A Regency Invitation Page 17

  Amy smiled to herself and clattered down the spiral staircase. Poor Miss Saunders was decidedly put upon. When she was not tasked with reading aloud to the ladies, she was being despatched to the dressing room to do Miss Lyndhurst’s mending. What kind of life was that, for a well-born lady?

  Amy knew the answer perfectly well. It was the kind of life that befell a well-born spinster with no income and no other means of support. It was the kind of life that she herself might yet have to face.

  Halfway through, and still nothing. Amy lifted down yet another expensive and immaculate coat. She began to search the pockets, one by one. She had been through every single drawer and all the other potential hiding places. After Mr Lyndhurst-Flint’s clothing, there was nowhere else to search. What if she found nothing?

  She tried not to think of that. Or of Marcus, locked in the Major’s dressing room, at risk of being dragged off to gaol at any moment. There must be some evidence somewhere. She must find it!

  She reached for another coat and began to search the pockets. Marcus Sinclair…How could she have failed to recognise him? He had not changed so very much. Oh, he was considerably older, but he was still the same man. How was it that she had not seen past his unkempt appearance? The beard had hidden the shape of his face, to be sure, but still…The truth was that she had been trying to avoid looking him in the face. Since the moment she had first walked in on him, she had been embarrassed beyond measure. She had been trying not to look at him at all.

  Only one more coat.

  She wanted so much to help him. She knew he was innocent of all these absurd charges. Why was she so sure? Everyone else seemed to believe him guilty, perhaps even the Major.

  But Amy was sure. Marcus Sinclair was a man of honour. He would never carry out such an attack. Why, he had put his own life in jeopardy in order to protect Amy. Being protected was something Amy had never experienced before. In all her life, no one had tried to protect her. Amy had always been the one who protected others. First her widowed mother, and then her brother. It was a strange feeling to know that there was someone who was prepared to put Amy first. And to take such risks for her, besides. Marcus Sinclair was a very special man.

  Amy slid her fingers into the last pocket of the last coat. It was empty. She had failed. She had promised to help Marcus, and she had failed.

  She slipped back into Sarah’s bedchamber and sat down heavily at the little writing table. Now what was she to do? She could not face the thought of telling Marcus of her failure. She had promised him proof, but she had found nothing at all. Soon, the Major and the shooting party would return to the house. Would the Major carry out his threat to deal with Marcus then? He might be taken off to gaol this very day. And it would be Amy’s fault.

  She dropped her head into her hands. But she refused to despair. She would not weep. There must be proof. Somewhere. She must have missed something.

  What could it be? She had not found even the letter to Mr Lyndhurst-Flint’s bankers. It had probably been despatched by now. Or perhaps he carried it on his person?

  That was it! If there was anything to be found, William Lyndhurst-Flint would not have risked hiding it in his room. It would be on him. The pockets she needed to search were the pockets of the coat he was wearing.

  Amy jumped to her feet. She would need to search Mr Lyndhurst-Flint’s chamber again, while he was at dinner.

  But what was she to tell Marcus? He would be furious that she had risked herself thus far. He seemed so determined to defend her. Well, she would tell him the truth. Or part of it.

  And she must do it now, before the shooting party returned. She rose, smoothing her skirts automatically. Then she walked smartly down the stairs to the floor below and tapped softly on the door to Marcus’s prison.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It is I, Dent,’ she said. ‘It is Amy,’ she added, more softly. She heard the key turning in the lock. ‘Do not open the door,’ she said quickly. ‘You never know who may come upon us.’

  She knew it would be easier to tell him her disappointing news if she did not have to look into his face. She waited until she heard the key turn once more. ‘I have come to tell you…Forgive me, sir, I have failed you. I have searched, but I have found nothing.’ She stopped, waiting for some kind of response. There was total silence behind the heavy door. ‘But there is just one chance,’ she went on, trying to sound more confident than she felt. ‘If there is proof, he may have it on his person. I will search again as soon as he is gone down to dinner.’

