The next morning, having indulged in a brisk morning ride to clear his head, Langham made his way to the section of the house designated for estate business.
Before he and Poppy visited St. Lucy’s, he wanted to hear Ned Jarvis’s account of finding Lovell’s body. He found his cousin poring over the estate books in the steward’s office, which was tucked away on the ground floor with a view of the stables and the kitchen garden.
“You are supposed to be napping with your feet up on the desk so that I may catch you out,” Langham groused, scanning the neatly arranged room, where it seemed everything had its place. He’d known when he’d offered the job to his cousin that Ned would excel at it. In the ten years since Jarvis had been running the estate, Langham hadn’t once regretted his decision, and the farms had never been more thriving or profitable. “Now I have nothing to dress you down about.”
“Langham,” his cousin said with a grin. “I’d heard you’d arrived, but I was waiting to be summoned. I know how you enjoy wielding your ducal power.”
The two men embraced, each giving the other a hearty slap on the back for good measure.
“What troubles you?” Ned asked, his ability to read Langham’s mood as keen as it had been when they were boys. “A newly betrothed man shouldn’t look so Friday faced. Especially if your fiancée is as pretty as servants’ gossip says she is.”
“Do you still keep a decanter of my best Scotch whisky in here?” Langham asked, once they’d exchanged greetings. “It is early, I know. But I’m not ashamed to admit I could use a wee dram, as our neighbors to the north call it.”
“Betrothed life is treating you that well, is it?” Jarvis asked wryly. But he indicated that Langham should be seated as he turned to take a decanter and two glasses from the cabinet on the far wall.
When they both had drinks in hand, Langham took a sip and appreciated the alcohol’s smooth warmth. “It’s not the betrothal that’s the problem,” he said at last. “It’s her sister’s situation.”
“Ah yes,” Jarvis said gravely. “The servants might have mentioned that as well. It seems it was her husband’s body I found at the foot of St. Lucy’s bell tower.” Jarvis shook his head, and then cleared his throat before continuing. “I suppose you have good reason to be grim. It’s a bad business.”
Accepting his cousin’s sympathy didn’t sit well with Langham, knowing that he was keeping to himself the fact that the betrothal was a false one. He’d had no qualms about hiding the truth from his sisters and grandmother; it served them right for all their scheming to marry him off. But Ned hadn’t done anything to deserve his lies.
Still, it would not do to tell him the truth. At least not before the end of this house party. Besides, there had been times yesterday—particularly when Poppy had walked into the drawing room before dinner last night looking like a goddess come down to earth—when he’d had to remind himself that the betrothal wasn’t real. Surely that was enough to assuage his conscience for the moment.
“It is indeed,” he said now, putting his other concerns aside for the moment. “And Poppy is beside herself with worry over her sister. I want to do what I can to ensure that her sister is treated fairly.”
“It’s a love match, then?” Ned’s voice didn’t hide his disbelief. Which was hardly surprising given Langham’s declarations over the years that he had no intention of ever falling in love.
“Not as such,” Langham said with a shake of his head. “But I do hold her in affection, and I can hardly ignore the fact that her beloved sister is suspected of murder.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Ned said. “Well, I wish I could give you some information that would put your Miss Delamere’s mind at ease, but I have none. I did find Lovell’s body, it’s true, but I’m hardly an expert when it comes to investigating murder. If it hadn’t been for the knife wound in the man’s chest, I’d have assumed he’d taken his own life.”
This brought Langham up short. “What do you mean, ‘knife wound’? There was no mention of a knife in the newspapers.”
“Well…” Ned said with a shrug. “I wasn’t supposed to mention it. Constable Rhodes wants to keep that bit confidential until the inquest, but I can hardly keep the information from you, can I?”
Grateful for his cousin’s loyalty, Langham gave a grateful nod. “If he gives you any trouble for it, just tell him that I demanded you tell me everything.”
