Chapter Seven
Strathairn walked under the Horse Guards archway with a nod to the mounted guard. He hoped Montsimon might offer something helpful. He had a task on his hands to convince Parnell to continue the investigation into the death of his partner, Nesbit.
In his office, Montsimon and Parnell were already in deep discussion, his desk strewn with papers. The sun slanted through the window leaching color from the solemn painting of Wellington hanging on the wall.
Strathairn divested himself of his hat, gloves, and cane into the arms of Parnell’s aide. He greeted the two men, took the spare ribbon-back chair, and waited for them to resume the conversation.
Montsimon perched on the corner of the desk. “You’ll be interested in this, Strathairn. We’ve been discussing what I discovered in Paris.”
Strathairn folded his arms. “Forney?”
“I spoke to several of Forney’s former, shall we say, acquaintances. Word has it he drowned while escaping England back in ’16. His boat foundered on rocks and sank in the Mediterranean Sea. He hasn’t been sighted since, so it seems likely to be true.”
“And that puts an end to the speculation,” Parnham said.
“I don’t see how.” A heavy sensation settled in Strathairn’s chest. Aware he’d raised his voice, he took a deep breath. Anger wouldn’t work with Parnham. He had the coolest head in the business. When he spoke again, he lowered his tone. “And the Napoleonic symbol, the eagle-shaped cravat pin, identical to the one Forney used?”
“Some mischief maker.” He nodded at Montsimon. “Montsimon tells me he saw the countess in Paris. If Forney lives, he would be with her.”
Montsimon shook his head. “He wasn’t.”
“The man’s dead. Sidmouth’s network has turned up nothing,” Parnham said, “and neither has Bow Street. I suggest we let the matter rest.”
Strathairn leaned forward. “How about my new partner and I return to the docks? I’d like to discover who shot my man.”
“There’s trouble brewing in Manchester.” Parnham ran his hands through his iron-gray hair. “I can’t be responsible for everyone, Strathairn. We need to deal with that. There are agitators stirring up the people. The government must be made aware that the country is a powder keg.”
“There are a lot of hot heads, shopkeepers, tradesmen, and publicans who will cause trouble,” Montsimon said.
Parnham pursed his lips. “The government is considering the Six Acts which will forbid weapons and public meetings without a magistrate’s permit.”
“If the Act is passed, it will only stir up more trouble.” Strathairn frowned. “If they limit the freedom of the press, it will merely increase the people’s dislike of Liverpool’s government.”
Parnham shuffled the papers on his desk. “You can see why I don’t want to spend any resources on Forney. Unless and until he shows himself. We have enough to do stopping these groups intent on provoking a revolution in England.”
Summarily dismissed, Strathairn left the building. Agents such as Nesbit were dispensable. Easily replaced. There was no room for sentiment in this business.
*
Sibella endured a harrowing couple of days. Not sleeping well, she was weary of her mother clucking over her appearance. Since their engagement was announced, Lord Coombe came often to St James’s Square. So often, in fact, that she yearned for time to herself, and felt suffocated when he was in the room.
He was announced again as she tried to distract herself in the conservatory. Having bid her continue her work, he followed her about as she tidied her plants. The sun warmed the room through the cathedral glass ceiling, drawing out scents from the fruits and flowers. She wiped her moist brow with the back of her gloved hand. “The scents of oranges and lemons are delicious, don’t you think?” she asked, desperate to find a congenial subject of conversation.
“Most pleasant.” He drew out a wrought-iron chair and motioned for her to sit. “I’d like to talk about our future.”
“Oh? Yes, of course.” She removed her gardening gloves and sat.
“I am eager to show you our home. When next at Brandreth Park, we could make a day of it. You might bring Lady Maria, if you wish, although now we’re engaged a chaperone isn’t necessary.”
“I am eager to see it,” she said, fighting to sound enthusiastic.
“The house is a fine example of the period.” Lord Coombs voice rang with more fervor than she’d heard from him before.
“Arrowtree Manor was your family home?”
“Ah, no. Lady Coombe’s family home.”
“Oh, I see.”
“We lived there after my wife’s parents died as it is superior in every way to mine.”
Sibella brushed away a leaf clinging to her sleeve. She disliked the idea of living in his dead wife’s childhood home. Her doubts must have shown on her face, for he leaned forward and took her hand.
“You will love it as I do. I have no doubt.”
He began to describe the clever way the rooms were situated and the fine knot garden.
“It sounds utterly charming,” she said. “As you have no London property, where might we spend the season?”
Coombe dropped his gaze to his hands. Surely, he would come to London during the season?
“I prefer the country. My constant traveling for business takes me away from home too often as it is.”
“But I shall wish to see friends…my family.”
“Mm. I’ll give it some thought.”
She frowned at him, finding him evasive. It was hardly satisfactory to leave it so up in the air, but before she could argue the point, he rose and bowed. “Unfortunately, I have come to tell you I must take leave of you. Business calls me to Bristol. I shall be away for a sennight.”
She rose with him. “I wish you a safe trip.”
“Only business would part me from you,” he said huskily.
He took a step closer. She stilled. He planned to kiss her. A stiff hand on her arm drew her to him and his mouth settled over hers in a brief, careful kiss. He withdrew with a sharp intake of breath. “I shall count the hours until we meet again.”
Although his words were passionate, the kiss was not. It should have sparked something in her other than dismay. She stared into eyes burning with what might have been desire, but also something else, indefinable. Again, the suspicion that he was a man who was hard to know returned to worry at her.