  ‘No!’ Marcus’s cry was a mixture of fury and exasperation. ‘For God’s sake, Amy, take no more risks!’

  The anxiety in his voice made her heart turn over. He was truly concerned about what might happen to her. It was only a friendly concern, no doubt, but it made her feel…cherished. ‘I will return as soon as I can, to tell you what I have found,’ she said quietly.

  ‘No, don’t come here again. Not once the shooting party has returned. It is too dangerous.’

  ‘How else am I to tell you—?’ She stopped at the sound of Marcus’s heavy sigh.

  ‘You are incorrigible, Amy Devereaux. Where will I find you? Let me be the one to take the risks. I will come to you.’

  ‘You cannot. The only way to my room is by the servants’ stair. You would be seen.’

  ‘Somewhere else, then,’ he said sharply. ‘I swear I will not speak to you if you come back here.’

  ‘Well, I—Perhaps we could meet on the roof? The servants are not permitted to go up there. And there is no access from the servants’ quarters to the staircase.’ She heard a low laugh from the other side of the door.

  ‘It sounds like an ideal spot for an assignation. Are you sure you dare to meet me in such a place?’

  Amy was not in the mood for teasing. What was he about? His very life could be at stake. ‘I will not fail you,’ she said seriously. ‘Wait for me on the roof. After the dinner hour. I will come to you as soon as I can.’

  Miss Saunders was still reading to the ladies when Amy arrived back on the roof. She did read beautifully, in a low, melodious voice. Amy paused to listen, halfway up the stairs. No one would know she was there. Just for a moment, she wanted to forget all this interminable intrigue, to forget about her missing brother, to forget the dangers surrounding Marcus Sinclair. Listening to that lovely voice reading Shakespeare’s sonnets, Amy could pretend that she was a lady again, and everything was normal.

  But it was not normal.

  The sound of men’s voices drifted up to her. Someone was coming. Amy scuttled up the stairs on to the roof and hurried across to the Countess.

  Sarah glanced in the direction of Miss Saunders. Lady Quinlan was listening. Miss Lyndhurst’s eyes were closed and her head had fallen forward a little. Eliza Ebdon was standing apart, looking thoroughly bored. Sarah whispered, ‘Look concerned, Amy. I want them to believe I am scolding you.’

  Amy bowed her head meekly and laced her fingers together.

  ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘No. Nothing at all. Perhaps there is nothing to find.’

  ‘I think you may have been looking in the wrong place, Amy dear. That child I saw…that grubby little urchin. He gave William a paper. I am sure of it.’

  Amy looked up in surprise, just as Miss Saunders began the next sonnet. ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments…’

  ‘Amy! Remember you are being scolded.’ Sarah started to wag her finger. ‘William kept looking round, to make sure no one was watching him. I am sure it is something important. Why else would he speak to a filthy child? He—Why, you are returned early, my lord!’

  The Earl of Mardon and Major Lyndhurst were striding out on to the roof. Miss Lyndhurst sat up with a convulsive start and put her hands to her lace cap. Miss Saunders abruptly stopped reading and busied herself with putting her book into her bag, her cheap bonnet hiding her face from view.

  Sarah crossed to meet her husband, who lifted her hand and
gallantly kissed her fingers. She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Fie, my lord! But you are in no fit state to wait on ladies!’

  The Earl laughed. ‘Did I not warn you, Anthony? In your haste, you have given my wife cause to upbraid me.’

  Lady Quinlan giggled. ‘Do I take it that my husband is returned also?’

  ‘Aye. But he said he would prefer to rid himself of the dirt of the chase before attending on the ladies. He will be in his bedchamber, I imagine.’

  ‘I should think so, indeed,’ snapped Miss Lyndhurst, looking daggers at the Major.

  Lady Quinlan rose and strolled elegantly across to the cupola. ‘It is really much too hot up here.’ She folded her parasol. ‘I think I shall go downstairs into the cool for a while. Pray excuse me.’

  The Earl and his wife exchanged a knowing glance, but neither spoke.