“You can be a damned intimidating fellow when you wish to be,” Ned agreed. “I’m sure he won’t give me any trouble.”
But Langham wasn’t really interested in the constable. “Tell me about the chapel itself. Is the path up the rise as difficult to navigate as it used to be?”
“Worse,” Ned said with a scowl. “The brush has taken over. I daresay that’s why Dolly wandered up there.”
“Who the devil is Dolly?” Langham asked.
“The sheep I was searching for that day,” Ned said dryly. “Daft thing got herself up there but then couldn’t find her way down. I was near the edge of the woods when I heard her bleating like her heart would break from up near the chapel. It took me a bit to get to her, and as soon as I got to the clearing, I saw the fellow at once. There was no question he was dead, of course. His neck was obviously broken.”
“How familiar were you with the fellow?” Langham had no doubt that Ned knew most everyone in the area, including Lovell.
“We’d met a few times in the village,” Ned said with a shrug. “But he didn’t have much time for a mere land steward, however impressive the Langham Abbey holdings might be. I thought he was a deuced odd fish if you must know. How he’d managed to snare a wife like Mrs. Lovell was a mystery to me and several others in Little Kidding.”
“So, you’ve met her as well?” Langham asked, his curiosity piqued by Ned’s words. It wasn’t like his cousin to gossip, so if enough people were talking about the mismatch between Violet and Lovell, then it must have been a common topic of conversation. “What is she like?”
Ned closed his eyes, as if that made it easier to envision her. “She’s pleasant enough. And pretty. Like her sister, I’d imagine. But I don’t know her well enough to say whether she’d have killed her husband. But then, I’m not the first man to find the workings of the female mind impossible to understand.”
Though his cousin looked calm enough, there was something about his manner that gave Langham pause. Perhaps he was still unsettled from finding Lovell’s body? Though somehow the duke didn’t think that was the issue.
With what seemed to Langham an obvious desire to change the subject, Ned sat up straight in his chair and set down his glass. “Now, Yer Grace,” he said in a mock country accent, “I must be getting back to these ledgers. You may not have met him, but my employer can be quite demanding.”
His cousin’s tone was jovial, but Langham noticed Ned had begun tapping the edge of his desk. The rhythm was familiar, and Langham suddenly recalled it was a song Ned used to hum when they were boys; specifically when he was lying. Could it be possible his cousin wasn’t as pleased with his role at the abbey as he’d assumed?
“Thank you for telling me about Lovell,” Langham said, after he’d shook Ned’s hand and made his way to the door. “And you have my trust. I won’t reveal that I learned of the knife wound from you.”
If there was a chance that Ned wasn’t happy in his position, Langham certainly didn’t want to do anything to upset him more before he could try to remedy the situation.
Ned nodded. “I’m obliged. I can’t imagine Rhodes would do anything about it, but I’d just as soon not find out.”
Langham bid him goodbye and headed up the back stairs toward his rooms.
Ned Jarvis was definitely hiding something, and Langham meant to find out what. He might love the other man like a brother, but he’d promised to help Poppy clear her sister’s name.
And for now, keeping his vow to her was the only thing that mattered.
* * *
Despite her fatigue, Poppy found it difficult to sleep after the unsettling events of the day. Whenever she closed her eyes, the reunion with her mother and Lord Short, the at times fractious conversation with the other guests, and even the mostly pleasant chat with Langham’s sisters would push to the forefront of her mind and keep her awake.
And then there were the snatches of remembered conversation with Langham himself, and the many small kindnesses he’d offered her throughout the day. And the even more unsettling reminders of how his perfectly tailored coat had showed his broad shoulders to such advantage. Or the way the corners of his eyes fanned with fine lines when he laughed. The heady sandalwood and citrus scent of his shaving soap.
She’d done her utmost to ignore how attractive he was as they’d gone about the day, but as she reached for sleep, her mind had betrayed her. As a result, she arose far too early the next morning, feeling only marginally more rested than when she’d lain down.
