Stroke of Midnight (28 page)

She had tried not to feel disappointed. It was only that her heart felt as tender as the rest of her body, which ached a little from the uncustomary activities of the night. She’d known not to expect a romantic honeymoon with an adoring husband always at her side. Alex wanted an heir. Theirs was a marriage of mutual convenience based on lust, not love.

Yet he had been so affectionate in bed that she had allowed herself to hope his feelings for her might run deeper than the physical. She had let herself imagine that his wedding gift of her mother’s pearls really
could
mean more than a mere token of a passionate encounter long ago. But he had spoken no words of love. And he had not even left her a note this morning.

Where had he gone?

Myriad possibilities flitted through her mind. Aristocratic husbands and wives often went their separate ways during the day. A gentleman might take a ride in the park, visit his tailor, or go to his club to read the newspapers and to discuss politics. However, Laura couldn’t help but wonder if his disappearance had something to do with her revealing the circumstances of Papa’s death. It vexed her to think that Alex might have gone to see Lord Haversham without her.

She
wanted to be there to observe the marquess’s face as he answered their questions. What if Alex didn’t probe deeply enough into the matter? He still believed her father to be the thief. Laura didn’t want this opportunity to be squandered.

For that reason, she intended to call on Lord Haversham herself.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she headed across the pale marble floor of the entrance hall. A white-wigged footman in blue livery stood on duty. At her approach, he reached a gloved hand to open the front door.

“My lady, might I have a word?” The deferential male voice came from behind her along with the echoing tap of footsteps.

She turned to see the butler approaching from a long corridor. A dignified man in a black suit, he had age-lined features and thinning gray hair. At the moment, his brows were drawn in faint worry.

Laura smiled. “Good morning, Hodge.”

He bowed. “My lady, I do beg your pardon. But I wasn’t told you would require the carriage. Shall I have it brought ’round at once?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m going for a walk.”

“But his lordship expressly bade that you not venture out alone. Might I call a footman or a maid to accompany you?”

Why would Alex issue such an order? Was he merely looking out for her comfort? Or did he think solitary strolls inappropriate to her newly exalted position?

She wouldn’t be coddled. “No, thank you. When the earl returns, pray tell him that I’ve gone to visit his aunt.”

It wasn’t precisely a lie. She
did
intend to visit Lady Josephine, but not until making a stop at Lord Haversham’s house.

The footman opened the door, and Laura escaped out onto the portico where she paused to absorb the surroundings. Copley House faced Hyde Park, and a good deal of traffic moved up and down the busy thoroughfare. Cabs and drays jockeyed for position with fine carriages and coaches. A stout gentleman on horseback was likely heading into the park to exercise his mount on the long dirt road known as Rotten Row, which later in the afternoon would be crammed with aristocratic vehicles.

The fine June morning already had attracted a fair number of people into the vast park. She could see them through the iron fence strolling among the leafy green trees, nannies with their young charges, groups of ladies, and courting couples. On the street side of the fence, pedestrians streamed back and forth along the foot pavement, tradesmen and workmen, housewives carrying parcels or shopping baskets.

Laura was about to step down from the portico when she noticed a man lounging against a lamppost directly across the broad avenue. An odd familiarity about his stocky form caught her attention. Her skin prickled with uneasiness. She shaded her eyes to discern his features. Although his cap was pulled down low on his forehead, she could see that he had muttonchop whiskers and the bulky build of a pugilist.

He appeared to be staring straight back at her.

Recognition jarred Laura. He bore an uncanny resemblance to the police officer who had escorted her to Papa’s grave site, then chased her through the slums.

Her heart banged against her ribs. Alarmed, she didn’t stop to think. She spun around and pushed open the heavy door to return to the safety of Copley House.

Hodge and the footman were speaking in the entrance hall. Both servants turned startled faces toward her, the footman springing forward to help her with the door.

The butler hastened to her with a solicitous expression on his aging features. “My lady? Is aught amiss?”

