A Lady of His Own

They were still in the throes of tossing around possible plans when the clatter of an approaching rider silenced them. They all listened, then Charles rose and went to the window overlooking the forecourt.

“A fisherman, presumably with a message from Dennis. This doesn’t look good.”

He headed for the door. Jack rose and followed him; the others remained in the library.

Charles went down the front steps as the fisherman slid to the ground. The man was plainly relieved to see him.

“M’lord.” The man ducked his head, nodded to Jack behind him, then faced him. “Dennis Gibbs sent me. His cousin Sid…” The man swallowed, then went on, “They found him on the cliffs by Tywardreath. Throat slit. A bad business-the lad weren’t no more’n eighteen. There were things-a knife, cloak, and other stuff-scattered about. Dennis said as you’d want to take a look.”

Grim-faced, Charles nodded. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Go around to the kitchen. I’ll send for you once I’m ready.”

The man ducked his head and went, following the groom who’d appeared to take his horse.

Jack stepped down beside Charles; they both watched the man walk away, head and shoulders bowed. “A bad business, right enough.” Jack glanced at Charles. “You’re going?”

Charles turned back into the house. “Yes, but you’re staying.”

Jack followed him back to the library. He told the others the news. Penny paled, but said nothing. Nicholas blanched; some of his recovered strength seemed to drain from him.

“You shouldn’t go alone-there might be more we can do when we see the site.” Gervase stood, joining Jack and Charles. “I know the area well enough, and the locals will accept me.”

Jack hesitated, then nodded curtly. “Agreed. You two go-I’ll hold the fort here.”

Charles looked across the room, met Penny’s eyes. “We’ll be back before dusk or send word-if there’s any scent to follow, that’ll be our priority.”

Penny nodded, watched him turn and stride out, Gervase at his heels. Jack watched them, too, then sighed, and came back to his chair. He smiled, resigned yet charming. “Just think of me as your watchdog.”

They were still in the library, Nicholas at the desk dealing with estate matters, Jack sprawled in an armchair with a book, Penny frowning at the household accounts she’d fetched, Jack having declared he’d be much happier if both she and Nicholas remained in the same room, when the knocker sounded on the front door.

All three of them looked up. A second later, Norris’s stately footsteps trod over the tiles; they heard the door open.

A rumble of male voices reached them-one Norris’s, the other lighter. Straining her ears, Penny couldn’t place the speaker. They hadn’t heard any horse on the drive; whoever it was had walked to the door.

She turned as the door opened and Norris stepped in. Closing the door, he looked at her, then Nicholas. “Mr. Fothergill has called, my lord. He wishes to inquire whether it would be convenient to look around the house. I understand he’s spoken with Lady Penelope on the subject. I would, of course, be happy to conduct him through the rooms we usually show.”

Penny looked at Jack. “He’s a student of architecture-he asked Charles and me what houses to view in the area. He called at the Abbey a few days ago, and Charles’s butler showed him around.”

Everyone looked at Jack.

Gaze distant, he frowned, then swiveled to look at Norris. “Send him in. Let’s see how he shapes up.”

Norris withdrew; Jack met Penny’s, then Nicholas’s eyes. “It’s suggestive he’s turned up just when Charles has been called away, but on the other hand, that could just be coincidence. Regardless, we should turn the opportunity to our advantage and see how much we can discover-if we can exclude him from our list, we could move more definitely against Gerond.”

Penny nodded; she rose as the door opened, and Norris ushered Julian Fothergill in. He came to greet her, enthusiasm and eagerness in his face.

He shook hands with her, then Nicholas, thanking them with disarming candor for seeing him. “I would be quite happy to be shown around by your butler if you’re busy.”

“I’ll take you around the house later,” Penny said, “but first, won’t you sit and tell us how your stay in Cornwall has gone?” Smoothly, she asked Norris for tea to be brought, then introduced Fothergill to Jack, giving no reason for the latter’s presence.

Jack supplied one as the two shook hands. “I, too, opted for the allure of country life rather than endure London during the Season.”

Fothergill grinned. “Just so. As my primary interest lies in things feathered and winged, London has little to offer by way of attraction.”

They resumed their seats, Jack moving to sit beside Penny on the chaise while Nicholas took the armchair he’d vacated. At Penny’s wave, Fothergill sat in the armchair opposite her.

“I take it,” Jack drawled, “that you’re lucky enough not to have to dance attendance at some office in town?”

“Indeed. I have enough to allow me to wander at will, and the family, thank heaven, are plentiful.”

“So you’re not from around here?” Jack asked. Fothergill’s accent was unremarkable, unplaceable.

“Northamptonshire, near Kettering.”

“Good hunting country,” Jack returned.

“Indeed-we had some very good sport earlier this year.”

Penny exchanged a glance with Nicholas; Jack and Fothergill embarked on a lengthy and detailed discussion of hunting, one which, to her ears, painted Fothergill as one who knew. Used to reading Charles, she picked up the little signs-the easing of tensed muscles-that stated Jack thought so, too.

Norris appeared with the tea tray; while she poured and dispensed the cups, then handed around the platter of cakes, the conversation turned to places visited in England, especially those known for bird life. Nicholas joined in, mentioning the Broads; Fothergill had wandered there. He seemed in his element, recounting tales and exploits during various trips.

At one point, they all paused to sip. Penny noticed Fothergill eyeing the books along the shelves behind the chaise. His eyes flicked to her face; he noticed her noticing. Smiling, he set down his cup. “I was just admiring your books.” He glanced at Nicholas. “It’s quite a collection. Are there any books on birds, do you know?”

Nicholas looked at Penny.

“I imagine there are, but I’m not sure where…” She glanced over her shoulder at the nearest shelves.

“Actually”-Fothergill set down his cup and pointed to a shelf behind the chaise-“I think that’s a Reynard’s Guide.”

Rising, he crossed to the shelves and bent to look. “No.” He sent them a smile. “Like it, but not.” Straightening, he walked along the shelves, scanning the volumes. Penny faced forward as he passed behind the chaise.

Beside her, Jack leaned forward and placed his cup on the low table before them. Straightening, he started to turn to keep Fothergill in view-

Violence exploded from behind the chaise.

A heavy cosh cracked against Jack’s skull. He collapsed, insensible.

Half-rising, Penny opened her mouth to scream-

A hand locked about her chin, forced it high, yanked her against the back of the chaise.

“Silence!”

The word hissed past her ear. Eyes wide, staring upward, she felt the blade of a knife caress her throat.

“One sound from you, Selborne, and she dies.”

Penny squinted, saw Nicholas on his feet, pale as death, hands opening and closing helplessly as he fought to rein in the urge to react. His gaze was locked on the man behind her-Fothergill, or whoever he was.

“Stay exactly where you are, do exactly what I tell you, and I might let her live.” He spoke in a low voice, one that held not the faintest thread of panic; he was master of the situation, and he knew it.

Nicholas didn’t move.

“The pillboxes-where are they? Not the rubbish that was on display in here, but the real ones.”

“You mean the ones my father appropriated from the French?”

Contempt laced Nicholas’s tone.

She felt a tremor pass through the hard fingers locked about her chin, but all Fothergill said was, “You understand me perfectly.”