Prologue
Courtland Hall,Whitfield, Kent, England ~ October 31, 1810
Damon Norcott cradleda glass of brandy, staring into the amber liquid, but unable to take even a sip.
“We’ve asked each servant, but nobody saw anything,” Jerome, the butler announced.
Damon looked to the kitchen maid perched upon the emerald brocade chair. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she continued to wipe her nose with the handkerchief his brother had provided. “Are you certain you saw nothing, May?” Damon asked.
Tears welled again and she shook her head before she answered. “Nobody, Lord Damon. I swear.”
“Whatdidyou see?” Perhaps she had seen something important but didn’t realize it.
“Cook sent me out to ask… Lady Bentford…” she paused as her lower lip and chin began to tremble. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and trailed down the side of her cheek. ”…about supper…” May dabbed her eyes and Damon wondered if she would be able to tell them anything without once again dissolving into a fit of emotions. Not that he blamed her. What she’d discovered had been horrifying and he’d not yet come to terms with what had happened.
Damon’s younger brother, Ajax, or Jax as he liked to be called, pressed a glass of brandy into May’s hand. There was barely enough liquid to fill a thimble, but perhaps it would help the girl.
She looked down into the glass, held it, but didn’t drink. “The gate was unlatched and open,” she said quietly, then looked up, brown eyes puzzled with concern.
That would have been the first sign that something was amiss. The gate wasalwaysto be latched, even if someone was within the gardens. Only a few had permission to enter, and May was one of them.
“I walked the main path and called for her, but…she never answered.” The maid’s eyes flooded with tears again. “I looked until…until…”
“You don’t have to say more,” Damon’s father, the Marquess of Chandos insisted.
It was May’s screams that had alerted Damon. He and Lord Rupert Whitworth had just returned from a ride, and both ran toward his mother’s walled garden.
Damon wished he could block the memory of what he’d seen. His brother, Evander, crumpled to the ground and lying on his side, blood in his hair and pooled in the dirt beneath him. Damon had started to rush toward Evander, but Whitworth had put a hand on his chest, halting him.
“Wait. We don’t want to disturb anything.”
Just beyond Evander was his wife, Rhea, lying at an odd angle, but her face tipped to the sky, blue eyes open and unblinking.
She was dead, but that didn’t mean Evander was.
Damon tried to go around Whitworth once again, but the baron stepped in his way. “I will examine Lord Bentford, you do not move.”
In most instances, Damon would not obey anyone’s dictate, especially when the safety and health of a brother was concerned. In this instance, however, besides being a friend and neighbor, Whitworth was also the local physician and coroner. He was only to be a physician, but when he unexpectedly inherited the title of Baron, in addition to having wealth and land, he’d been appointed coroner for the area a year earlier.
Whitworth stood silently, but quickly studied the area before he approached Evander. After he rolled his brother, Whitworth first placed a hand on his chest, then fingers on his neck.
By the way Whitworth’s eyes closed, and his shoulders dropped, Damon had confirmation that his brother was dead as well.
Whitworth stayed squatted, balanced on his toes, and studied the ground and surrounding foliage.
“I will take care of your brother and sister-in-law,” Whitworth said quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of this discovery. “You should return to the manor and inform your father. Lock the gate behind you and do not let anyone else come in here.”
Damon had just stood there. “What if the assailant is still here?” The garden was large, and trees and bushes could shield a person hiding. “We should search.”
“I doubt that they are, but they cannot get out without using the gate so post a man to keep watch.”
“What of you?” If the murderer was still about, there was no guarantee they’d not kill Whitworth as well.
“It is unlikely the assailant is still here. I estimate that your brother died over an hour ago.”
“How could you know?” Damon demanded then reconsidered his question. “Don’t tell me.” He didn’t want to know why Whitworth had made his conclusion. One day perhaps, but not now.
“Send a servant to stay with me if you are concerned. I will also need their assistance but tell them to stay back until I ask for their help.”
