“Oh, my darling girl.” Sitting on Helen’s bed, Mama hugged her close. “No, you cannot.” Her voice trembled. “I shall never forgive myself for what happened to you that night.”
“It was my fault, Mama. I shouldn’t have slipped away onto the terrace with Lawley when Lady Fountain distracted you. When he invited me to stroll in the garden, he was so handsome and charming that I trusted him. I was young and foolish, but I’m not anymore. I don’t believe I am wrong about Lord Peyton, although it hardly matters.” She knew his kiss meant little more than, as he’d explained, a reaction to the excitement of the moment. “He has no interest in marrying me.”
“Nevertheless, my dear, I am relieved you can find it in yourself to trust a man again. I see it as a sign that you’ve recovered and are open to finding a prospective husband this Season.”
Helen neither believed the world had changed nor that a rosy future awaited her. But Peyton had found her attractive enough to kiss, which, when she calmed down, made her smile.
Helen left her mother and went downstairs. The shock of that dreadful time had faded with the years. She could face it without flinching and firmly thrust the memories away. Lawley might have forgotten it too, although his anger at what he saw as unfair treatment made it seem unlikely.
She had been bedridden for some weeks following that terrible ball while gossip filled the news sheets and fueled the talk in drawing rooms. Her mother, fearing Helen’s spirits had sunk dangerously low, tended her most lovingly. Mama had insisted that Lawley had taken nothing from Helen that mattered, that she was still the same innocent she’d always been. But Helen knew he’d taken far too much that night, every vestige of her confidence, her hopes, and her dreams. His taunting words as he’d ravaged her were etched into her memory, how he’d sneered when she cried and fought him, saying she should welcome his attentions because she wasn’t very pretty and said he would have preferred to be with one of the Season’s beauties. Struggling with him, she’d hit her head on a stone wall and lost consciousness. She was thankfully unaware of being carried inside by her father to uproar and speculation.
Lawley, a younger son of an impoverished baron, denied everything, saying that the “silly girl” was merely hysterical, but when thetongave him the cut direct, he’d departed for the Continent soon afterward, leaving behind a mountain of debts. As his pockets were to let, it was Mama’s opinion that he’d sought to compromise Helen and force the marriage.
Her dreams might still be haunted by his violent act, but she refused to give in to what that man had done to her. What she might do if she ever came face to face with him again at some society function, she wasn’t sure, but fury not distress now drove her. She only hoped she would never find out.
A deep sigh escaped her, and then she straightened her shoulders. She must stop this stupid admiration of Lord Peyton. While he did not fit her notion of a rake, one who seduced innocent young women, he might consider a lady of her age to be eager for a light flirtation. And if that was the case, well, he could think again. Tomorrow, she would treat him as she had learned to treat every gentleman she met in society, with her head held high, as if his kiss was a matter of complete indifference to her.
Chapter Eleven
At Kinsey House the next day, Fiske’s face was even more sober than usual, and a heavy aura of expectation hung in the air. “Mr. Dalby from Bow Street called earlier and questioned the family and the staff, milord.”
“Thank you, Fiske.” Jason had expected it after having sent a message to advise the magistrate at Bow Street of his findings, along with the poisoned bottle of tonic.
He entered the drawing room, hoping to find Lady Helen, but Lady Kinsey sat alone.
“Well, what news, Lord Peyton?” she asked. “Bow Street has been most unhelpful.”
“I’m afraid I have no news, Lady Kinsey. But I remain undaunted. I hope to interview the rest of the staff today, beginning with the housekeeper, if that is convenient. And I have some questions for his lordship’s secretary.”
“Of course. But my staff are already most unsettled at having been grilled by Mr. Dalby. He reduced one of the upstairs maids to tears. I know you will deal with them in a more sympathetic manner, but I doubt you’ll learn any more than he did.”
“One can but hope, my lady.”
“Indeed. We must continue until the murderer is found.” Lady Kinsey’s gray eyes darkened. “I pray the matter is at an end before the ball is held.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “How could we invite guests to stay at Kinsey House with a murder hanging over our heads?”
“I do understand your concern,” Jason said. “Is there anyone you haven’t mentioned? A recent houseguest perhaps?”
“Only Lord Nicholas, Kinsey’s younger brother. He stayed with us for a month. But I don’t see how he can be of interest to you.”
“When did he leave?”
“Several weeks ago.”
“Has he remained in London?”
“No. I believe he’s in Kent visiting his father, the Marquess, at his country seat, Walcott.”
“He was here when Bart fell ill?”
She frowned, reading his thoughts. “Nicholas left here at around that time.”
When Lady Kinsey’s mouth tightened, Jason sought for a tactful way to ask what he must. Second sons who failed to inherit, or go into the church, the army, or the law, could be short of funds, particularly if a small stipend had to be stretched to accommodate a love of gambling. Lord Nicholas wouldn’t be the first of thebeau mondeto commit a crime. Especially if money was involved, and Jason considered it a more likely motive than revenge, although he had too little to go on to be sure of anything. “I’m afraid I must ask these difficult questions, my lady.”
“Of course, you must. But Nicholas is a favorite of my children. His nieces and nephews adore him. He’s on the verge of marrying. Why he would want to kill our footman is beyond imagining.” She sighed. “If that is all, Fiske will escort you to the library and notify Mrs. Chance.”
In the library, Jason was exploring more of the fabulous collection when a woman in black came into the room. She had an efficient look about her that seemed to go with housekeepers. Never a hair out of place, and hers, as black as a raven’s wing, was neatly swept beneath her cap. She nodded unsmilingly at him. Her strong features might be called handsome, but even when young, she would never have been pretty. He’d seen the lady enter the garden gate with her basket on the day he first met Lord Tobias and Lady Diana.
“Mrs. Chance, milord.”
