Lord Hawkridge's Secret. Anne Ashley
authorities never discovered who held up the coach, stole the necklace and killed poor Elizabeth, did they?’
‘No.’
Charles shook his head sadly. ‘Poor Simon, he never recovered from his wife’s death.’
‘No, he never did,’ Lord Hawkridge confirmed. ‘Had I known what he intended to do that night, I would have taken steps to prevent him. The loss of the necklace meant nothing to him; Elizabeth meant everything. But he might have recovered in time.’
The bitter regret in the deep, attractive voice was not hard to detect. ‘Surely you don’t hold yourself in any way to blame?’ Charles enquired. ‘How could you possibly have guessed that poor Simon meant to put a bullet through his brain?’
There was a bitter set now to his lordship’s generous mouth. ‘One is always left wondering if one could have done more.’
‘Put it from your mind,’ Charles urged him, as the carriage slowed to turn into Deverel Hall’s impressive gateway. ‘Ah, we’re here! Let us hope the ladies have everything organised. At least I know I can always rely on Sarah.’
As Lord Hawkridge had no idea to whom his friend was referring he refrained from comment, and merely accompanied Charles into the well-proportioned Restoration mansion which put him in mind of the ancestral home he had inherited in Kent, both buildings having been designed and constructed by the same architect.
Although he had known Charles for more than a decade, Sebastian had never visited the Deverels’ country estate before. Nor, apart from the late Sir Augustus Deverel who, unlike his son, had enjoyed paying regular visits to the capital, had he met any other member of the family.
His lordship’s address was excellent, and in recent years had been polished to such a degree that he had little difficulty in flattering the most formidable matrons. Consequently it was a simple matter to bring a tinge of colour to the plump cheeks of the Dowager Lady Deverel whose faint claim to beauty had long since faded.
He had no need to flatter the golden-haired girl seated beside her mother, for she was undoubtedly a diamond of the first water and, unless he much mistook the matter, Miss Drusilla Deverel knew this very well.
‘I apologise, ma’am, if my unexpected arrival has inconvenienced you in any way,’ he remarked, returning his attention to the Dowager, before lowering his tall frame into the chair positioned directly opposite the sofa on which the ladies were seated.
‘Not at all, sir. Two of Drusilla’s friends can easily share a room. Most of our guests are not arriving until tomorrow. But we are expecting several to turn up later today, so I can safely promise some jolly company at dinner.’
‘You sound as if everything is well in hand for the party, Mama,’ Charles remarked, drawing her attention away from the gentleman whose name she had mentally added to the list of those whom she would be very happy to call son-in-law.
‘Oh, yes, dear. Everything is arranged.’
‘And no thanks to Sarah,’ Drusilla put in petulantly, the result of which, her mother noticed, not only brought a swift look of disapproval to her son’s handsome face, but unfortunately drew a slight frown to the very eligible Baron’s intelligent brow.
‘That is hardly fair, dear,’ she countered swiftly. ‘You’ve Sarah to thank for arranging almost everything. And she was even kind enough to give up her room so that you could invite more people than was originally planned.’
‘What’s this?’ her son demanded, suddenly alert. ‘I thought we’d agreed that in the circumstances it was to be only a small affair?’
‘Well, yes, Charles, we did. But you must remember that poor Drusilla has had to forgo the pleasures of a Season. And when we began to make a list of those we knew we simply must invite, the numbers just seemed to swell.’
‘How many have you invited?’ he demanded, frowning suspiciously.
‘One hundred and fifty,’ Drusilla enlightened him, looking very well pleased. ‘It will be a splendid party, not the shabby little affair you had planned, Charles.’
Sebastian, quietly sipping the wine which the butler had kindly handed him, couldn’t resist smiling to himself. Somewhere at the back of his mind he seemed to remember Charles mentioning once that his mother had suffered several miscarriages after having given birth to him, and more than a decade had passed before she had been successfully delivered of another healthy child. Little wonder, then, he mused, that the long awaited second offspring had been cosseted and indulged from birth. It was clear that even now the beauty of the house was all too frequently allowed to have her way; a sorry state of affairs which her brother, if his expression was any indication, would very much like to rectify.
‘Let me remind you, Drusilla, that our father has been dead for less than a year. I consider it in extremely bad taste to hold such a large party, although I suppose it’s far too late to do anything about it now.’
‘Much too late,’ his mother agreed. ‘And you mustn’t concern yourself, Charles. The event might be grander than first planned, but Drusilla knows that she must behave with propriety and not dance.’
Although Sebastian noted the beauty’s resentful expression, her brother evidently did not, for he changed the subject by asking, ‘Where is Sarah, by the way?’
If anything Drusilla appeared even more resentful. ‘She’s staying with the Stapletons. And just when we need her here the most!’
‘Well, you can hardly blame her, my love,’ Lady Deverel soothed. ‘I myself did not quite like the notion of the dear girl sleeping in one of the attic rooms.’
‘What’s this?’ Charles fixed a reproachful look in his mother’s direction. ‘Surely you didn’t expect Sarah to sleep with the servants?’
‘Of course not, dear,’ Lady Deverel swiftly assured him. ‘Sarah herself very obligingly offered to give up her bedchamber, and I was more than happy for her to stay with her friend for a few days, rather than move to one of the attic rooms.’
Sebastian noticed the look of disapproval lingering in his friend’s eyes. As he himself had been an only child, he had never been plagued by troublesome siblings or family squabbles. The closest he had ever come to having a sister was his cousin Caroline, who had been a frequent visitor to his Hampshire home in her childhood.
He had accepted this invitation to stay at the Hall with the gravest misgivings, for he had made a point, since coming into the title, of never accepting invitations to houses where a daughter of marriageable age resided, for the simple reason that seeking a suitable bride had never once entered his thoughts, and he had tried his utmost to avoid raising false hopes in any fond mama’s breast. All the same, he was beginning to think that, apart from the serious aspect of this visit, it might well prove to be an amusing diversion putting up with the Deverels.
Whether or not he would derive the same amount of pleasure out of coming into contact with a certain other young lady again, only time would tell.
Chapter Three
The following day, as she was crossing the hall, Emily noticed the letters collected from the receiving office that morning lying on the table. There was one for herself from a friend whom she had made while attending that seminary for a year, and with whom she corresponded on a regular basis, and there were two for her grandfather.
Slipping her own missive into the pocket of her gown to read later, she carried her grandfather’s letters into the library, where she discovered him, as expected, seated behind his desk, metal-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his thin nose, avidly studying a musty old tome. As he made no attempt to raise his head to discover who had invaded the privacy of his sanctum, Emily availed herself of the opportunity to study him for a moment, unobserved.
Silver-grey hair swept back from a high forehead that clearly betrayed the intelligence of a man who throughout his life had made many sound