Realizing how unorthodox her action must appear, Laura feigned a smile. “Of course not. It’s … warmer outside than I’d realized. I do believe I
shall
take the carriage, after all.”

“Excellent. I’ll order it at once.”

As the butler started toward the back of the house, Laura veered straight into the library. It took all of her self-control to walk with measured, ladylike steps so she didn’t appear unhinged.

Had Constable Pangborn heard that Martin Falkner’s daughter had married the Earl of Copley? Had the man stationed himself across the street to spy on Laura in the hope of catching her alone? Perhaps he believed she could lead him to the Blue Moon diamond. He might be hoping to collect a substantial monetary award for its recovery.

Shaken to the core, Laura took little notice of the pleasant chocolate-and-cream decor of the library, the comfortable groupings of chairs, and the tall bookshelves along the walls. Going to one of the windows that overlooked the street, she peered outside, being careful to stand back from the glass so she couldn’t be visible to him.

No one stood by the lamppost. She hastily scanned the throngs of people hurrying in both directions, looking for a brawny man in a flat cap. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Constable Pangborn had vanished.

*   *   *

By the time the carriage had gone the short distance to Berkeley Square, Laura had convinced herself that she was mistaken. The man she’d spotted must have been only a common laborer stopping to rest for a moment. That burly build and whiskered face could belong to a thousand workers in London.

Perhaps her error was only natural considering that she’d just told Alex about her father’s possible murder. Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Alex, the incident at the cemetery with Constable Pangborn had been in her thoughts. But her fears today surely were groundless, based on nothing more than a passing similarity.

Better she should turn her mind to Lord Haversham. She must not be rattled during the impending interview of him.

The carriage stopped and a footman opened the door. After bidding the coachman to wait, Laura headed toward the gray stone residence with the iron railing across the lower front. How different her situation was compared with just a week ago when she had walked Charlie past this house. Her new status as countess allowed her the right to approach Haversham without fear of overstepping her position.

She reminded herself of the questions that needed answering. Questions that Alex wouldn’t think to ask since he didn’t know the history of the feud.

Had he even come here this morning? She soon would find out.

Her gloved fingers curling around the brass knocker, she collected her nerve and rapped hard. The hollow echo resounded inside the house. In a moment the door opened to a hound-faced butler with drooping jowls who looked at her inquiringly.

“Good morning,” she said. “I’m here to see Lord Haversham.”

“I am afraid the marquess is not at home. If you would care to leave your card…”

Laura owned no calling cards as yet. Not that she would have offered one, anyway. Better his lordship not learn her name until they were face-to-face or he might refuse to receive her. “He won’t know me by my married name,” she hedged. “I’m the daughter of an old acquaintance of his. Pray tell, when will he return?”

“Possibly by the end of next week.”

“Next week!” Laura’s heart dropped in dismay. “Why, where has he gone?”

The butler frowned as if he found her question presumptuous. “To Lincolnshire, ma’am. You may return here on Saturday next.”

He started to close the door, but Laura put her hand out to stop him. “Please, might I come in for just a moment?”

His lips pursed, but no well-bred servant would dare to refuse the request of a lady. The man stepped aside to allow her to enter.

She found herself in a dim-lit, echoing hall with a black-and-white-checkerboard floor and a broad staircase. Several doors stood open along the corridor to reveal a library on one side and an antechamber for visitors on the other.

A pang squeezed her breast. Had Papa waited there all those weeks ago? Had he stood in that very room and planned what to say to Lord Haversham? Had their quarrel been overheard by any of the servants?

The butler cleared his throat.

Recalling her purpose, Laura opened her beaded reticule and drew out a paper, which she unfolded and handed to him. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, “I should like to know if this man has ever called on his lordship.”

He barely glanced at the meticulously detailed sketch she had drawn of her father’s face. “I fear I cannot recall every person who has ever come to this establishment.”

“It would have been about six to eight weeks ago,” she persisted. “Please, it’s very important that I know.”

