“You don’t remember me?” He looked amused, but his hazel eyes revealed disappointment.
Laura hastily sorted through the many partners she had danced with over the years. There was nothing unusual about him. He was about thirty years old, and of medium height, his hair an indistinguishable light brown. Suddenly, the knowledge came to her. “Of course I do. We talked of butterflies and insects, did we not? You are a collector.”
He smiled, obviously delighted. “So you remembered. I am flattered. I count myself as one of those fortunate of men to have had the pleasure of a dance with you.”
Laura laughed. “Now you flatter me, Mr. Upjohn.”
He grinned. “How very easy it is, Miss Peyton.”
Their dance passed pleasurably. Laura liked his easy manners, although he failed to make her heart beat faster.
“I hope we may dance again, soon, Miss Peyton,” Mr. Upjohn said when he returned her to her chair. “Madam.” With a bow to her aunt, he left them.
Aunt Gertrude watched him walk away. “Mr. Upjohn is of excellent stock, Laura, although his family is not titled. His father is Sir Eric Upjohn, a high court judge. They may not be of the upper echelon, but they are certainly more than respectable.”
Laura sighed. She had no intention of encouraging him but feared her aunt would urge her to. If she thought Laura’s future could lie with Mr. Upjohn, she would persist with it as she had with Edward. Her aunt was nothing if not tenacious. Laura would hate any bad feeling between them to spoil their relationship, now that it had proven to be more amiable than she’d expected. “I can’t imagine myself married to him, Aunt. I have no interest in cataloguing insects.”
“No, I imagine not,” her unpredictable aunt agreed with a moue of distaste.
In the early hours, when Laura had gained her bed, although weary, sleep eluded her. She had danced the supper dance with Mr. Upjohn, and they’d gone into supper together, while he’d told her more about himself. She liked how fair-minded he was. He’d revealed none of the arrogance of most of the lords she’d met, nor the superiority over women they’d often exhibited. Could she come to like him enough to marry him? Laura longed for a baby. And while she found Mr. Upjohn a slightly better prospect than Edward, who had wished to marry her for the wrong reasons, he still had not succeeded in banishing Debnam from her thoughts.
Desperately lonely, she knew only one person in the world could fill this ache. What was Debnam doing tonight? Was he with a lady? Unable to bear the pain of such a possibility, she lit the candle beside her bed and went to draw the curtains aside. Bright moonlight flooded into the chamber. A serene moon sailed across a star-studded sky like indigo velvet. Such peace did not reflect her mood, and she closed the curtains again before returning to bed. She blew out the candle and laid her head on the pillow.
Tiny feet roamed across the bedcover and soft fur touched her cheek. “Tibby.” Comforted, Laura gathered the soft, purring body to her and slept.
*
Mounted on Bruno,with Hunter loping along behind him, Brendan rode over the fields toward the western boundary. A half hour later, he crossed onto Gaylord’s land, well out of sight of his house and stables. He emerged from woodland onto meadows which gave way to several paddocks, where a handful of horses grazed.
Brendan released a breath. Having found what he’d sought, he dismounted before a lush, green paddock. Tossing Bruno’s reins over a bush, he walked over to rest his hands on the railing. The inquisitive animals trotted over to him. Among them, one horse stood out. An old chestnut with three white feet and white on his forehead in the shape of a crown.
Gaylord had kept Simon’s horse hidden away in a back paddock. He could never ride him, but he didn’t want anyone else to have him.
“I knew I’d find you here.” Brendan reached out to stroke the horse’s head, thrust over the top of the railing. “That greedy, arrogant sod thinks himself untouchable.”
What might he do with this discovery? It wasn’t enough to involve the magistrate. He must come up with more. A lure to draw Gaylord in and cause him to make a mistake. He remembered how Gaylord had jeered at him when he had one of his headaches, how he’d suggested Brendan was unstable. Brendan loathed him and fought a burning desire to find him and take him apart with his fists. And now there was no doubt of Gaylord’s culpability. Despite Brendan’s rage, his spirits lifted, and the future filled with heady possibilities. Laura, there with him at Beechley Park as his wife. A long, happy life ahead of them. Children.
A rifle shot echoed through the trees and Brendan fell heavily to the ground. With a fierce growl, Hunter, who had been sniffing around nearby, raced away.
A shriek came from somewhere close by. “Damn dog just bit me. Get back, you miserable animal!”
A howl followed by silence chilled Brendan’s blood. Gaining his wits, he gazed around him. When Gaylord didn’t appear in his limited vision, he forced himself painfully to roll under a nearby bush. Blood seeped from the gunshot wound in his arm. He would have to use his kerchief to stem the flow before he bled to death. But right now, he had a worse problem to face. He’d left his shotgun in Bruno’s saddle scabbard.
The horses in the paddock were spooked, tossing their manes and galloping around the enclosure. Bruno, similarly affected, whinnied and pulled hard at his reins, still tangled in the bushes.
“Where the devil are you, Brendan?” Gaylord called, sounding excited as he closed in on his quarry. “Have I winged you? I’ll find you. You can’t remain hidden for long.” The stomp of his boots over the soggy, leaf-strewn ground grew near. “After Wagstaff turned up, I expected you to doubt what you’d come to believe and search for answers. Your gamekeeper suddenly clammed up and refused to answer my questions. That gave the game away. You forced my hand, Brendan. I should have gotten rid of the horse. Don’t know why I didn’t. I took pleasure in having it, I suppose. Another small, delicious victory. Where are you hiding, Brendan? You moved just as I fired. Not like me to miss. I hope you’re dead. It offends my sensibilities to have to finish you off. But I have a perfect right to shoot a prowler on my land.” His voice rose, taunting Brendan. “I’ll say I saw you moving through the trees and thought it was someone after the horses. Fired before I realized it was you coming to visit me. A terrible mistake. The loss of my dear nephew shall devastate me.”
His boots passed by Brendan, who in his brown coat thankfully blended well into the dense shrubbery. He could hear Gaylord beating the bushes somewhere farther on, then cursing as he reloaded his shotgun.
Brendan drew his kerchief from his pocket and wound it tightly around his arm above the wound, pulling it tightly with his teeth. He gave a low whistle to summon Bruno.
The horse shook his head and tugged hard at his reins. The thin branch came away, and he trotted to where Brendan lay hidden.
Brendan came out of the bushes in a rush and grabbed his shotgun from the saddle, just as Gaylord ran back toward him, his gun aimed at Brendan’s heart.
Brendan wasn’t about to give him another chance to shoot him. He fired and watched his uncle crumple to the ground as Gaylord’s shot burned past Brendan’s ear.
Gaylord’s face became ghastly white. He clutched his chest where a scarlet stain spread, his wound undoubtedly fatal. Brendan kneeled beside him. “Tell me why, Gaylord. Confess before you go to meet your maker.”
