Escaping Notice (4 page)

Jarvis placed the tray down and then gingerly slid the table
forward to center it between the two men. When he straightened, he
gave his master another glance but Petre impatiently dismissed
him.

“There’s tea and some of Mrs. Avery’s ginger biscuits, unless …
have you eaten?”

“No. I —”

Scrambling to his feet, Petre rang for Jarvis and gave a series
of orders before returning to his seat. “You’ll stay overnight, of
course. I’ve ordered a small tray for you.” He flipped the tails of
his jacket up as he sat, fussily adjusting his clothing before
leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Now, precisely what
happened? How did you come to be in such a state? The last I heard,
you were preparing for a ball to announce your engagement to Miss
Peyton.”

“So I was. That never came to fruition.”

“The ball? Then what …?”

“Oh, we had the ball,” Hugh replied dryly. Finishing off a
second ginger biscuit, he wiped his hands on a linen napkin and
drained his cup of tea before continuing, “Do you want the tale
from the beginning?”

“Knowing you, Lord Monnow, that would be best. At the most, it
will add a mere sentence or two.”

Hugh smiled. He’d never been one for talk. Actions showed the
true man more effectively than any sweet words.

“I never made any announcement.” Hugh stopped, debating how much
to reveal about Miss Peyton’s note. He shrugged and picked up
another biscuit. “Miss Peyton left precipitously with Lord
Greeley.”

“Lord Greeley? Why, the man’s a hardened rake and nearer fifty
than forty! Why would she do such a ridiculous thing?”

“Apparently, she craved the excitement of reforming the man. I
wish her well in her endeavors.”

“She must be mad.”

“Perhaps. Although I believe she acted from boredom. In fact, if
my memory serves me, her exact words in her note said,
‘
Being an earl does not excuse being a dead bore.
Therefore, I’ve decided to accept Lord Greeley’s offer. He, at
least, knows how to make a woman feel desired. He fills me with a
tremulous excitement you could never hope to match
….’
” He sighed and rubbed his face. “There was more along
those same lines, but I don’t believe it’s necessary to recite it
in its entirety.”

“If she’s run off with Greeley, she’ll learn soon enough where
such
excitement
can lead. If she hasn’t already.”

“Perhaps. Though I suppose anything is better than being tied
down to someone who amounts to little more than a farmer.”

“A farmer with a title,” Petre said with a touch of asperity.
“An earl, in fact. Hardly contemptible.”

“The Farmer Earl. Isn’t that what they call me? Apparently, many
women agree. In fact, most find that a title alone is insufficient
to make up for the dull man carrying it.”

Petre laughed and poured more tea. “You exaggerate. If all you
want is a lady whose sole desire is the attainment of a title, I
assure you there are scores of them in London. A season there will
prove that soon enough.”

“No doubt.” Hugh meditatively chewed the edge of another biscuit
while Petre studied him.

“So Miss Peyton left — at the ball? Did she actually run off
during the event?”

“It appears that way. In fact, I had taken a position half-way
down the grand staircase to make the announcement when one of my
footmen dashed up and handed me her note. Luckily, I hadn’t
announced
it already.” He closed his eyes, remembering the
moment. He had glanced up from her note, only to discover a sea of
faces watching him expectantly. All those eyes filled with
speculation. And in the middle of the crowd, he saw one fair-haired
woman’s deep blue gaze, soft with sympathy. A fleeting glance, no
more, but the image of her kind eyes had stayed with him.

He brushed it off despite the tug of something he could not
name.

In retrospect, Hugh could not say he regretted Miss Peyton’s
decision, although he did wish she had informed him
before
he had decided to host that damnably inconvenient ball.

Then his stomach churned with another burst of deep anger. He
dropped the half-eaten biscuit on his plate. “I went out on the
Twilight
. Two days ago.”

“I thought she was in dry dock?”

Hugh shook his head. “Was. And I inspected her myself last
Friday. She was a beauty.” He delayed mentioning his brother,
saying the words aloud.

Lionel and the
Twilight
. Both lost to the sea. And he was
responsible.

“Was?”

“The accident,” Hugh replied gently.

