“Anything else you remember from that night, anything which seemed out of the ordinary?”
Johnson scratched his armpit with a hand the size of a shovel. “They was both young, not much older than I was. That’s about the sum of it.”
“Take a moment to think,” Brendan urged him. “Something might come to you.”
Johnson raised the hammer again. Then, to Brendan’s relief, he paused and lowered it. “One thing, but it might not mean much.”
“I’d like to hear it.” Brendan ran a finger around his sweaty neck beneath his cravat.
“They was both fair headed. Of a similar build, too.”
Brendan gave Johnson a shilling for his help and left. Climbing into his curricle, he drove home. Extraordinary as it was to think it, he believed Ralph had killed his brother, Simon. There might have been other reasons behind such a brutal murder, but the one which stuck in Brendan’s mind was that Ralph had badly wanted to be the viscount and once their father died, Simon stood in his way. And he’d been rewarded when the upset caused by Simon’s death had carried the old viscount off not long afterward. Had Brendan’s mother somehow learned of the truth and threatened to expose her brother? And Gaylord had murdered her and his father to keep them quiet?
Brendan considered the way Gaylord might have gone about it. First using his relationship with the maid to press her into helping him enter the house unseen on some ruse, and carrying out the murders before leaving again, undetected, via the old servants’ stairs. And when Violet Walcott had realized what she had done, overcome by guilt, she’d killed herself. It could also be why Gaylord kept his ear to the ground at Beechley Park, ensuring nothing ever arose to condemn him. Wagstaff, turning up again, must have shaken him.
It was believable. But how to find the proof? Brendan would take great pleasure in going to Camelia Grove and forcing Gaylord’s confession with his fists. But that wouldn’t wash with the magistrate, much as Brendan was burning to beat the villain black and blue. He would have to think of another way.
Laura. He felt a step closer to going to her free of his past. Did she still want him? Or could some fellow have already proposed? With a frustrated groan, he uttered a string of curses as he tried to bury his impatience.
Chapter Twenty-One
Laura rarely hadtime for herself during her first week in London. Her aunt whisked her about, visiting a modiste to have her old gowns altered, ordering a new ballgown, then shopping for slippers, a new bonnet in the Burlington Arcade, and a fan and reticule in Piccadilly. Afterward, they had tea at Gunther’s then visited Hatchards bookshop, where Laura was thrilled to discover copies of the three volumes ofPride and Prejudice, while Aunt Gertrude found one of her favorite Gothic novels.
“Thank you for being so generous,” Laura said, when they’d returned to her aunt’s house.
“No need to thank me. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ages,” Aunt Gertrude said gruffly.
Laura wore her new pink, silk ballgown with silk roses adorning the hem and sleeves to the Lindseys’ ball. A grand affair, held in Lindsey Court, the duke and duchess’s Mayfair mansion. The large ballroom featured delicately painted ceilings, fluted columns, and marble statues which stood among lavish displays of scented flowers. People sat chatting on sofas upholstered in cream satin, gilt chairs and tables placed beside them. Liveried footmen roamed among the exquisitely dressed and perfumed guests who gathered around the periphery of the dance floor, laughing and talking while the musicians played Beethoven from their dais.
Ianthe, Her Grace, Duchess of Lindsey, so dainty in her pale-blue and silver gown, graciously greeted Laura and her aunt when the butler had announced them.
She turned to her handsome, dark-haired husband at her side. “My love, I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Gertrude Peyton, and Miss Laura Peyton?”
His Grace greeted her aunt, who sank into a low curtsey, then turned to address Laura. “We haven’t met the younger Miss Peyton, but I believe you know a friend of mine, the Earl of Debnam. I’ve noticed you in his company at several balls.”
“Your Grace.” Laura flushed as she dipped into a curtsey. When she rose, she looked into the duke’s smiling eyes, with the oddest feeling he knew about her. Surely not. “Lord Debnam? Yes, we shared an interest in naming horses. I trust he is well? I haven’t seen him for an age.”
“Very well indeed, when I saw him last.” He raised his dark eyebrows, a sparkle in his green eyes, as if they shared a secret. “As I have seen his horses at Tattersalls auction, I’m sure he would benefit from such advice.”
“My love, the orchestra is about to strike up for the cotillion.” The duchess put a hand on his arm. “Lady Somersby awaits to partner you to open the ball.”
As she and her aunt settled in their seats, Laura wondered at the cause of the duke’s interest in her. It appeared he and Debnam were close friends, as he seemed to know much about him. Had Debnam spoken of her? Surely not.
“You danced with Lord Debnam?” Aunt Gertrude asked, reminding Laura of a hound on the scent of a fox.
“Once or twice. As I told His Grace, we share an interest in horses. Lord Debnam breeds them, and I suggested a name for his latest mare.”
Aunt Gertrude gave her a penetrating stare. “I wasn’t aware of your great interest in horses. I find it intriguing.”
A gentleman approached with Mrs. Edgar, his gaze on Laura warm with approval.
“Miss Gertrude Peyton, Miss Laura Peyton, may I introduce Mr. Upjohn to you?” Mrs. Edgar said.
After the introduction, Mr. Upjohn asked Laura to dance. She rose, and they hurried to join the dancers on the ballroom floor.
“I am delighted to see you back in London, Miss Peyton,” Mr. Upjohn said when they came together in the dance.
“How good of you to say so, sir,” Laura murmured.
