Maitland made good time to London, and though it meant rousing the sleeping servants, he decided to stay the rest of the night at his London house rather than going to a hotel. His mother slept soundly, so he didn’t see her until the next morning when he stepped into the breakfast room and found her eating her customary toast and tea.
“Maitland,” she said with surprise as he stepped over to kiss her cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you. Though I suppose I should have guessed given the amount of food on the sideboard.”
His mother disliked excess, which made her a most unlikely duchess. Especially given his late father’s love of it.
He filled a plate for himself and sat down near her. “I arrived quite late,” he told his mother. “And didn’t wish to wake you.”
Her blond brows rose in question. “Was there some reason for you to ride in haste?” He watched as she considered the matter. Before he could speak, she said, “There’s nothing amiss with Serena or Jeremy is there?”
“No,” he assured her, feeling like a cad for letting her worry. In truth, he’d been trying to come up with a way to explain his actual reason for coming to town, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d interpret his silence as dire. “Both Serena and Jem were well when I left them, I assure you.”
She relaxed at his words. “I don’t believe I’ll ever stop worrying about her after what that monster Fanning did to her,” she said with a scowl. “Horrid man. Your father was a fool to let her marry him.”
Not wishing to rehash the circumstances of his sister’s marriage, Maitland was silent, and took a bite of eggs.
When he looked up he found the duchess watching him. “Why did you come back in such a hurry?” she asked again, scanning his face for an answer. “Has another of Celeste’s bluestockings got herself into trouble? I hope she knows better than to try to trap you into marriage!”
The duchess had been rather jealous of her children’s close relationship with her sister, and the news that one of them had actually married Quill, her nephew, in haste had only served to prove that Celeste’s choice of heirs had been faulty.
At her choice of words, Dalton winced. He had imagined this conversation in a more comfortable setting than at the breakfast table while she interrogated him like a cardinal of the Spanish Inquisition.
“I would hardly call Kerr’s happy marriage a trap, Mama,” he said with a frown. “Indeed, Quill and Ivy are quite blissful, which you would know if you had accepted their invitation to come for a visit at Beauchamp House.”
“Oh, piffle,” the duchess said with a wave of her hand. “I have no wish to travel to the seaside unless it’s Brighton. And you may make all the assurances you like about the happiness of your cousin’s marriage, but your Aunt Estelle is convinced that that hussy lured him into a trap. A mother knows these things, Maitland.”
Estelle was Lord Kerr’s mother, the dowager Lady Kerr, and incidentally the sister of Celeste and the Duchess of Maitland.
Pushing aside his plate, Dalton took a fortifying gulp of tea before saying, “I wish you would not speak of Ivy in that manner, Mama. She is a lovely lady and has made Quill very happy, I assure you.”
At her grunt of disbelief, he sighed before pressing on. “As it happens, my reason for coming to town is somewhat tangentially related to Quill’s recent marriage. I have come to procure a special license, in fact. For myself and Lady Daphne Forsyth, another of Aunt Celeste’s heiresses.”
The Duchess of Maitland’s jaw dropped. “What? I was only engaging in a bit of hyperbole when I asked if you’d been trapped into marriage. Maitland, please tell me this is some jest on your part!”
“I’m delighted to say it is not,” he said firmly. “Lady Daphne and I will be married as soon as I return to Beauchamp House.” Despite his fervent wish that she would reject the invitation, he added, “I hope you will return with me to celebrate the nuptials.”
“I most certainly will not!” she said, her eyes wide and her back ramrod straight. “Because you will not be marrying the daughter of that … that rapscallion Lord Forsyth. Do you know who the man is?”
“He is currently in Little Nodding, so yes, I do,” Dalton said through clenched teeth, not wanting to admit that her assessment of Daphne’s father was not far off his own. “And it makes no difference to me who her father is. I am marrying her, not the earl.”
“It is a mésalliance of gigantic proportions,” the duchess said, her voice rising with every syllable. “Even worse than your cousin’s marriage to that scholar’s daughter. At least her father is respected and conducts himself with dignity. The Earl of Forsyth is a drunkard and a gamester. And he has made a practice of carting the chit all over town to play cards at his behest. Like some sort of gambling pander.”