“Your accident was aboard the
Twilight
? I’m dreadfully
sorry. I know how you loved that boat ….”

“Aye,” Hugh breathed. “Aye, I loved her.”

“But at least you survived, though you appear to have had a
rough time of it.”

“Someone tampered with the rudder, Petre. I took the
Twilight
out Sunday afternoon. Most of our guests were busy
anyway, and I wanted to get out on the water again. A storm hit ….”
He choked and then coughed to clear the tightness in his throat.
“The helm would not respond. That bloody storm broke her back,
Petre. And —” The words splintered in his mouth.

“I’m sorry — ” Petre started to reply, before leaning forward to
grip Hugh’s forearm silently in a gesture of sympathy.

“Lionel is dead. Drowned.”

“Lionel? But how?”

“We drove to Newport together. He was going to visit the vicar
to talk about his plans for entering the church. The day was fine,
so when he learned I intended to take the
Twilight
out, he
insisted on coming with me, God help him. I believe he felt sorry
for me after Miss Peyton ran off.” Perhaps that accounted for the
strange, nervous gleam in Lionel’s eyes when he had insisted on
going with him. He obviously felt his brother would be better off
with company, than sailing alone with only his bitter thoughts.
Hugh rubbed his face, the palm of his hand rasping over his beard.
“Then the gale came. The boom broke free. It caught him on the
neck.” His fingers clutched the arms of his chair as they had
gripped Lionel’s collar. The desperate need to drag him to safety
filled Hugh again. He released his stiff fingers. It no longer
mattered – none of it did. “He fell overboard. The waves took him —
I could not keep my grip on him!”

“Dear God!” Petre stood and hurried to a small cabinet tucked
under the shelves along the south wall. When he returned, he
carried two glasses and a crystal decanter of brandy. He
half-filled the glasses and handed one to Hugh. “I’m so sorry, Lord
Monnow. What terrible news.”

“I could not keep hold of him —”

“No one could.”

“It was my fault ….”

“No. No it was a dreadful accident —”

“It was murder.”

“Murder? Why would you say such a thing?”

Hugh struggled for control over his grief-roughened voice.
“Someone sabotaged the rudder. And in the end, I could not save
him. I could only save myself.”

“No one could blame you, Lord Monnow. It’s a miracle you
survived at all.” He patted Hugh’s wrist again. “Surely it was
simply a mishap, not sabotage. It’s only your grief that makes you
say such things. Understandable.”

“There’s no other explanation for it — for the way the rudder
broke. I found a piece of it on the beach. It had been sawn nearly
in half.”

“But … but there
must
be another answer! Who would want
to murder Lionel?”

“It wasn’t meant to be Lionel. It should have been me. The boat
is mine. Everyone knew I would be taking her out, certainly some
time this week.”

Petre downed the contents of his glass and poured another,
reaching forward to refill Hugh’s tumbler as well. His brown eyes
filled with dismay. When Hugh drained his glass, Petre refilled it
with a shaking hand.

Liquor could not numb the pain.

“Do you know who?” Petre’s voice was soft, almost hesitant as if
he were suddenly afraid of Hugh and what he might say. Or do.

Hugh fought the unbearable emotions until his anguish chilled
into hard, gray granite – like the rocks that broke the ploughs in
the north country. Unyielding and implacable. “Not yet. I intend to
find out.”

“Surely it would be someone who would benefit? Your will leaves
everything to your brother, of course, but now that he is dead —
one of your cousins?”

“Perhaps. However, you forget that no-one knew Lionel would be
sailing with me. He only decided to join me after we arrived at the
dock.”

“Perhaps they meant to deal with him later.”

“Sheer speculation.”

“But what other reason could there be?”

Shrugging, Hugh twisted in his seat and rubbed one sore, itching
foot over the arch of the other. This action provided no noticeable
benefit, other than making the gash in his big toe open again.

“There must be another reason.” Hugh replied dryly. “I suppose
there are those who dislike me.”

He could not identify who, however. He had never worried over
how others perceived him. There was not time. His duty had always
been clear to him, and he had performed it. Since he had inherited
the earldom five years ago, he had increased his holdings and had
not squandered his wealth foolishly with incessant gaming or
feckless speculation. He enjoyed the responsibilities as well as
the privileges.

