Chapter Three
What on earth?
Who was shooting at the lady he had seen on the beach? She had taken off as though she were afraid it was he. What was happening here?
Bertie decided against chasing her and dismounted, looking for the shooter. After a time, he found a custom-made rifle loader at the base of a boulder where the culprit must have hidden, just inside the trees. The ground was covered with leaves, but it was still possible to tell where a horse had been secured.
Taking the loader, he remounted Hermes and tried to follow the path of disturbed leaves through the forest. It proved a fruitless exercise. Several horses had been through here.
Who the devil was shooting at her? Why?
* * *
That evening, he discussed the incident with his friends over their port.
“Dashed odd,” said Tony. “I wonder if we should call the chief constable.”
Beau said, “It is not really our affair. Let the young woman decide that. Perhaps it is a spurned lover or something of that nature. We really have no facts—not even the lady’s name.”
“Devilishly frustrating,” said Bertie, looking into the depths of his glass.
“You are unusually distraught,” remarked Tony. “Do you know the lady?”
Bertie flicked the ash off the end of his cigar, trying for nonchalance. “She’s the one I saw on the beach yesterday.”
“And you still remember her?” Beau knew him too well. “How extraordinary.”
“Is it time to summon the vicar?” asked Tony with a laugh.
“Bertie must rescue her first. Who knows what strange affair he has stumbled upon?” Beau said.
“It was an attempt on her life,” Bertie insisted. “I don’t find that humorous.”
* * *
The following morning, to his surprise and everyone else’s, Lord Ogletree received Lord Robert Redmayne, heir to the Marquess of Westbury, who was evidently staying at Fortuneswell. Virginia’s uncle spoke with him in his library, where they visited for a half an hour. As the man left the house, Bertie recognized him as the man from the pub.
Lord Ogletree rejoined them in the drawing room, where the party was playing cards. Snow threatened, which was unusual this close to the sea, and the outside temperatures had plunged.
“Not a bad sort, Lord Redmayne,” said Lord Ogletree. “I asked him to dinner tonight. I thought we might have charades afterward. He’s bringing his sister, Lady Catherine.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Virginia, her face bright, her brow earnest. “It will be lovely to have some company.”
“And what do you call us?” Penelope asked, a twinkle in her blue eyes.
“You are more like family,” Virginia told her. “Everyone knows our husbands and Sir Bertie stick together whatever the season might be. Charades will be delightful, but I suspect you men to be possessed of a communal spirit; you know one another’s thoughts, and that gives you an advantage. We shall have to put you all on one team, I expect.”
* * *
When the guests arrived in the drawing room that evening, Bertie was very gratified that Lady Catherine proved to be the mysterious woman from the beach and the cliff top. However, from her bold glance and the upward tilt of her chin when they were introduced, she had a look of challenge about her.
Those sea-green eyes were every bit as stunning in the drawing room as they had been on the atmospheric shore beneath the cliffs. And now he could see that her hair was a deep shade of auburn. Her brown velvet evening gown revealed an exquisite form, and he wondered why he had never noticed her in London. Perhaps the circumstances of their meeting had endowed her with added allure, but it still clung to her. Sorrow marked her eyes, but her figure moved with unusual grace. Her wistful smile, appearing only briefly as she was introduced to the two women, tugged at his heart. He wondered again about her personal tragedy. A death?
When he had seen her distraught in the garden yesterday, it had been all he could do not to stop and offer her his aid. Clearly, he had the blood of some chivalrous knight in his veins. It was dashed inconvenient.
As for Lord Redmayne, Bertie instantly recognized him as the man from the pub, but he gave no indication he had met Bertie at all. He acknowledged all introductions in the manner of a great noble giving notice to lesser beings. Lady Catherine also made no mention of having met him, and Bertie did not prompt her memory, but he was convinced his party owed this visit to the previous afternoon’s happenings on the cliff top.
As the highest-ranking members of the nobility, Lord Redmayne, his sister on his arm, followed Lord Ogletree and Lady Strangeways as the host and hostess into the dining room. They were succeeded by the Wellinghams, while Tony and Bertie brought up the rear.
The dining room at the Oaks was deep green, hung with paintings of Georgian landscapes. Liking what he knew of the house, Bertie wondered how it compared to Fortuneswell House, which was not a principal seat but nevertheless one of the homes of a marquess. Bertie guessed the man must be quite elderly if he had a son Redmayne’s age.
As they sipped their soup, Lord Redmayne said to Virginia, “Surely, my lady, you are an American?”
“Yes,” she replied cheerfully. “It is a long story, but before my marriage, Lord Ogletree was my guardian. He is my great-uncle.”
“Do you miss your home?” Lady Catherine asked. “England must seem very different to you.”
“I am growing accustomed,” Virginia said. “But yes. England is very different from the part of America where I grew up.”
Lady Catherine looked like she wanted to ask another question, but she kept silent. Her brother asked, “Have you been much in London? I do not recall meeting you there.”