At her slander of Daphne, Maitland stood, glaring down at his mother. “Hear me well, Mama,” he said, his voice barely controlled in his anger. “You will speak that way again about Lady Daphne Forsyth at the risk of damaging our relationship forever. She is not her father, and she is not to blame for his bad acts. No more than Serena or I are to blame for our father’s.”
At the mention of the late duke, his mother flinched.
“Yes,” he said with a feral smile, “remembering now, are we, that the previous Duke of Maitland was also a rapscallion?”
“Maitland,” she said, looking contrite, but unbowed, “I never meant to say that Lady Daphne was—”
He cut her off with a gesture. “I do not wish to hear you say it again. I am quite serious about the consequences should you defy me on this matter, Mama. I am the head of this household, and I have chosen my bride. If she does not please you, then that is lamentable, but it is my choice to make.”
“But her reputation,” the duchess said with a shake of her head. “Your father’s reputation makes it doubly necessary for you to behave like…”
“Like a gentleman?” he asked with a raised brow. “That is precisely what I am doing. I have compromised her, Mama. And my own scruples mean that I must marry her. But aside from that, I wish to marry her. She is quite the most intelligent person I have ever had the pleasure to know. And the loveliest.”
At the word “compromise” the duchess raised a hand to her chest in horror. “Oh Maitland, did you not heed my warnings about the schemes young ladies will try on an eligible nobleman? How could you have let this happen?”
Seeing that she found it impossible to believe that he could have been the one to do the compromising, Maitland sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Mama, I will not go into the details with you, but rest assured that every step of the way, I was the one at fault. Not Lady Daphne.”
His words must have given her pause, because she shut her mouth on whatever it was she was about to say, and nodded.
With a sigh of relief, he continued. “Now, I hope that you will write a cordial letter to Lady Daphne welcoming her to the family if you still refuse to return to Beauchamp House with me for the wedding.”
He thought for a moment that she would change her mind—something he very much did not want to happen—but fortunately, she said with a shake of her head, “I truly cannot leave town at the moment, my dear. Though I hope you will bring her to meet me as soon as you think you are able. I will oversee her introduction at court. And doubtless she will need a new wardrobe.”
Though he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, he would not put it past his mother to attempt some sort of intervention to keep the wedding from happening.
“I have little doubt that Daphne will welcome your assistance,” he lied. Daphne would very likely chafe under his mother’s guidance, but that was a bridge he’d cross when he came to it. “Now, I would like to discuss this further”—another lie—“but I must go find the bishop so that I can get back to the coast.”
“I am sorry I reacted so badly, my dear,” she said with a sad smile. “I suppose I do not only worry about your sister. It is quite hard to accept that my children are all grown up now and able to take care of themselves.”
He looked at her, noticed the threads of silver in her blond hair that was so like his own. Her marriage to his father had not been a happy one. And she considered Serena’s disaster of a marriage as something she should have been able to prevent. It was little wonder she greeted with shock and dismay the news that he was to be married by special license to someone she knew only by reputation.
“I know,” he told her, bending to kiss her on the head. “But we are quite grown. Though it doesn’t mean we don’t need your affection and guidance.”
She nodded and surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.
When he left to find the bishop, she was bent over her escritoire, penning a letter to Daphne.
He could only hope it did not include references to Lord Forsyth.
When it came to speaking frankly, his mother and Daphne had that trait in common.
* * *
“I’ll inquire as to whether the Squire is available to receive visitors,” said the Northman’s butler with a scowl.
Daphne and Ivy had risen early and set out after breakfast for the magistrate’s house. After yesterday’s storms, the sky above them was clear and blue, and they decided to walk rather than take the carriage.
“Perhaps I wasn’t the best person to accompany you,” Ivy said as they watched the dour man leave. “I still don’t think I’ve been forgiven for the scene at their dinner party.”
Ivy and Mrs. Northman had argued over something having to do with Lord Kerr, Daphne recalled. And the elder lady had been quite angry about the fact that Lord Kerr had become engaged to Ivy—though from Daphne’s point of view, the woman had no right since she was already married herself.
