Sweet Enemy (24 page)

“Now, see here,” Mrs. Witherspoon sputtered. “I thank you for what you’ve done, but—”

“Calm yourself, Martha,” Mr. Witherspoon said, laying a skeletal hand on his wife’s plump shoulder. “For years now we’ve listened to that old quack, yet after only a day under this young lady’s care, I feel better than I have in remembrance. Why, I even feel up to some of your wonderful cabbage soup.” Mr. Witherspoon gave
his wife a reassuring pat. “I think we should take her advice.”

Liliana waited in the silence, keeping her gaze on the couple. Their obvious love and concern for each other touched an empty place inside of her.

“I agree,” came Geoffrey’s voice, quite startling Liliana. “I’ve known Miss Claremont to be most capable. I would trust her with my own well-being.”

Liliana turned to look at him, pleasure at his words and guilt at their sentiment warring within her. She’d never once considered his well-being in her machinations, and yet the conviction in his voice indicated he meant his words. Despite the pangs of remorse that twinged within her, gratification overrode all. It lightened the emptiness and at the same time agitated her. Since when did one person’s opinion, other than her father’s when he was alive, have the power to move her emotions? Nothing about this could be good.

“See, my dear,” Mr. Witherspoon soothed. “Even the earl trusts Miss Claremont.” He looked between Geoffrey and Liliana again, eyes squinted slightly. “We can do no less.”

A dubious look crossed Mrs. Witherspoon’s face, but she gave a stilted nod. “Let’s get you situated, Harold, dear. Then I’ll see to taking down the drapes.”

“Nonsense,” Geoffrey said, stepping forward. “You’ll feel better if you stay with your husband. With the assistance of your maid, I can see to opening up the cottage.”

Both Witherspoons turned, looks of horror on their faces and denials spewing from their lips.

Geoffrey cut them off with a raised hand. “I insist.” He turned his commanding look upon Liliana. “Will you see them settled outside, Miss Claremont?”

“Of course,” she said slowly, nearly in as much shock as the Witherspoons. No man of quality she knew would deign to do manual labor in service to a servant. A retired servant at that. Liliana felt a softening sensation,
somewhere in her chest, that she attempted to ignore. She moved to Mr. Witherspoon’s side and assisted Mrs. Witherspoon in maneuvering him to the courtyard.

After he was seated comfortably, Liliana asked, “Are you chilled? I could fetch a blanket for your lap.”

Mrs. Witherspoon waved her offer aside. “I shall fetch one,” she said, bustling into the house and leaving Liliana at last alone with the former valet. Now was her chance.

But Mr. Witherspoon closed his eyes, lifting his face to the sun and resting the back of his head on the chair. He inhaled a deep breath, and a rickety smile crossed his face. Liliana found she couldn’t interrupt his obvious pleasure. Goodness knows when he was last allowed outside.

Instead, she turned her gaze to the rustling drapes through the parlor window. The fabric shifted, tightened and then disappeared altogether, leaving Liliana with a clear view of the Earl of Stratford shaking out drapery and chatting amiably with a blushing maid of all work. Who could blame the girl? It must be surreal for her to be working hand in hand with a Lord of the Realm.

Liliana watched as Geoffrey deftly folded the drape and moved on to another. Who was this man? He certainly wasn’t at all who she’d expected him to be, and if that were the case, would he even—

“He’s chosen well,” came Mr. Witherspoon’s weathered voice.

Liliana jumped in her seat, snapping around to look at the old man. He was still resting his head against the back of the chair, but his eyes were open and he regarded her closely.

“We’d all heard that a bunch of fine ladies had descended upon the manor. Everyone speculated the earl had finally decided to take a bride,” Mr. Witherspoon continued. “I’m only glad to see he’s chosen a bride of such quality. Not like his father did, poor man.”

Of course he would make such an assumption, considering
that as far as they knew, she and Geoffrey had appeared on their doorstep together. Why else would Geoffrey bring her to pay a call if they weren’t affianced? Liliana opened her mouth to correct the man, heat touching her cheeks. But she stopped just short of issuing the denial. Something in Witherspoon’s tone made her hold her tongue. She might as well take this conversation as far as it would go. There would be enough time to correct his misassumption.

“The late earl was not happy in his marriage?” she asked.

“Ha!” the old man huffed, which sent him into a fit of coughs. When he regained control, he sat up straight and leaned toward Liliana, who sat directly across from him.

“The earl and countess detested each other,” he said. “Spent as much time apart as physically possible. She ran off to London every chance she got, while the old earl enjoyed the peace and solitude of the country. Only went up to Town for meetings of that Society of his.”

“Society?” Liliana asked. Certainly Edmund Wentworth had never been a member of the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge, as her father had been. She’d memorized every bit of the Royal Society’s history in her so far unsuccessful bid to be the first woman admitted.

“Oh,” Mr. Witherspoon raised a hand and gestured side to side. “Antiqui-something. My lord loved anything to do with history, particularly history of far-off places.”

“The Royal Society of Antiquaries,” Liliana murmured. She couldn’t remember her father ever having any dealings with that group.

“That’s the one,” Mr. Witherspoon confirmed.

Well, that explained the Egyptian influence in the music room. Still, it brought her no closer to establishing a link between the late earl and her father.

“Anyway, the countess thought the earl was an old fool. Couldn’t understand his interest in anything but her. Course, it wasn’t like she was the least bit interested in
him. Only thing that woman loved, if you could call it that, was that firstborn son of hers. Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but that boy was nothing but trouble. As for the current earl, I won’t go into how the countess treated him. Only one that cared a whit for that boy was his father.”