Perhaps he did lack élan as Miss Peyton claimed, but at least
those he employed never feared being turned out without a pension.
He shouldered his responsibilities without regret or complaint.

If someone resented the Farmer Earl, or hated him, he could not
identify him.

“What do you propose to do?” Petre asked.

“I’m going back to Ormsby.”

“I beg you to reconsider. What if they were to try again? What
if it were one of your guests?”

“Or family?” The notion was unthinkable. There were so few
members of his family left. And almost all of them were females
with nothing to gain by his death. “Since I conveniently appear to
be dead, I don’t intend to let anyone know I’m not – at least for
the moment. That alone should grant me some time and safety.”

“Stay here,” Petre begged. “Allow me to hire an investigator. I
know an agency — Second Sons — they did a splendid job for the Duke
of Peckham. Quiet and very discreet.”

Hugh considered the suggestion and then shook his head. “You did
not recognize me, did you? And you’ve known me, what, fifteen
years? Since you clerked for your father. I’m going back to Ormsby.
But as a bow to your concern, not as myself.”

“Not as yourself?”

“I’m dead, remember? You’ll send word that you’ve hired a new
servant. We have a vacancy, since old Howard went to live with his
granddaughter in Brighton. I’ll take his place.”

“You can’t! He was a groom, for God’s sake. You can’t pretend to
be a groom in your own house!”

The groom lived above the stables, not the best place from which
to launch an investigation. “Perhaps not. In fact, a position
in
the house would be better. A footman, then, or odd-job
man. Something that will let me keep a beard.” He scratched at his
chin. The bristly hairs itched and were bound to be an unattractive
annoyance, but they’d keep others from recognizing him.

“No, absolutely not. I beg your pardon, but the idea is too
risky. Let me hire an inquiry agent. You must stay here until we
find the culprit. You are only doing this out of grief.” Petre’s
perceptive look made Hugh uncomfortable. “And because of Miss
Peyton’s groundless remarks.”

“No.” He held up a hand. “However, I’ll visit this inquiry
agency and hire one of them. There are a few things I’d like them
to investigate that would prove difficult for me. I can’t be in two
places at once, after all. In the meantime, you’ll have to make up
your mind to the fact that until I tell you otherwise, I’m
deceased.”

“What about the estate? The title?”

“My advice is to avoid my relatives.” He grinned. “Tell ‘em you
can’t do anything until my body is found. That will knock some wind
out of their sails.”

After a long-suffering sigh, Petre shook his head and gave up.
“I can see you’ve made your decision, Lord Monnow.” A twisted smile
crooked his thin lips. “If Miss Peyton knew what you were about,
she would realize how foolish she was to spurn you.”

“Ah, Miss Peyton. If she had not already run off with Greeley, I
would have suspected her. She might find murder almost as exciting
as love.”

The lawyer smiled, although the expression did not lighten his
troubled eyes. “No one kills for excitement.”

“Don’t they?” He rose, rubbing his hands on his stiff breeches
before changing the subject. “In any event, I regret imposing upon
you, but if you could manage a change of clothes and some funds,
I’d appreciate it. Nothing too fancy, mind you. Just a plain jacket
and trousers suitable for a servant.”

“But Lord Monnow ….” Petre stared at him before gesturing up and
down Hugh’s tall form.

He waited, a slow smile curving his lips. “Is there some
unforeseen difficulty? Perhaps my estate has descended into such
shambles over the last two days that it can’t bear the additional
expenditures?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, it’s not the money, you know that. It’s
simply that you are, ah ….” Petre broke off, his sharp cheekbones
mottled red.

Hugh struggled to keep his smile from broadening. “I’m …
what?”

“You’re rather
large
. I doubt we have anything that could
come close to fitting you.”

“Then you will have to further impoverish my accounts by
acquiring something that will.” He placed a hand on Petre’s
shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “You will not dissuade me
with these minor matters. You may as well admit defeat. It will
save you a great deal of aggravation.”

Petre shook his head again, twisting his hands together. “Much
as I hate to disagree with a client, I cannot believe
any
of
this will avoid aggravation. Quite the contrary.”