Murder in Grosvenor Square (5 page)

I bit back annoyance and nudged my horse to a faster pace. I decided to show Travers a few cavalry moves, to wipe the smug grin off his face, which it did. He left the park breathing hard and subdued, but he lifted his hand in a good-natured wave as he went. I shook my head and got on with my ride.

*

I put the matter aside as I went about my business of the day, but I’d keep my word to Travers and talk Leland out of his temper. I was curious about the long-standing disagreement, but I would not pry. I’d do what I could to heal the rift and then let the two make it up on their own.

I had no time to pay a call on Leland that day, however, and that evening, Grenville hosted one of his popular soirees, which I attended with Donata. Grenville’s fine house was full to bursting, with the top of society crushed into every corner. Donata was at her element here, her slim body garbed in a shimmering blue-gray silk with gathered cap sleeves on her shoulders, loops of applique that ran down the skirt from the high waist, and a pattern of appliqued and embroidered leaves around the hem. Gloves skimmed up over her elbows, and a single peacock feather adorned her hair, defeating the overly garish headdresses other ladies had worn in imitation of Donata’s usual ones.

My wife was a lovely woman, and I felt a pride in her as she paraded in, head high, to be surrounded by friends and admirers. I, merely the husband, drifted away to amuse myself while she held court.

Grenville had provided a card room where gentlemen were busy gambling for fortunes. I enjoyed cards and other games, but I had no wish to accidentally lose Donata’s house, or her son’s horses, or the services of Bartholomew, or something equally foolish by the wrong turn of a card. The gentlemen at these tables were worse than any sharps in a gaming hell.

I did what I usually did at Grenville’s soirees, spoke to my circle of acquaintance for a time then turned my steps to his upstairs sitting room, my refuge.

I liked Grenville’s private retreat, which held spoils of his travels—gold trinkets from Egypt, ivory from the Orient, carpets and a silk tent from the deserts of Africa, wooden carvings from the Americas. The scents of sandalwood and tobacco, beeswax and old paper hung in layers in the air. A man could journey around the world in Grenville’s sitting room, from the Japans to the Ottoman Empire, from the heat of Africa to the strange jungles in South America. Grenville stored his most precious books in this room, rarities that other collectors envied. He also purchased modern books, and I looked forward to an evening with the latest volume of the
Description de L’Egypte
.

I made my way to the
Description’s
special bookshelf, a carousel case with wide horizontal shelves ready to hold each volume when completed, when I heard sniffling. I turned to a shadowy corner, and beheld Leland Derwent seated on a leopard-skin and ebony chair, his elegant leather shoes planted next to the chair’s gilded claw and ball feet.

Leland had fair hair, cut short in the back with long waves on top, the height of fashion—Grenville wore his hair thus. Leland had thin side whiskers, but his hair and skin were both so pale that the whiskers faded into his face. He wore a suit of black superfine with an ivory waistcoat, his coat’s cut almost an exact imitation of Grenville’s tonight, but not quite. To wear the
exact
suit would never do. The diamond in Leland’s cravat pin, I knew, was quite real.

As I debated whether to give Leland my speech now or steal away and leave him to his sorrow, he looked up and saw me. “Captain. Good evening.” He removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and unashamedly wiped his eyes. “No, please, do not go. I would like not to be alone at the moment.”

Leland was in obvious distress, and in spite of my discomfort with weeping young men, he stirred my compassion. I kept my voice gentle as I answered. “You sought out this room, I presume, to be alone.”

“I
thought
I wanted to be,” Leland said, wiping his eyes again before stuffing the handkerchief carelessly into his pocket. “But I would prefer your company, sir. Please stay. I wish to speak to you.”

I hobbled to a chair near his and seated myself, stretching out my leg, which was growing sore. I propped the walking stick on the chair’s side. “What’s this all about then, Leland? Your argument with Travers? Your anger that I did not choose you to second me on Lady Day?”

Leland looked startled, his gray eyes, as clear as the diamond in his cravat, widening. “You know?”

“I had the pleasure of riding with Mr. Travers this morning.” I stifled a groan as the back of my knee unlocked, and I decided to dive into the heart of the problem. “Leland, my friend, I did not ask you to second me, because if I’d killed Stubbins, as I’d half a mind to, I’d have been arrested, and you would have gone to Newgate along with me.”