“My sojourn in London was short-lived. After Lord Strangeways and I became engaged, I moved here to Dorset to live with my uncle. I prefer the country. Especially Dorset with all its moods and dramatic scenery.”
Tony looked at her fondly from the other end of the table, smiling the crooked smile that had won him so many hearts in London. The man had never been aware of it, however; Tony was oblivious to anyone but Virginia. Bertie smiled into his soup.
Now that he studied Redmayne, he remembered him as part of the Prince Regent’s set—fast living and hard riding. They traveled in a very different circle from him. What in the world had brought such a fashionable man to the quaintness of Dorset in the dead of winter?
As though reading his thoughts, Lady Catherine said, “I am afraid my brother would not agree with you. He prefers London at any season of the year, but I prefer Dorset, and he is obliging me.”
Bertie thought that he would have noticed Lady Catherine in London. He attended a fair number of balls during the Season. But then, he didn’t take much notice of females. He usually spent his time in the cardroom or smoking cigars on the terrace.
Lord Redmayne turned his attention to Penelope, who looked stunning this evening in black velvet, which threw her fair looks into contrasting loveliness. “I have not seen you in London, either, Lady Wellingham. Though, of course, everyone knows your husband.”
“I am a country mouse,” she said with her brilliant smile. “We stay in London when Lord Wellingham has business with the Foreign Office, but I do not go out in society much.”
“That is society’s loss, if I may say so.”
“You are very kind,” replied Penelope.
He turned to Tony. “I believe your father had a capital stud operation.”
“Yes. My brother is continuing to run it.” For the remainder of the meal, the two men talked horses. Penelope and Virginia tried to draw Lady Catherine out, but she said little. Bertie spoke with Beau and Lord Ogletree of the smuggling trade thereabouts and how little effect the Excise men had on it.
Lady Catherine waited until the cheese course before she dropped the words that shocked the room into silence.
“Sir Herbert, do you make a habit of shooting wildly at strange women on horseback?”
Until her words stunned him, he had been admiring her well-shaped hands as they gracefully manipulated her knife and fork. She wore a bangle that slid up and down her fair white arm. After a moment, he was able to say, “Beg your pardon?”
She looked him full in the face for the first time that evening. “You know of what I am speaking.”
“This man shot at you?” asked her brother, throwing his napkin on the table. “Why have I not heard of this?”
She remained focused on Bertie, raising a brow. “You were there. How can you claim it was not you?”
It bothered him exceedingly that she really believed he would shoot at her with the intent of driving her over the cliff. The meeting between them on the shore had changed his world. Clearly, she did not realize that.
His words came out more harshly than he intended. “I arrived on the scene as fast as possible after I heard the shot. I saw you doing a spectacular job of reining in your horse.”
She frowned. “I find that hard to believe. You were right there!”
“Possibly in your preoccupation you did not notice I had no weapon. After you left, I looked about and found a custom-made loader. The sort that belongs to a hunting rifle.” Bertie paused, determined to make the case for his innocence. “Mine is in Oxfordshire.”
“The shooter aimed at my horse’s hooves. As you saw, I had quite a time subduing her. He intended me to go over the cliff. Obviously, he meant it to look like an accident.” Her eyes were bright. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Backman, I shall see you to the devil . . . pardon me, ladies . . . if you had any part of this,” said Lord Redmayne.
“I swear I did not,” he answered.
“What a horrible experience,” exclaimed Penelope. “I am so grateful the villain did not succeed in harming you, Lady Catherine. You must be an intrepid horsewoman.”
Virginia added, “You will have to look elsewhere for your assailant, I think. Sir Bertie would never hurt you. He thinks that he hides it well, but there is not a kinder man alive.”
Bertie fidgeted with his flatware.
“I think we must bring in the chief constable, Lord Manning,” Lord Ogletree said. “Do you still have the loader, Bertie?”
He nodded.
“Hmm. This is all deuced odd. There is no hunting for sport in these parts,” said Ogletree. Signaling for the footman who was waiting table, he said in a low voice, “Send Jameson to the manor house for Lord Manning. Ask him to pay us a call this evening. There is a shooter on the loose.”
Throughout this conversation, Lady Catherine had remained silent, her attention still on Bertie. He felt her eyes on him and turned to face her. Under cover of the conversation between the others, he asked, “Have you an enemy, your ladyship?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I have no idea why anyone would want me to go over the cliff.”
“I would not wish it,” he replied.
At that remark, her eyes narrowed. “You were down on the shore the other morning,” she said.
“I was,” he said. His eyes remained fixed on hers. He could not look away. Neither, it seemed, could she. Only now her look did not speak of blame; it spoke of wonder.
“Ladies,” said Virginia, rising. “Shall we leave the men to their port? Lord Manning will arrive soon. His house is not far away.”
* * *
Instead of charades that evening, they entertained the chief constable. He was a short elderly man who wore a gray wig thirty years out of date. With his short neck and small head, he reminded Bertie of a hedgehog.
“I shall meet with Lady Catherine and her brother first,” said Lord Manning. “Ogletree, I think the library would be best.”