“Harold!” Mrs. Witherspoon whispered in a harsh voice as she came into the courtyard bearing a lap blanket.

“Now, Martha, dear,” Mr. Witherspoon said, slowly sitting back in his chair. “I’ve got one foot in the grave, and we both know it. What can that old witch do to me now? Besides, if my healing angel here is going to marry Stratford, she deserves to know what she’s getting for a mother-in-law.”

Liliana couldn’t bring herself to correct him yet. Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck. There was something else he wanted to tell her—she was sure of it.

Mrs. Witherspoon frowned, settling the blanket around her husband’s legs. “It’s none of our business,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to where Geoffrey was still working in the parlor, but didn’t gainsay her husband further.

When she had him all tucked in, Mr. Witherspoon gave his wife an affectionate smile. “I think my appetite is returning, dearest. Might you fetch me some of your soup and a piece of bread?”

Mrs. Witherspoon gave him a wary look but obeyed, going back into the house.

Gooseflesh popped up on Liliana’s skin, so certain was she that she was about to hear something very important.

“After what you’ve done for me, I couldn’t let you join that family without warning you.” He reached forward and grabbed Liliana’s hand.

She shivered as his dry, papery skin slid over hers.

“Never trust the countess,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Don’t ever turn your back on her.”

Liliana frowned. Having been the recipient of the
woman’s dislike and calculating glares, she understood the sentiment. “But why?”

Mr. Witherspoon grimaced, releasing her hand and sitting back into his chair. He seemed to think about the question for a long moment, then let out a rusty sigh. “I’ve never spoken of this before. Not to anyone. But staring my own death in the eye has made me wonder if keeping silent all these years was the right thing to do.” He regarded her. “I’ll leave it up to you whether you share this with Stratford once you’re married. I’ve never had the courage to tell the boy myself.”

Liliana flushed but scooted forward in her seat.

“I think the countess murdered her husband.”

Liliana gasped. Whatever she’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. “Whyever would you think that?” she asked once she could speak properly.

Mr. Witherspoon bobbed his head, as if he’d been expecting that reaction. “A few weeks before he died, the earl was in a state like I’d never seen him. Secretive, jumpy, excitable…yet agitated, too.”

A chill slithered its way down Liliana’s spine. Her father had been just the same.

“The countess, of course, was off to London. But she came home one night unexpectedly, all in a fury. Seemed she’d caught wind of something the earl had done. Had a terrible row about it. I couldn’t gather what about exactly—the earl sent me away, which was unusual, given I’d witnessed countless arguments between those two before.” He shook his head sadly, then looked Liliana directly in the eyes. “But the very next morning, the earl was dead.”

Liliana sat back in her seat, a hundred scenarios flying through her mind at once. She wanted to ask why he thought that, but she needed another question answered first.
Debrett’s
had told her that the earl passed in 1804, the year after her father, but not exactly when. “When was that?”

“Around Epiphany, I’d say.”

Liliana gasped again. She couldn’t help it. “You’re certain?”

Mr. Witherspoon nodded.

The late earl had died around January 6, 1804, only a couple of weeks after her father’s death in December of 1803. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She’d assumed there was more time between their deaths given the dates. What a fool she’d been, allowing herself to focus on the years of their passing instead of the actual days. Her head spun. What did this mean?

She swallowed, asking the next question she must. “But what makes you think the countess was involved?”

Witherspoon grimaced, his yellowed eyes growing moist. His voice cracked as he answered. “I’m the one that found my lord. When I went into his chamber the following morning, he was cold and stiff in his bed. I raised the alarm, of course. The doctor came and, after examining him, said he passed of natural causes. But I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Liliana asked again, impatient and listening for any clues that might tell her what truly happened to the earl.

“Well, I’ve seen people pass before, and when they go of natural causes, they tend to look all peaceful when they’re gone. My lord, he didn’t look peaceful at all.” He closed his eyes, as if he were seeing it all over again. When he opened them again he said, “And here’s the other thing. He smelled of almonds…his skin, I mean.”

Almonds. A sick dread sprang up in Liliana.

“Which was very odd to me,” Mr. Witherspoon said, his voice hushed. “My lord detested almonds, so much so that he wouldn’t touch amaretto or even nibble a bite of marzipan. So why would he smell of almonds?”

Bile rose in Liliana’s throat. Cyanide was tasteless, fast acting and easy to administer. Death by poisoning would account for the late earl’s harsh visage. And cyanide smelled of almonds…

“All finished,” Geoffrey said, a smile riding his face as
he entered the courtyard. Liliana started, her eyes snapping to him. His black hair was tousled, a light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and his normally pristine jacket was covered in dust.

As Liliana looked at Geoffrey, something cracked within her. Never had she thought to have anything in common with him, much less something she would never wish upon another person. A piercing empathy filled her.

Someone had murdered his father, too.

G

His trip to see Witherspoon had been rather enlightening, only not in the way he’d expected. Geoffrey hadn’t had the chance to ask Witherspoon any questions. By the time he’d finished up in the cottage and joined the former valet and Liliana in the courtyard, Witherspoon had tired. If possible, the man had looked twice as old as he had less than an hour before.

No, the revelation had been Liliana. Every day, perhaps every hour, his regard for her grew. What was it that compelled a young woman to risk her reputation to visit a stranger, simply to make him feel better? What kindness of heart made one go out of one’s way, wanting nothing in return? Indeed, Mrs. Witherspoon had insisted upon paying Liliana, but she’d refused even though Geoffrey knew she was a woman of little means.