Mr. Tucker pointed to the larger headstone in the open. “That is the fourth marquess, my lord’s older brother.”
Beckett’s expression was somber as he approached the site. Gwendolyn respectfully followed him.
“His wife is next to her son,” Mr. Tucker said. He nodded to the half-hidden graves. “I sawher a few times when they first married. Lovely woman. Always laughing. And that there is the tragedy.” He nodded to a much smaller headstone. It was the child’s, carved so that it appeared a miniature of his father’s.
“Course, the lad’s not in there,” Mr. Tucker said. “Chances are the fish ate him. Gives me chills to think of it. We tell our children the story to remind them to be respectful of the river. It doesn’t appear dangerous, but water can always claim lives no matter how shallow. It did that day.”
“Yes,” Beckett agreed absently. He turned to Gwendolyn. “Shall we go to breakfast?”
“I don’t know if I have an appetite,” she murmured, shaken by the sight of the smallest grave... and what it meant.
He understood. He took her arm. “Come.”
They were quiet as they rode down the road. She waited until they were well out of the village before she said, “What are you thinking?”
“That I know why Middlebury feels guilty. Murder is grim business. What I don’t understand is why he rescued me from a brothel in London? I would have grown up not knowing anything. I’d probably be a rat catcher or some such low trade today. And why did he give me an education and see to my commission?”
“Guilt. It makes people do strange things.”
He appeared to mull over her words. Then he said, “None of this can be proven.” He looked to her, his expression bleak. “How can I claim to be Robert Chaytor? I’m not even certain myself.I don’t want the money or the title. I just want answers. And if someone ordered Winstead to murder my mother—I want justice.”
“Who do you believe gave the order?”
“The only person who stood to gain—the Marquess of Middlebury.”
“Unless this Winstead was a rogue who acted alone,” Gwendolyn suggested.
His glance said he thought she knew better.
She nodded an acknowledgment. “Well, then, I would place a wager on Lady Middlebury. She strikes me as ruthless. So, what is our next step? What are our plans?”
“Our plans are to move you, Lady Orpington, and Mrs. Newsome to someplace safe. And then?Iwill have a conversation with the Marquess of Middlebury.”
Chapter Fifteen
Colemore’s front drive was far busier when they arrived than when they had left. Other riders were setting out to enjoy the morning air, dogs were barking, and a swarm of gardeners were busy keeping the grounds pristine. A stable lad took their horses. Beck escorted Gwendolyn into the house.
The butler, Nathaniel, bowed a greeting. “Breakfast is set up in the blue dining room.” He indicated the room was down the main hall.
Gwendolyn looked to Beckett. “I need to change outfits.” She didn’t want to fuss with the overlong train of her habit while trying to eat breakfast. “I shall see you there?”
He nodded, and she went up the stairs. She didn’t take long. Molly was waiting for her. She was quite happy to have earned a gold crown. The bribe had been a well-played move. Beckett would have known that Molly would have done anything for such a fantastic sum. Once again, Gwendolyn reassessed her knowledge of Beckett. The clothes he had purchased for his disguise asMr. Curran were from some of the finest tailors and bootmakers in England. She had thought him poor, but perhaps not? It made no difference. Her love was clever enough to do anything he wished, and the thought made her proud.
Gwendolyn chose a day dress out of green muslin with white stripes and boasting a low, lace-edged bodice. The color was a good one on her.
Molly restyled her hair high on her head in two blinks. Gwendolyn made her way to the blue dining room.
The Reverend Denburn was still at the breakfast table. Gwendolyn wondered how many plates he had enjoyed. Otherwise the room was empty save for Beckett, who had waited for her. Instead of letting the footman pull out her chair, he did so.
They were just tucking in to the plates they had filled among the choices on the sideboard when Lady Orpington barreled into the room, Magpie in her arms. There was a small yellow bow in the pup’s hair and a larger one around her neck for a collar.
“Prepare, Miss Lanscarr. We are playing cards. I just received the word.”
“Lady Middlebury changed her mind?” Gwendolyn asked, a bit thrown off by the change after their hostess’s earlier edict.
“Of course she did. She had no choice. Not in fairness. She is also playing. Reverend, you are still breakfasting?” She reached out to the sideboard to choose a piece of ham to feed to Magpie. “He was here when Vera and I broke ourfast earlier,” she explained to Gwendolyn and Beckett.
“I do enjoy the marquess’s hospitality,” the cleric admitted.
