Kesgrave pulled her away from the door and into his arms. “Brat,” he said fondly before indulging in a delightfully luxurious kiss that ended far too soon with the appearance of Mrs. Wallace bearing a tea tray.
Silently, he watched as the housekeeper placed the silver salver on the table and neatly arranged its contents, including a plate piled high with tea cakes. When she left, he said, “Tea? We are now serving tea to Mayhew’s valet?”
“I simply desire your comfort, your grace,” Bea explained as she took a cake off the top of the stack and tore off a small bite. As always, the baked goods Mrs. Wallace managed to supply on a regular basis were delicious.
“I believe we’ve switched to considering your comfort now,” he said.
Bea’s response was forestalled by the arrival of Marlow, who announced the presence of the valet in a begrudging yet imperious tone. Then he immediately closed the door, as if unable to look upon the scene unfolding before him—first the front door, now the heirloom china.
’Twas all too much to bear.
Amused, Bea turned her attention to Stebbings and noted that he appeared to be in little better condition than the butler, his face pale, his eyes fluttering, his hands fisted in discomfort as he apologized for interrupting.
“Y…you are…are having tea, your grace,” he sputtered. “I am happy to stand in the hallway while you finish.”
Bea waved breezily and bid him to come farther into the room as she and the duke settled onto the settee. “There is no need to wait. Please, come sit down.”
This seemingly harmless request put the valet in a terrible fix—for he could not possibly take a seat in the Duke of Kesgrave’s drawing room like a proper guest but nor could he defy the duchess’s order—and he looked around desperately as if seeking a third option, like a bed of nails or something equally uncomfortable.
Find nothing to suit his needs, he settled for the hardest chair in the room and lowered himself gingerly. Then he bowed his head and grasped the wooden seat.
Bea lifted the plate of tea cakes off the tray and offered him one. “I’m sure they are not as good as Monsieur Alphonse’s delightful creations, but they are rather tasty.”
Stebbings squarish face lost its last bit of color as he raised his head to look at her in the eye. He seemed determined to hold himself together, his grip tightening as if in physical exertion, but something in Bea’s curious gaze shattered his resolve and he shrieked in protest. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t! I swear! You must believe me! I never touched him, not even when I saw all those guineas in his hand! Never, never, never,” he chanted frantically, “never, never, never.”
Even as Bea leaned forward to seize on his statement regarding the coins, Kesgrave, demonstrating yet again a lack of urgency, ordered Stebbings to calm himself. The command was issued in the same matter-of-fact tone the duke used to request tea and had the desired effect. The valet’s shallow breaths slowly gave way to normal inhalations.
When he was satisfied with the other man’s control of himself, Kesgrave said, “Now, without getting worked up again, please tell us about your encounter with Monsieur Alphonse in Mayhew’s dressing room. I believe you just mentioned something about coins? Do tell us about those.”
Although the valet looked as though he was seconds away from succumbing to another fear-induced convulsion, his voice was even as he apologized for his intemperate response. “I did not anticipate a summons to Kesgrave House, and having received one I expected to be accused of murder. Everyone knows what you did at the Stirling ball,” he said, speaking to Beatrice now, his focus directly on her as his voice grew stronger, “how you coerced Lord Wem into confessing, and I was terrified you brought me here to trick me to confess, just like Wem. But I am innocent and Wem was guilty—I have to keep reminding myself of that: Wem was guilty and I am innocent. I have faith in you, your grace. I have faith that you compelled Wem to confess because he had done something terrible to your parents. I have faith that you won’t compel an innocent man to confess to a crime he did not commit. So, please, ask your questions. And if I may, yes, I would like a tea cake, thank you.”
As she held the plate out again for his perusal, she noted that despite the smoothness of his tone, his hand shook slightly as he selected a pastry. He was frightened.
“I believe his grace has already posed it,” she said gently as she returned the plate to the table. “Tell us about the coins.”
“Right, yes,” Stebbings said, gripping the tea cake a little too tightly as crumbs fell into his lap, creating a small mess that he was too distressed to notice. “Mr. Mayhew keeps a collection of coins in a box in the clothespress. It is not a very great amount of coins, usually around fifty guineas, so that he may take a few when he is going to his club or to church. Monsieur Alphonse was angry with Mr. Mayhew on Friday for lying to him about the bank loan for his brother. I do not know the details, but Monsieur Alphonse felt grievously mistreated and was determined to take what he felt he was owed from Mr. Mayhew. He found the box with the coins and stuffed every last guinea into his pockets. That is when I discovered him.”
Bea nodded, for what he had said aligned with her own conclusions. “And what did you do?”
“I told him if he put the money back, I would not say anything about it to Mr. Mayhew,” Stebbings explained.
“But he did not put the money back,” she said.
His gaze remained steady at he answered
