A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (52 page)

She stared at him. “What?”

“I had a new thought yesterday. I wrote to your brother about it but haven’t yet received his response, but I think Sellerby killed Vance.”

“
What?
No, no. Vance was a big brute of a man. It’s impossible.”

“Not with poison.”

Georgia listened to a story bizarre enough for Mr. Walpole, author of
The Castle of Otranto
. She put a hand to her head. “I think I must have fallen into a fevered dream.”

“Into a web of evil,” Dracy said steadily, “but we will keep you safe. I will stay close, and you must be suspicious of any unusual food or drink.”

“Suspicious…You think Sellerby would try to poison me? But why? He wants to marry me!”

“He may have tipped beyond reason. I don’t think it’s likely, but it’s best to be aware. If a box of sweetmeats or some sweet cordial arrives as a gift, don’t sample it.”

“Lud! I’ve heard of whole families killed by rat poison in a stew instead of salt.”

“Calm, calm. Torrismonde is aware, and any items that arrive will go first to him or me.”

“This seems…it truly does seem fit for the theater.”

“Evil is unfortunately real. Sellerby has paid for one
man to be killed and poisoned another. He might have killed his valet himself.”

“Killed Gaspard?”

“His murder seems too convenient.”

“But Sellerby was distraught. He truly was.”

“Possibly over having to commit violence. Or just from losing a highly skilled valet. He said that to me.”

Georgia sat on a wooden bench, feeling slightly faint. “How do we stop him before he hurts anyone else? Dracy—the supposed betrothal. You might be a target.”

“Then I’ll stay here, safely with you.”

He was teasing her, but Georgia stared at him, cold with dread. She rose and gripped his arm. “That attack. That was Sellerby too!”

“What?”

“After Mirabelle’s! You said the linkboy had led you.…Sellerby paid them to kill you!”

“By heaven…He heard about the false betrothal, then I confirmed it. I always thought that attack odd, that the ruffians struck to kill rather than steal.”

She thrust away from him. “
See?
You could have died that night, and all because of me! Keep away from me, Dracy. Return to Devon and to safety. Forget all about me!”

She turned and fled back to the house.

Chapter 33

D
racy watched her run away, sick with despair. If only he’d thought of that for himself, he might have prepared some defense, some rationalization.

He followed her back to the house, seeking some way to overcome this new barrier, but also urgent to send a new message to Perriam. Perriam wouldn’t be caught in such a foolish trap, but he needed to be constantly on guard.

At least Georgia would be on guard against poison. He hadn’t mentioned abduction, however, which might be Sellerby’s next move.

He halted and then walked around to the stables, where the Perriam men were housed, and spoke to them.

“You’re to take turns in patrolling around the house and keep an eye open for any strangers, day and night.”

The men masked any surprise. “Very well, sir.”

Dracy wished he could bring in an army to encircle the house, but he was being extreme. Sellerby was in London and now knew he was suspected of the forgery. He wouldn’t act hastily, for he was a cold sort of madman, full of cunning.

In time, Dracy was going to have to talk to Georgia again, to discuss many aspects of this and try to bring her to reason, but for now, he’d leave her be.

He wrote the letter to Perriam and sent it off with a groom, then faced the day. He couldn’t bear to stay under the same roof as Georgia, knowing her to be in such pain. He might as well take up Torrismonde’s offer to tour the estate and learn more about land management. With or without Georgia, he’d soon have to return to Dracy and do his duty by the place.

Georgia huddled in the coverlet on the bed, wanting only to be alone, but Lizzie found her there and insisted on being told all.

“Upsetting,” she agreed, “but only more proof of Sellerby’s vileness. Once he’s dealt with, all will be well.”

“But Dracy could have died!”

“Yet is alive and well. He must have come close to death many times and avoided it, so perhaps he’s particularly fortunate.”

“Not to have met me.”

Lizzie gave her a look, and Georgia sighed.

“Oh, very well. I couldn’t bear that, but it seems I can’t fly in alt forever.”

“Thus, you might as well enjoy this lovely day. Come with me to visit the children, and then I’ll drag you around my daily tasks. There’s nothing like work to settle us.”

She wouldn’t be refused, and by dinnertime Georgia accepted that she was feeling more herself, entirely because of her surroundings.

She’d visited Brookhaven only once before, at Christmas, with Dickon. It had been delightful, but the house had been full of family and friends and awhirl with entertainments. The gardens and the estate had been mostly gray, without even snow to enchant them.

This visit was different. Outside, everything was deliciously fresh and alive, and inside the house was tranquil. Harmony breathed from the mellow wood and worn furnishings, and from the gentle blend of fresh air and indoor herbs.

In her own homes Georgia had delighted in the new and elegant, and Herne had been done over in that Italian style thirty years ago. Brookhaven had simply been cared for over the generations and had developed a patina of comfort.

A new pattern for country life took shape for her, a pattern that might even be possible at a place like Dracy Manor. Could she be content with it, however, year in, year out? Her misadventures in the fashionable world had left a sour taste. She’d miss a great deal about it, but she might welcome something close to Lizzie’s life.

As they strolled down from the nurseries toward the dining room, Lizzie asked, “Better now?”

“Better, but guilty about that. I felt so vile and knew I deserved to. I’m not sure I should allow ease.”

