have been?”
“
Gerrard knew. “Eleanor Fritham, for one.” He met Sir Godfrey’s eyes. “There’s a telescope in my bedchamber- I’ve seen her on a number of nights, together with a gentleman I didn’t see well enough to identify.” Gerrard hesitated for a heartbeat, a remembered vision swimming before his eyes. “In addition to that, there’s a lover’s bower in the Garden of Night, well concealed, and someone is currently using it.”
Sir Godfrey’s brows rose high. “Is that so?” But then he frowned; after a moment he said, “Neither Miribelle nor Millicent would be likely to get hysterical over stumbling on a pair of lovers in the garden, so it won’t be that per se. However”-his tone hardened; he looked at Gerrard and Barnaby-“I propose we ask Miss Fritham just who she’s been meeting in the gardens at night, and see if either she or her beau can shed light on what Millicent saw.”
At Barnaby’s suggestion, Sir Godfrey sent to Tresdale Manor, requesting Eleanor’s presence at the Hall. She arrived an hour later, with Lady Fritham, who led the way into the drawing room.
“I’m sure I don’t know why you need Eleanor, Godfrey, but of course I brought her straightaway. All the ladies at my at-home are agog to know what’s afoot.” Lady Fritham smiled in pleasant query at Sir Godfrey.
The magistrate looked blank, then cleared his throat. “Ah-just a little matter I need to clear up, Maria. Perhaps…” He glanced at Barnaby. “If Mr. Adair and I could have a quiet word with Eleanor in the study, while you remain here with Marcus and Jacqueline and Mr. Debbington…”
Smiling easily at Eleanor, Barnaby offered his arm. She took it; she cast an uncertain glance at her mother, but Barnaby irresistibly led her from the room, with Sir Godfrey making haste in their wake.
“Well!” Lady Fritham looked nonplussed. “How strange.”
Seated on the chaise, Jacqueline drew in a breath, strengthened her smile, and patted the cushions beside her. “Do sit down, ma’am. Whom did you leave at the manor? I know Aunt Millicent would love to know.”
Frowning, Lady Fritham sank to the chaise. “Where is Millicent?”
“She’s a trifle indisposed,” Lord Tregonning said.
“Oh.” Lady Fritham accepted that without a blink. “Well, let me see. There’s Mrs. Elcott, of course…”
She ran through her guests; Jacqueline was racking her brains over how to spin out the conversation-but then Eleanor reappeared in the doorway.
An Eleanor transformed-her color was high, her eyes flashing. She gave every sign of being highly offended. “Come, Mama! It’s time we left.”
Lady Fritham blinked uncomprehendingly. “But my dear-”
“
Eleanor didn’t wait for a reply, but swung on her heel and stalked off.
Lady Fritham looked stunned. “Good gracious! Well! I’m sure I don’t know…” Her hand at her throat, she rose. “Do excuse us, Marcus-I have no idea what’s got into her.”
“Of course, Maria.” Lord Tregonning and Gerrard rose, bowing as Lady Fritham, agitated, fluttered toward the door.
“Maria?” Lord Tregonning waited until Lady Fritham looked back. “Just one thing-I would appreciate it if you would inform your family and household that the Hellebore Hall gardens are to be considered out of bounds. It seems they’ve grown too dangerous.”
“Dear me! Yes, of course I’ll tell everyone, Marcus. Do tell Millicent I’ll call later to see how she is.” With a wave, Lady Fritham hurried out into the hall in the wake of her wayward daughter.
Barnaby walked in; an instant later Sir Godfrey joined them. They all waited for the front door to shut, then Gerrard asked, “What did you learn?”
“Very little.” Barnaby dropped into a chair. “She flatly denied ever being in the gardens at night. She was lying through her teeth.”
“Indeed.” Sir Godfrey sank heavily into an armchair. “Never seen her like that before-all bold as brass and spit in your eye.”
“She panicked,” Barnaby said. “And took a high tone to conceal it.”
Sir Godfrey humphed. “What I want to know is who she’s lying to protect. Someone must know.” He looked at Jacqueline. “Who’s she interested in, heh? Anyone she’s been seen with?”
Jacqueline opened her lips to say she had no idea, then paused. The four men all noticed her hesitation, and waited. She felt color rise to her cheeks; she briefly debated the question of loyalty to a friend, then remembered her aunt lying upstairs, silent and still. She drew in a deep breath. “Eleanor has a lover. I don’t know who, but…” She gestured vaguely. “She’s been seeing him for years.”
Sir Godfrey’s brows couldn’t get any higher. “Same man for all those years?”
“As far as I know. And before you ask, I have absolutely no idea, no clue, as to who he might be.”
“But he’s someone who’s always here?” Barnaby asked. “In the area?”
Jacqueline shrugged. “As far as I know.”
Sir Godfrey frowned. “We’ll have to find someone who knows more about Miss Fritham’s secret lover.”
They’d all heard footsteps in the hall, coming from the front door; all had assumed it was Treadle. But the footsteps abruptly stopped-just beyond the open door. As one, they looked up.
Mitchel Cunningham stood framed in the doorway, his face pale, his expression stunned. He stared at Sir Godfrey as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, then he blinked, and frowned. He took a step nearer. “Is anything wrong?”
“Mitchel-do come in.” Lord Tregonning beckoned. “You might be able to help us with this.”
Swiftly, Lord Tregonning outlined what had happened; they all watched Mitchel’s face-his shock was beyond question sincere.
“Good God! But she’s all right?”
“Yes.” Sir Godfrey took up the tale. “But…” He explained they were now searching for the gentleman Eleanor was in the habit of meeting in the gardens at night. “Do you have any idea who this blighter might be?”
Gerrard didn’t know if it was his artist’s perception, or if his connection with Jacqueline had made him more sensitive, but he had no difficulty reading the pained-nay, tortured-expression in Mitchel’s eyes. For form’s sake, he quietly asked, “It wasn’t you, was it?”
His tone made it clear the words were more statement than question. Mitchel’s dark eyes deflected to his face. Mitchel met his gaze, then slowly shook his head. “It wasn’t me.” The words were hollow, achingly empty.
None of them doubted he spoke the truth.
Lord Tregonning cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mitchel.”
Mitchel nodded; he barely seemed to see them. “If you’ll excuse me?”
They let him go.
When his footsteps had died away, Sir Godfrey asked, “Am I right in thinking…”
Gerrard nodded. “Mitchel has, I think, nurtured hopes, although I doubt it’s gone beyond that.”
“Hopes we’ve just dashed,” Lord Tregonning said. “But better he learn now than later.”
Briefly, they revisited all they’d learned; Sir Godfrey asked about protection for Millicent, and was reassured.
“When she wakes, she’ll be able to point her finger at the villain.” His gaze hard, Sir Godfrey sounded uncharacteristically bloodthirsty. “And heaven help him after that.”
They determined to forge ahead with the ball. Gerrard, Barnaby and Lord Tregonning spent the afternoon writing and dispatching invitations, while Jacqueline attended to all the myriad arrangements.
After dinner, she retired to sit with Millicent, leaving the men discussing their plans. Later, Gerrard fetched her from Millicent’s room, and followed her to hers.
Leading the way in, she crossed to the windows, and stood looking out at the black velvet sky. Closing the door, Gerrard paused, considering the line of her spine, head erect, the way she’d folded her arms. There were no candles burning; the room was washed with gray shadows. Slowly, he followed her, wondering.
Halting behind her, he reached for her, and drew her back against him. She leaned back, let her head settle