“We are not here to see the lady of the house,” Daphne reminded her. “And even if we were she would be obliged to be polite to me since I outrank her rather significantly.” Daphne found that reminding unpleasant people of her due as an earl’s daughter sometimes led to an improvement in their attitude.
Ivy hissed a laugh. “You should not say that,” she said in a low voice, shaking her head. “And yet, I would very much like to see you tell Mrs. Northman that to her face.”
“Where else would I tell it to?” Daphne asked, puzzled. Why did people insist upon speaking words that made no sense? It was most frustrating.
Then the butler returned to inform them that the magistrate would see them, and soon Daphne and Ivy found themselves seated before a very large desk in the Squire’s study.
“I was quite displeased to find you gone from home yesterday, Lady Daphne,” he said once they were settled. “I needed to ask you some questions about Sommersby’s death, and you were not there.”
“Yes,” Daphne said, puzzled. “Because, as you say, I was gone from home.”
“There is no need to be flippant, Lady Daphne,” he said, his heavy brow furrowed. “This is a serious business. A man was killed in your home, and it seems very likely it was related to an artifact you yourself are searching for.”
If he was going to investigate the matter, Daphne thought petulantly, then he should use the proper terms. “As it happens I am searching for a coded message, a cipher, if you will. Not an artifact. Though it is around seventy years old so it is not precisely of current origin. A cipher is a…”
Ivy touched Daphne on the arm, startling her into pausing in her explanation. Ivy was quite good at placating men when necessary, Daphne thought with a touch of jealousy,
“I think what my friend is trying to say, Mr. Northman,” Ivy said with a sweet smile, “is that she is very sorry for not being available when you wished to speak to her. But she has some news that might help in your investigation.”
Daphne scowled. That was not what she had meant to say at all, but her friend’s placating tone must have worked, for the Squire sat up straighter.
“What is this news? I’ve had my men search high and low for this other man whom you and the duke say shot at you,” he said with frustration, “but if he is still here, he’s hidden himself well.”
Ignoring the magistrate’s complaint, Daphne quickly outlined how they’d found the note from Lady Celeste behind the painting and how it had led them to visit Mr. Renfrew in Bexhill.
“Why in the blazes would Lady Celeste hide all of these bits of verse across the county?” the Squire asked with a moue of distaste. “If you ask me it’s a havey-cavey business. She should have just left the coded message with her will and had her solicitor hand it over when you inherited. Then there would have been no need for Sommersby to search high and low for it, breaking into other people’s homes, and what not.”
Though it felt disloyal to her benefactress, Daphne tended to agree with the man. Except for one particular point. “At the time, secrecy about the location was quite necessary because the gold was intended for treasonous purposes,” she said, trying to be polite. But really, was the man so foolish that he didn’t know as much?
“And,” Ivy added, with a speaking look her friend, “Lady Celeste enjoyed creating puzzles. She thought she was leaving a game for one of her heirs to solve. I’m sure she had no notion that Mr. Sommersby would come to harm in the course of searching for it.”
“Hmph.” The Squire didn’t argue, but nor did he seem convinced. “So you intend to follow these clues until you locate the cipher?” He folded his arms across his chest, the picture of skepticism.
“I do, indeed, sir.” Daphne raised her chin a bit. “And I will solve it, and find the gold.”
“And what of the murderer? He has the original version of the cipher. What if he beats you to the treasure?”
Daphne couldn’t stop herself. She laughed.
“I don’t see anything amusing about this matter, Lady Daphne.” The Squire leaned forward. “A man is dead.”
“I am well aware of that fact, Mr. Northman,” she said before Ivy could intervene. “But I find it very hard to believe that the murderer has my mathematical and ciphering abilities. If he is able to unravel the message, then I shall be very, very surprised.”
The magistrate just stared at her for a moment. Daphne was used to this reaction to her pronouncements about her abilities, and did not flinch.
“I’ll say this for you, my lady,” the man said with a shake of his head. “You’ve got bottle. I only hope you’ve got someone looking after you while you’re haring about the countryside searching for Lady Celeste’s bits of paper.”
“I am perfectly capable of—” Daphne began, but was interrupted by Ivy, who rose and locked arms with her.
