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Chapter Nine
Sommerley Parke House
Near Carlisle, England
Five weeks later
Whisky glass in hand, temper high, and mood brooding, Broden gazed out the study’s tall window, scowling at the snow-covered ground. The infernal white stuff had sifted from the skies for nearly a fortnight, off and on. Good thing Liam had returned to Scotland three weeks ago at Broden’s insistence.
He was a newlywed, after all.
Broden had bid Liam carry a message to Kendra. A vow he’d be bound for Scotland at the first opportunity.
The quartet of Scotsmen had made the trip to Sommerley Parke House in record time. And within three days of arrival at his primary estate, the foursome had set off for London.
That trip proved a colossal waste of time. Roxdale’s horse had slipped on ice, tossing the duke onto his noble arse. He’d suffered a fractured wrist and wasn’t of any help introducing Broden to society.
Just as well, since he’d little interest in hobnobbing with elitist snobs, which would further delay his homecoming. He might be an English earl now, but Scotland would always be his home.
Naturally, Roxdale’s tumble was an unfortunate accident, but he’d eagerly returned to Trentwick Castle, his ducal family seat and his new bride, the former Marjorie Kennedy. No one had anticipated a match between those two, either.
Broden had called at the bank and, after verifying his identity and procuring the documents Oswald had provided him, had taken ownership of a sizable fortune.
A very sizable fortune.
No wonder Edwin Archibald had so enthusiastically anticipated inheriting.
Arching his back, Broden blew out a long breath before tossing back the rest of his whisky. His shoulder scarcely pained him at all, though now and again, if he moved suddenly, the almost-healed wound was wont to ache.
He’d discovered his illustrious relative mysteriously absent from London’s social scene. Edwin hadn’t been seen at his favorite haunts, or his lodgings, either. He might’ve retired to the country for the winter, Broden supposed. Still, he’d like to make his kin’s acquaintance to better judge the man’s involvement in the plot to dispose of him.
Oswald hadn’t mentioned precisely when Edwin had approached him about coming into the earldom. In truth, if Broden’s cousin was responsible for the attempt on his life, he was likely shrewd enough to disappear for a time.
Oddly, Edwin wasn’t the only person to up and vanish.
Oswald hadn’t returned from his visit to Broden in Scotland.
Highly worrisome.
Oswald’s business partner, Rufus Flowerplay, as short and round as Oswald was tall and lean, was in quite a dither about his absence. He’d notified the authorities, but without any indication of foul play, there was aught they could do.
What had happened to Oswald after he departed the Toadstool Inn and Tavern?
Adding Broden’s recuperation period, Oswald had been absent for almost two months. Broden couldn’t help but suspect he might, indeed, have met with violence at the hands of the same fiend who’d tried to kill him. Everything, including motive, pointed to Edwin Archibald Wiggins McGregor.
Since Broden had left Eytone Hall, nothing suspicious had occurred to raise his concern. As far as attacks on his person, that was. Still, he wasn’t mollified into laxity. Whoever wanted him dead was still out there, biding his time.
Precisely where did Oswald fit in the puzzle?
That merited investigating.
Toward that end, Camden Kennedy had agreed to put his sleuthing skills to work, and even now, sought the whereabouts of Oswald and Edwin. A former smuggler and occasional covert agent, he was adept at slipping in and out of places without being seen. Camden also possessed an uncanny ability to procure information. Information others preferred remained hidden.
Only Bryston McPherson remained with Broden at Sommerley, much to Narcissa, Lady Montforth’s discomfiture. Like an anxious mother hen, she rushed her enthralled daughters out of his presence whenever Bryston entered the room.
What did she think?
He was going to abduct the lasses and hold them for ransom?