“And who is served by your misery?”

“I’m sure there’s some biblical requirement for sinners to suffer.”

“You’ve committed no sin.”

“I’m sure I have, but I don’t seem to be able to suffer as I should. I fear I’m a shallow creature.”

“Simply practical. Despite Lady May, you are a very practical person. It’s why we’re friends.”

“And I give thanks for it.” Georgia paused on the landing. “Lizzie, I must tell you something, even if I disgust you.”

“You never could.”

“I’m not so sure. I want Sellerby dead. I truly do. No Christian forgiveness or turning the other cheek. I want to dance on his grave.”

Lizzie did look shocked but said, “If he’d arranged for Henry to be killed, I think I might feel the same.”

Georgia hugged her. “Thank you! For understanding. I forbade Perry from calling him out, but now I dither even about that. Dracy suggested that he might kill himself.”

“That would be a very good thing.”

“Lizzie, I’m shocked!”

“I’m
a little shocked myself, but I’ve never encountered such evil. He needs to be stopped, and why should his blood be on anyone else’s hands? What’s more, he’d be buried in an unhallowed grave and burn in hell.” She nodded. “We’ll pray for that.”

Georgia gasped, but it became a giggle. “Oh, Lizzie, thank heaven for you.”

The men hadn’t come home, so they dined in Lizzie’s boudoir.

“They’ll be eating at a farmhouse somewhere and enjoying it mightily.”

Georgia told Lizzie about the pie house, and somehow she spent the whole dinner relating the various adventures she’d enjoyed with Dracy.

But not all of them. She couldn’t share the nighttime ones.

Perhaps one.

She recounted Dracy coming home drunk and wounded, making light of the wounds, for in truth there’d been nothing to them. She confessed to returning to his bedchamber and finding him in his nightshirt.

“Really, Georgia, that wasn’t good of you,” Lizzie said, but she was amused. In fact, she was smiling at the evidence of Georgia’s feelings for Dracy, and Georgia couldn’t fight it at the moment.

“He has very fine feet,” Georgia said and, to her amazement, blushed.

“Perhaps you should write a poem to them,” Lizzie said, lips twitching.

“His name is Humphrey. Don’t use it, though.”

“I’m sure it was a very noble name in the middle ages.”

Georgia almost spilled his amorous career, but thank goodness she didn’t, for he came in with Torrismonde, both looking hearty from fresh air and simple food.

“I
returned to find a letter arrived from your brother.” He made sure the door was shut and said, “He had little trouble in finding someone who remembered a corpse that was probably Vance.”

“Dracy! I didn’t tell Lizzie about that.”

“Then my apologies, Lady Torrismonde.”

“No, no,” Lizzie said, bemused. “Sir Charnley Vance is dead?”

Torrismonde said, “I think I should explain this new matter to you, my love.”

“Indeed,” said Dracy and tilted his head, sending Georgia the clear message that she should leave with him.

“What?” she asked quietly when they were in the corridor. “Why is it a secret?”

He grinned. “There’s a detail. Back to the breakfast room, I suppose.”

“Oh, don’t be foolish. This is my room. Come on.” She led the way into the room and then shut the door when he was in. “Now, tell me, and don’t frown at me. I trust you not to leap on me.”

“I was worried about my virtue, as it happens,” he said, but with a twinkle in his eye. “Very well, the delicate matter is how Perry could find out about an unidentified corpse a year old. Charnley Vance was rather monstrous in his manhood.”

She frowned. “Rather…Oh, you mean his enormous cock! Dickon told me about that, and there were some cartoons. In one it was a flagpole.”

He leaned back against the door, shaking his head. “You’re the most well-informed innocent in the world.”

“I’m not an innocent.”

He smiled. “You’re not as innocent as you were. No.” He pushed straight. “None of that. From what your brother says, the corpse was fished out of the river four days after the duel, dressed in shirt and breeches. A bag of stones had been tied around the waist, but the corpse
had eventually been stranded by a low tide. It was assumed to be a suicide. People do that sometimes. Add weights so they will drown quickly.”

“How horrible to be so despairing.”

“Of course no one looked for murder, and I doubt there would be any sign of poison after that time. In view of the suicide, he was buried in an unmarked spot in unhallowed ground.”

“So we have our proof,” Georgia said, “but not enough for a murder trial.”

“No. It would be easy for a lawyer to argue that Vance was so overcome by having killed your husband that he took his own life. It gives us greater certainty, however.”

“What happens now?”

“Given the lack of hard evidence, your brother proposes another forgery. Another letter written by Vance, but this time entrusted to someone before the duel. If anything were to happen to him, it was to be delivered to the Chief Justice, and of course it contains a description of the plot.”

Georgia was staring at him. “That’s…that’s…
wicked
. But wonderful. Hoist with his own petard! If word spreads that Vance is dead…Wait, wait! The letter isn’t real.”

“It is now. Vance gives someone—let’s call him Hermes—the letter. Vance disappears after the duel, but Hermes assumes he’s fled abroad. Today, with all the world gossiping about the possibility that Vance died, Hermes decides he must act on the letter. He—in this case your brother—sends the letter anonymously to Lord Mansfield, the Chief Justice.”