“Thank you so much for your time, Squire Northman,” Ivy said inclining her head. “We will keep you informed of our progress. As we hope you will do with your own progress in finding Mr. Sommersby’s killer.”
Once they were in the hall, Ivy whispered, “I thought we’d agreed you would not argue with the man overmuch. He already is suspicious about this entire affair. We do not wish him to decide that you are acting strangely or had reason to want Sommersby dead yourself.”
“But I did,” Daphne said in an answering whisper. “Though not because of the cipher, you realize.”
“I’m not a mathematical genius, Daphne,” said Ivy with a huff, “but I am not a simpleton. Of course I know you had other reasons. But we haven’t told the Squire about that, and if you intend to keep it that way then you had best not speak of it here in his hall where the servants might be listening.”
That gave Daphne pause. She truly didn’t want to explain what had gone on with her and Sommersby in the past. And Ivy was right. It would give him reason to suspect she had even more reason to kill him.
They were almost to the bottom of the main stairs when Daphne heard a familiar guffaw coming from below.
As she and Ivy reached the ground floor, she was shocked to see her father there, with Mrs. Northman’s arm in his, as if they had just returned from a walk.
“Father,” she said as the couple handed their hats and coats to the waiting footman, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
As if he’d only just seen her, the Earl of Forsyth gave a theatrical start. “My dear daughter,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
That was a lie, she knew, since he could hardly be surprised to see her in the home of a neighbor.
“I thought you’d returned to London but imagine my surprise when I learned through gossip you were still here,” she said, watching as Mrs. Northman’s glance flitted from one Forsyth to the other in barely disguised glee. “Why did you not tell me you were staying in the neighborhood?”
“Did I not?” Forsyth asked. “It must have slipped my mind after our disagreement the other day. Though I must admit that I was able to come to quite agreeable terms with your betrothed. How is Maitland?”
At the mention of Maitland, Daphne felt herself color. “Maitland is none of your concern. And he told me that he gave you enough funds that you shouldn’t bother us again anytime soon. Which makes me ask again, why are you still here?”
If he felt the sting of her rebuke he did not let it show. “If you must know, I was at school with Northman. And when I met him on the road to Little Seaford, he was kind enough to invite me to stay. And since I would like to be here for your nuptials, I thought I would accept.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are going to wed soon, are you not? A little bird told me that you were seen at The Bo Peep looking very cozy indeed. In fact, someone said that Maitland claimed you were already wed, which I know cannot be true. Why it takes a day’s hard riding at least to get to London for a special license.”
Before Daphne could respond, Mrs. Northman spoke up. “Lady Daphne,” she said with a catlike smile. “I was rather shocked to hear of your hasty betrothal. Though I suppose that is becoming quite typical of the way things work at Beauchamp House. If we are to go by the precedent set by Lord and Lady Kerr, that is.” She nodded in Ivy’s direction.
“Now listen here, Mrs. Northman—” Ivy began with a scowl.
Daphne, knowing that no good could come of a sentence begun that way accepted their pelisses and hats from the butler and led her friend to the door.
“Good-bye, Father,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried her friend away from danger.
“But what of your wedding?” he called after her.
“Why didn’t you let me speak my mind to her?” Ivy complained as they hurried away from the Northman home and toward the lane leading back to Beauchamp House. “I’m a Marchioness now and outrank her. Didn’t you say that reminding people you outrank them helps?”
“Not when Mrs. Northman loathes you as much as she does,” Daphne explained. “And besides that, you shouldn’t get overexcited. Lord Kerr won’t like it.”
“Oh piffle,” Ivy said with a scowl. “Kerr knows how I feel about her. And I’m not an invalid.”
Daphne thought about the possibility that she might soon be saying the same thing. If Lord Kerr was any indication, men became quite overprotective when their wives were breeding. “Very well,” she said, stopping as they reached the end of the Northman’s drive. “Would you like to go back and rip up at her?”
“No,” Ivy replied grumpily. “I’m no longer in the mood. Besides I do not wish you to have to see your father again. What on earth was he thinking to stay in the neighborhood without informing you?”
“I don’t know,” Daphne replied. “But it can’t be good.”