The butler looked again and then shook his head. “I’ve never seen the fellow.”

“Would there have been a footman on duty? Might I also show him this sketch? I’d be very grateful for any help you can give me.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to save your questions for his lordship’s return, ma’am. Now, if that is all…”

Frustrated, Laura stood her ground. She didn’t want to leave knowing no more than she had upon her arrival. Someone in this household
had
to have let Papa in to see the marquess. “Surely it won’t take but a moment to—”

“Whatever is going on out here?” A slender lady in a pale yellow gown stepped into the open doorway halfway down the passageway. “Corwyn, do tell her that my father is away.”

Laura stiffened. The gloominess of the hall and her elegant new attire must have concealed her identity from Evelyn. Having little wish to tangle with the woman, Laura considered escaping out the door with no one the wiser. But this opportunity must not be squandered.

She quickly folded the drawing and slipped it back into her reticule. Then she stepped around the butler and glided forward, her chin held high as befitting a countess. “Good morning, Evelyn. What a pleasure to see you.”

Those topaz eyes widened. The flash of recognition there held a resentful awareness of Laura’s newly elevated stature. Gossip about the Earl of Copley’s reckless betrothal and marriage must have lit the ton on fire these past few days.

Evelyn pruned her lips. “Laura Falkner. How dare you set foot in this house.”

“You surely know that as of yesterday, I am Lady Copley,” Laura said coolly. “I would appreciate a moment of your time—in private.”

Evelyn’s delicate features twisted before she mastered herself. She glanced at the butler, who hovered nearby like an attack dog prepared to strike. “You may go, Corwyn. I’ll see her here.”

With that, the duchess turned on her heel with a flick of her stylish skirts and marched back through the doorway. Laura followed, finding herself in a study designed for a man. Burgundy draperies hung at the windows, and a pair of comfortable chairs were positioned by a fireplace. Instead of sitting there, however, Evelyn went to the mahogany desk that dominated the room and took a seat behind it.

Laura lowered herself to one of the straight-backed chairs facing the desk. The cushion was so hard and uncomfortable, she could only think it had been designed for recalcitrant employees who had been called onto the carpet by the master.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I confess to being surprised to find you here, Evelyn. Do you live with your father, then? One would assume the Duchess of Cliffington would have her own place of residence.”

An indignant flush touched Evelyn’s fair skin. “Being shunned from society for so long, you wouldn’t be familiar with the best homes in Mayfair. I live with my young son, the duke, at Cliffington House in Hanover Square. My father merely asked me to come and write regrets to some invitations.”

A stack of note cards lay on the desk, along with a quill pen that looked as if it had been flung down in haste. Laura pondered the sight. Was she wrong to think it odd that his departure from London coincided with her identity being exposed to society? “Was he called out of town unexpectedly, then?”

“My grandmama is ill—not that it is any concern of yours.” Evelyn sent a hard stare across the desk. “Why did you come here? What business can
you
possibly have with my father?”

Laura knew that whatever she said would be relayed to the marquess. She needed to throw out bait that would lure him back to London—even if she had to make it up on the spot. “As you may recall, he once knew my father. I thought the marquess might be interested to hear the contents of a letter I found among my father’s effects.”

Evelyn gave a disbelieving laugh. “Why would he care about any correspondence from a common thief?”

“He will,” Laura fibbed, “because there is information about him in the letter.”

There, let Haversham wonder if Papa had recorded all the dirty details of Haversham’s involvement in the jewel theft. Haversham would then be anxious to seek out Laura and discover exactly how much she knew.

“How absurd of you to imply that
my
father had any connection whatsoever to yours,” Evelyn snapped. “There’s gossip that Martin Falkner is dead—and good riddance, I say. Though it’s a pity he did not rot in prison for his crime!”

Laura’s muscles went rigid. Never in her life had she been so tempted to scratch out someone’s eyes. Holding tightly to her composure, she rose to her feet. “Things are not always as they seem,” she said tightly. “I believe the marquess knows that.”