“I would have been honored to,” Leland said, his chin up.

“Honored to spend the night at Bow Street nick? Or wherever the Runners dragged you? To stand in front of the magistrate in the morning? To be sent to a lovely room in Newgate prison to await trial? What would it do to your father to have a son hanged or imprisoned as an accessory to a murder?”

Leland’s mouth hung open, showing moist redness against white teeth. “Would it have come to that? A duel is an affair of honor.”

“Not if I’d killed him. That would have been manslaughter at the very least. Mr. Spendlove would have sped you to the magistrates with glee. He very nearly took me there on the spot, and I’d only grazed Stubbins’ arm. I was protecting you, lad.”

Leland blinked a few times before he gave me a faint smile. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

No, he hadn’t, and my scenario was extreme, but possible. Spendlove disliked me, and he’d happily humiliate and discommode my friends in order to teach me who had the upper hand. “Stay home and keep out of duels,” I said, hoping I sounded enough like a headmaster.

“You asked Gareth to be your second,” Leland pointed out. “And Mr. Grenville. You did not think to protect them?”

“Mr. Travers is of different mettle,” I answered, choosing my words carefully. “And I have no control over Grenville.”

Leland pondered all this a moment. “I do see, I suppose. Gareth does have more nerve than I do—in fact, he can be a bit … reckless.”

“Good,” I said. “Make it up with him, then, won’t you?”

“Oh, no.” Leland’s mouth set in determination. “Mr. Travers and I are finished.”

I rose and moved to a marble-topped console table whose gilded legs had been carved into the shape of fantastical sea creatures. I lifted the brandy decanter that rested there and poured a substantial measure into a waiting glass. “Why?” I asked. “Do not toss away a friendship for so trivial a disagreement.”

“It was not trivial, Captain.”

I turned to find that Leland had left the chair and now stood at my elbow, his expression fierce. I thought to politely offer him a brandy as well, then remembered his family practiced abstinence from strong drink. Good wines were fine, but no spirits.

“No?” I asked.

“No.” Leland’s eyes held deep anger. “Mr. Travers has made it plain that he is tired of me and wants the company of someone more worldly. A man like you. So he said.”

“Leland.” I set down the decanter and glass, though I longed to toss the brandy down my throat. “It is not unusual, as you grow older, to seek out new friends. Travers has been a bit rude to you, I agree, but I would not fret about it. He’ll come around.”

I tried to sound reassuring, but Leland shook his head. “I am not being clear, Captain. Gareth did not mean he would look for a friend in a man similar to you. He meant you specifically.
You
are his new confidant, the one he will turn to now, not me.”

Oh, Good God. I thought of Travers hailing me in the park this morning, appearing at an hour when I’d never seen him before. He’d sought me out on the Strand last week, then looked stunned but pleased when I’d asked him to second me. I truly wanted the drink.

I’d observed such occurrences in the army—I’d seen, time and again, younger lads develop a hero-worshiping interest in competent officers or good sergeants. The interest usually faded in time, or else either the lad or hero was killed in battle. Not pleasant memories.

“I am flattered,” I said—more because it was the polite thing to say than because I, indeed, felt flattered. “But I am far too busy these days to cultivate a new friendship. Travers will tire of the idea, turn to you again, and all will be well.”

“No,” Leland said with more emphasis, and even triumph. “I am at the end with Gareth Travers. I told him you’d want nothing to do with him.”

I held on to my patience. “I didn’t mean it quite like that, Leland …”

“Gareth is a fool,” Leland said. “You have always been my friend, always understanding. Always there for me.” He reached out and clasped my hand. “I told Gareth, in a way he would not mistake, that
I
had met you first.”

I stared, nonplussed, at Leland’s soft but determined face. I was a very slow thinker, in many ways, and I could not fathom how I had become the bone of contention between two lads who’d been friends since they’d been mites at school.

That is, I was slow, until Leland caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. The scales, as they say, fell from my eyes, and the world became crystal clear.

Chapter Five

“Leland,” I said sharply.

Leland’s thumb drifted across the sensitive skin on the back of my hand, a gentle contact, tender even. He dropped his gaze to where he touched me.