  Major Lyndhurst seemed to have noticed nothing. He walked across to the chair that Lady Quinlan had vacated and moved it a little closer to the companion. Sitting down, he said, ‘Pray do not allow me to interrupt your reading, Miss Saunders. How does it continue? “Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove.” Admirable sentiments, are they not?’

  Miss Saunders bent to her bag once more and began to rummage around in it. She had gone very pale. It seemed that she could not find her book.

  The Major reached out a hand. ‘May I help you, ma’am?’ Although Miss Saunders was now clutching the bag tightly, he seemed to be about to remove it from her grasp when Miss Lyndhurst’s cane struck him full across the knuckles.

  ‘That’s quite enough of that, Anthony Lyndhurst. No proper gentleman would ever pry into a lady’s bag. I cannot think what has come over you.’

  The Major tried to ignore her. ‘Miss Saunders, may I invite you to—?’

  Miss Lyndhurst got up from her chair in a remarkably sprightly fashion. ‘Miss Saunders, please have the goodness to go below and lay out my evening gown. I have no need of you here for the present.’

  Miss Saunders rose gracefully to her feet and gathered up her bag and her parasol. ‘As you wish, ma’am.’

  The Major offered her his arm. ‘Let me help you downstairs with your bag, Miss Saunders.’

  ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Anthony,’ Miss Lyndhurst said sharply. ‘Miss Saunders is perfectly well able to descend two pairs of stairs without your assistance. I, on the other hand, would welcome the use of your arm for a turn around this rooftop of yours. I have been waiting all afternoon for a gentleman’s company. Come. You may point out all the landmarks to me as we go.’

  To Amy’s surprise, the Major said not a word, though his neck had gone rather red. Perhaps he dared not speak, lest he insult the old lady. He simply bowed and offered his arm.

  ‘Thank you, Anthony,’ Miss Lyndhurst said with a bright smile. She waved her ear trumpet in the general direction of the lake. ‘Interesting stretch of water, that. Do you take many trout?’

  Marcus heard footsteps in the bedchamber and the sound of the key in the lock. He held his breath. Was this the moment?

  The door swung open. ‘I dare say you’ll be wanting a bite to eat, Mr Marcus?’

  Timms! ‘Is it to be my last, Timms, before I’m consigned to bread and water?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, sir. The Major’s not been…er…quite himself today. Drank a deal too much brandy last night. Must have had something on his mind, I suppose.’ Timms looked sideways at Marcus. ‘I can’t imagine what it might have been.’

  Marcus gave a bark of laughter. ‘You are an old villain, Timms. Am I to conclude that the Major has a sore head today?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say, sir.’

  ‘How was his shooting?’

  ‘Ah…’ Timms hesitated. ‘Well, to be frank, Mr Marcus, the Major’s eye was not in today. Not up to his usual standard.’

  Marcus grinned. Poor Anthony. If he had been overindulging in brandy, he probably had a terrible head. And that would account for his having slept through Amy’s visit to the dressing room. If only Marcus had known. He could have saved them both a deal of anxiety.

  ‘So, what happens now, Timms? My trial was postponed last evening. Does it continue tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Marcus. Truly I don’t. But the Major was planning to talk to his lordship about it. That I do know.’

  ‘You mean Lord Mardon?’

  ‘Aye, sir. Hasn’t done so yet, I don’t think. His lordship will take it mighty serious, us hiding a fugitive.’

  Marcus tried to look grave. But that was not how he felt. John was an upright, level-headed man. He would make sure Anthony’s temper did not rule him. With John involved, Marcus would get a fair hearing. Whatever might happen afterwards.

  He squared his shoulders and raised his eyebrows at the valet. ‘Can’t imagine what happened to those promised victuals. Why, a man could die of starvation in this room!’

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Amy reached the foot of the spiral staircase, it was very late, much later than she had intended. She removed her spectacles and put them in her pocket. Carefully shielding her candle, she started up. Would Marcus be there? Would he have waited so long?

  There was no one in the cupola. The circular benches were empty. He had not trusted her enough to wait.

