small miracle.
Davina was much too young to remember details.
That left only Xander as a source of intelligence. I set off at once to Rycliffe Place. And if Xander was unavailable, I could search for anything I might have missed when I packed up.
Investigating was not so terribly difficult after all.
Eight
RYCLIFFE PLACE, LONDON - JUNE 6, 1816
CELINE
By the timeI finished readying for the day, it was a reasonable hour to meet with my brother-in-law. Xander was a notoriously late riser, but that would merely leave me my window of opportunity.
The sun was bright and warm when I stepped out of my carriage. But my stomach sank when I realized I had forgotten one thing. To visit Xander, I would have to enter the house. The facade of Rycliffe Place was as lovely as ever. It was still painted a creamy, buttery yellow with a bright red door. And the three stone steps leading up to that door remained. My heart gave a painful wrench at the sight.
With a fortifying breath, I ascended and knocked purposefully. I knew better than to look down. The last time I had looked, the stains from my husband’s blood remained. If not precisely in reality then in my mind. No matter how hard the servants scrubbed, the red ring from where he’d fallen remained. I could still see the gnarled iris petals trapped in a bloody prison.
After an eternity, the door opened to reveal Reeves. “Lady Rycliffe! How good to see you. What an unexpected pleasure.”
Reeves had served as butler even before my tenure as mistress of the house. I liked the man a great deal. But his voice, no matter how warm, never failed to remind me of that day. I fought my instinctive revulsion and gave him an appreciative, if brittle, smile.
“Bonjour, Reeves. I was hoping to meet with His Grace this morning if he is in. I have something I wish to discuss with him.”
“I will see if he is available for visitors. Would you like to wait in the drawing room?”
I handed the man my bonnet, then stepped around him and wandered down the hall rather than turn into the drawing room off to the side.
“I think the study would be best today, Reeves,” I called back. “Please let His Grace know I will meet him there.”