My ideas of his innocence evaporated like boiling mist under sunshine. Here, in Grenville’s private sanctuary, I was confronted with the truth.

“You have always been kind to me, Captain,” Leland was saying. “Not disparaging, like so many.” He gave me a shy look from under his lashes. “Gareth told me the tale you gave him—of the two soldiers.”

I couldn’t breathe under the bath of cold water he’d just thrown on me. “Two soldiers?”

“Who were lovers,” Leland said. “And did better in battle for that. He told me how you admired them.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

I closed a hard grip over Leland’s fingers and firmly moved his hand from mine. “Leland,” I said clearly. “You are mistaken.”

He stared at me, confusion in his young eyes. “But … Gareth said …”

“Then
Mr. Travers
was mistaken.”

Leland’s confusion grew, his pupils narrowing to black dots of panic. His chest rose with a harsh breath, and his face suffused with red. “He told me … He told me …” He began to gasp.

“Sit down,” I said, my voice firming.

Leland’s breath grew wheezing, but he didn’t obey. I seized him and marched him back to the leopard chair, pushing him down into it. Leland clutched the gilt and ebony arms, his breathing rapid and clogged. I returned to the console table and poured another brandy.

Leland didn’t want to take the glass, but I waved it under his nose until the brandy’s fumes made him jump. He seized the goblet then and drank down its contents in desperation. His gasping quieted, but his face remained blotchy red.

While I waited for him to calm, I thought back over my two-year acquaintanceship with Leland and Gareth Travers, and saw things in a different light.

Leland and Travers, inseparable. Travers dressing far beyond his means, likely funded in whole by Leland, as Donata had speculated. Grenville had once told me of rumors of more than friendship between the two young men, but I hadn’t paid much attention. Such things were often said about gentlemen who were close friends—I imagined people said them about Grenville and me. But in the case of Travers and Leland, the whispers appeared to be true.

Leland coughed, choking on the liquid. Then he swallowed, his throat cleared, and he took a long breath.

I slid the empty glass from his slack fingers. “Better?”

Leland looked up at me, eyes wide, but his pupils had begun to spread darkness through the gray. “Gareth told me … He told me you were lovers. I was so
angry
. And he laughed.”

“I assure you, Leland,” I said in a hard voice, “that is not the case.”

“But he described it. In great detail. He said—”

I held up my hand, stopping him before I could hear anything discomfiting. I would need to have a few choice words with Mr. Travers, and I hoped to God he hadn’t related his tale to anyone else. Teasing Leland was one thing; spreading it about that I was a molly would be something else entirely.

“Leland, I am
married,
” I said. “You know my wife well. Why would you believe him?”

“Many of … us … marry,” Leland said. “Have to, don’t we? It’s our duty.”

“A bit hard on your lady wife, wouldn’t you say?”

He looked puzzled. “Her duty too, Captain. Most marriages are thus.”

I could not argue. Upper-class marriages were made to fund an estate, to bolster a family with good connections, to hang more heirs on the family tree. Cousins married, pairing the daughter of the house to the male heir so she’d not be tossed aside when the heir inherited her father’s estate. Marriage became a business transaction, not a love affair.

The son of Sir Gideon Derwent, the extremely wealthy philanthropist, would be a catch for any young woman. Leland would marry the lady who snared him, siring children with her as he needed to.

Indeed, I’d been thinking of pairing him with
my
daughter. Thank heavens for Donata’s percipience. I wondered if she knew of Gareth and Leland’s affair. If so, she had let me babble on like an absolute fool.

“Put this idea out of your head,” I said. “I have never shown Mr. Travers or any other gentleman the slightest interest. I married for esteem, not convenience—you slight Lady Breckenridge if you believe otherwise.”

Leland’s flush deepened. “Forgive me. I had no wish to offend her.” He hadn’t, I could see. Hadn’t realized he would. Many gentlemen married for pedigree and took mistresses for love—why should Leland think me any different?

He took another breath and looked around, blinking, like a man waking. Leland seemed to realize that he’d been sitting in Grenville’s private room, spilling out his deepest secrets to a man he’d assumed would be of like mind. His anguish and embarrassment grew.