“I’ll walk with you to the door.”
With a strained smile, Sibella bade him farewell in the entry hall.
As he descended the front steps, a tremor of apprehension rippled along her spine. She could discern no real affection for her in his eyes. True, she may not love the man, but had she made a terrible mistake in accepting him? Was he not the same man who had wooed her? Nothing had changed. And yet…
Maria waylaid her on her way to her bedchamber. “Edward and Chaloner have been closeted in Chaloner’s study for hours.”
Suspicious, but knowing it unwise to interrupt them, Sibella lingered in the corridor. When Edward emerged, she took his arm and dragged him to the library. “Is it Vaughn?” She shut the door behind them. He grumbled at her and smoothed the superfine cloth of his sleeve where she’d clutched it.
“Is it Vaughn?” she repeated, threatening to grab his arm again.
Edward backed away, palms up. “All right, Sibella. I did not wish to tell you. Vaughn can’t be found.”
“He’s disappeared? How? When?”
“I visited his rooms yesterday. His servant hasn’t set eyes on him for over a week. I returned this morning, but he still hasn’t appeared.”
“Might he have gone off on a jaunt? To purchase a horse, perhaps?”
“I doubt he has the coin for that. I just wish he’d told me. Chaloner doesn’t seem particularly worried as it’s happened before.”
“Yes, but that time he’d fallen in love with a girl in Reading.”
“How can you be sure he hasn’t tumbled into love with another unsuitable girl?”
She twisted her fingers together. “I suppose we can’t, really. But the last time he fell in love, he confided in me.” She paused. “He’s been a bit quiet of late.”
He patted her shoulder. “Best we leave it for a few days.”
“You promise to tell me the minute you hear from him?”
Edward nodded. “Lord Coombe just drove off. He’s certainly attentive, isn’t he? Are you more settled, Sib?”
“You knew him at university didn’t you, Edward. What can you tell me about him? Did you meet his first wife?”
“No. Never met her.” Edward chose one of the leather chairs by the fireplace and tapped his fingers on the arm. “You’re still uneasy, aren’t you. Is there a particular reason for it?”
“Not really.” Sibella perched on the chair opposite. “I suppose I’m a bit mean to doubt him.”
“I didn’t have much to do with him at Oxford. Wasn’t in my circle of friends. Can’t say I was close to any of his companions either.”
Sibella eyes widened with interest. “But I understood he was a friend of yours.”
“An acquaintance. He approached me about a horse, and as I considered him a fairly solid sort of fellow if his behavior was any judge—”
“I doubt your judgment, Edward, recalling your behavior at Oxford,” Sibella said waspishly.
“Well, yes, but that’s all forgotten long ago. I must say, Sib, it’s not good ton to bring the past up now. Chaloner made inquiries about him.”
“How did Coombe’s wife die, do you know?”
“No I don’t. Why don’t you ask him?”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“Just introduce the subject casually into the conversation…”
Sibella jumped up. “Oh Edward, you are no help at all. But we must find Vaughn.” The one man she needed now remained unavailable to her. “Strathairn would be the one to find him. But I made a complete fool of myself at the ball.” She gasped and tucked her trembling hands out of sight behind her back. “I thought he cared for me.”
Edward stood and sighed heavily. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I take my hat off to him. Strathairn is doing the noble thing. It’s his belief that your life will be happier with Coombe. He wouldn’t want to leave you a broken-hearted widow.”
“A widow?” She gasped.
“Well, that is to say… For God’s sake, Sib.” He eyed her with a raised eyebrow. “What’s going on in your mind? I don’t like that look on your face. I’ve seen it before and what follows is never good.”
“Last time I poked you with a knitting needle,” Sibella said. “And you deserved it. In fact, I believe you deserve it now.”
With a chuckle, Edward flung open the door, startling a footman and made his escape.
Strathairn had offered to help her if she ever needed it. Well, she needed it now. When days passed with no sign of Vaughn, Sibella decided to bury her pride and ask him to find her brother. But social occasions passed with no sign of Strathairn either. She hadn’t expected to find him at Almack’s, he hated the place. She thought he might attend Lady Forest’s card party, but he failed to make an appearance there, too.
By the end of the week, no news of Vaughn’s whereabouts had reached her. How was she to keep this from her mother? When her unease turned to deep concern, she waylaid Chaloner at the front door as he returned from a special evening sitting at Parliament.
After Belton helped him off with his greatcoat, Chaloner answered her question. “Vaughn has not returned to his rooms.” He climbed the stairs.
Sibella followed him. “Has Edward searched in all Vaughn’s favorite haunts?”
He sighed wearily. “I believe he has, my dear. Vaughn must learn to take responsibility for his gambling debts.”
“How much does he owe?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? I have learned of at least one signed wager of a large amount. As he cannot pay it, I’m sure we’ll hear from him in a day or two.”
Lavinia appeared at the top of the stairs, her pretty face creased with anxiety. “Chaloner, Freddie is sick. Should we call for the doctor?”
Chaloner put an arm around her. “What does Nurse say?”
“That it’s just a cold, but…”
“Dear heart, you worry too much. I’ll come and take a look at him.”
Sibella suffered a stab of compassion as her tired brother disappeared up the stairs to the nursery.
She returned to the salon where Maria and her mother were entertaining Harry. When her mother mentioned Vaughn’s prolonged absence, Sibella made light of it. But something must be done soon to find him.
The youngest of the Brandreth males, Vaughn, had been indulged, which had done him no good at all. He’d been gone for weeks. Where was he?