  She paused on the top step with her hand on the metal rail. She had to find him, to tell him.

  ‘Amy!’ His shadow filled the open door to the roof. Without another word, he reached for her hand and pulled her through into the warm night air, closing the door behind them. She saw that he had taken some of the long leather cushions from the benches in the cupola to serve as a seat. There was a clear impression of his body on them. He had been lying full length, waiting for her.

  He blew out her flickering candle and put the candleholder down. ‘We have no need of feeble candles. Look above you. The sky is full of stars.’

  Amy sank on to the makeshift seat and glanced up. The heavens looked enormous tonight, and so very clear. There was much more light than she would have expected.

  ‘I have it,’ she whispered urgently.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have the proof you need. Here.’ She took the paper from her sleeve and pressed it into his hand.

  He unfolded it. ‘I cannot read a word by this light,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘You should have allowed me my candle, sir.’

  ‘Amy, this is no time for exercising your wit on me. Tell me. What does it say? And where did you find it?’

  ‘Some grubby child delivered it to Mr Lyndhurst-Flint during the shoot today. The note does not actually bear his name, but I found it in the inside pocket of his shooting jacket.’ She ignored Marcus’s furious intake of breath. ‘There was no risk, I promise. It was the work of but a moment to steal it. It is a demand for money owed. For the attack on Frobisher. It says that, unless the money is paid, the writer will ensure that Mr Marcus Sinclair learns all the facts about the attack on Frobisher. It warns that Mr Marcus Sinclair is deadly both with the sword and with the pistol.’

  ‘Ah.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘So that was why William was so desperate to borrow that money. He needed it to pay the man he had hired to carry out the attack on Frobisher. You are right, Amy. This note is clearly intended as a reminder of debts outstanding. The writer must be somewhere nearby, waiting his chance. If William does not pay up, his accomplice will betray him.’

  ‘And this note gives us proof that your cousin is guilty of the attack.’

  ‘Yes. No. Damnation! If William’s name is not on the note, it gives us no proof at all against him.’

  ‘But we do have proof. I found it in his pocket. I can tell the Major so.’

  ‘Amy, you cannot.’ He sat down beside her. He was very close now. ‘William would surely deny it. Anthony could never take the word of a servant against the word of a member of the family.’

  ‘But he would take the word of a la
dy, would he not?’

  ‘You cannot tell him who you are. It would be folly.’

  She frowned up into his eyes. ‘Major Lyndhurst has to know the truth. If that is the only way, I shall do it.’

  Marcus shook his head and let out a long sigh. ‘Yes, I do believe you would. If I needed any more proof that you are not like other young ladies, my beautiful idiot, you have just provided it. You are one in a million, Amy Devereaux. And you will not betray yourself to Anthony. I insist on having your word on that. We will find another way.’ He pushed the note into his pocket and cupped her face with both hands. ‘Your word, Amy?’

  ‘Is there another way?’ she said in a small voice.

  He smiled faintly. ‘I will not be diverted, you know. There must be a way. And we will find it.’ He smoothed his thumbs back and forth across her cheeks. ‘I shall not let you go until I have your promise…even if I have to wait all night.’ He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her answer.

  ‘You are a tyrant, Marcus Sinclair.’

  ‘No doubt. But, on this, I mean what I say. You will not ruin your reputation to save me. Promise me, Amy.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Please, Amy.’

  She could not deny him any more. Not when he asked in that voice. ‘Very well. You have my word.’

  He smiled with relief and dropped his hands.

  Amy felt bereft. She tried to smile at him. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Is what true?’

  ‘Are you deadly?’

  ‘Compared with William? Yes, I imagine I probably am. Unlike the rest of us, William never served in the army.’

  ‘Will you call him out?’

  Marcus rose and began to pace. He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know. He is my cousin. And John’s brother. But—’ Marcus turned back to Amy. Taking both her hands, he pulled her to her feet. ‘Enough of that, my dear Miss Devereaux. If this note is as clear as you say, then at least it will prove to Anthony that I am no cowardly assailant.’