Manners had filled the wardrobe in her dressing room last night with a larger selection of gowns than she could possibly wear in a week, and a cheerful housemaid named Jenny was currently settling her into a pale blue morning gown trimmed in darker blue ribbon. Poppy hated accepting more charity from Langham, but she had to admit that having someone see to her hair and clothing was a luxury she had missed.
After thanking Jenny for her assistance, Poppy set out to search for the breakfast room, which was empty when she arrived. No doubt the partygoers were accustomed to sleeping half the morning away.
Thanks to the respite, Poppy was able to eat her eggs and toast without more needling from Lady Carlyle or Miss Beaconfield—a circumstance for which she was grateful.
When she’d finished her meal, and Langham hadn’t yet come downstairs to break his own fast, she made a quick trip upstairs to retrieve the straw bonnet meant to be worn with her gown and then found her way to the doors leading from a prettily decorated parlor out onto a terraced garden.
It was a crisp morning, with enough sun to keep it from true chilliness, and she took a moment to breathe in the fresh country air. She enjoyed the bustle and energy of London, but there were days when the fog and soot of the city made her long for just this sort of day.
From this vantage point it was possible to see across the gently sloping landscape and out across the lake beyond where she noted the presence of a temple folly. Farther out, there was a steep incline and atop it, obscured by an overgrowth of vegetation, a bell tower.
Poppy’s heart leapt. Was that the chapel that was mentioned in the newspaper article about Lovell’s death? She needed to see it. She reminded herself to mention it to Langham when she saw him later.
Turning her attention back to the vista before her—in the hopes of calming her mind before visiting the grange again—she focused on the parts of the grounds that were not associated with murder. It was a breathtaking view, and combined with the elegant décor of the house itself, Poppy wasn’t surprised Langham had so many young ladies clamoring to be his bride. Even she was not immune to the lure of imaging herself the mistress of all this, however much she might recognize just how absurd the very notion was.
“Oh, I do apologize. I hadn’t realized anyone else was out here.”
The female voice came from the other side of the terrace, and when Poppy looked over she saw a young woman of about twenty, whose plain gray gown and severely dressed dark hair proclaimed her to be some sort of upper servant.
“There is no need to apologize,” Poppy said to her, grateful for the interruption. “I daresay there is room enough for both of us in this extraordinary space.”
“How kind you are,” the lady said with a wide smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Miss Halliwell, governess to Lord and Lady Carlyle’s daughters.”
Poppy made sure not to show it, but hearing that the poor lady was employed by Lady Carlyle made her inwardly shudder. What a dreadful position that would be.
“I am Miss Delamere,” she said aloud.
“Oh,” Miss Halliwell said, her dark eyes wide, and Poppy knew her notoriety—at least in this household—had preceded her.
“How dreadfully rude of me,” Miss Halliwell said, her cheeks reddening. “It’s just that…well, you must know you’re rather famous among the upper servants. You’ve put quite a number of their mistresses, noses out of joint, to be perfectly frank.”
Poppy was grateful for Miss Halliwell’s candor. “I am well aware of that,” she said dryly. “They have made their pique known to me in no uncertain terms.”
The governess winced in sympathy. “How dreadful it must be for you,” she said, and Poppy could detect no hint of irony in her tone.
“I daresay I would be annoyed if I journeyed to a country house party with the aim of enticing a duke, only to learn shortly after my arrival that he’s already betrothed.” Poppy shrugged. “It must have been quite a shock to them. Not to mention how their mamas must have felt. There are very few eligible dukes who have all their teeth, much less as handsome as Langham.”
“Ah, my dear, are you extolling my fine looks again? What have I told you about bragging about your conquest? It’s most unbecoming to gloat.”
To Poppy’s horror, the man himself stepped from a door farther down the terrace. She felt her face heat and cursed her fair complexion, which made it impossible for her to hide either ire or embarrassment. And unfortunately, the present moment made her feel both.
Before she could explain herself—and really, what was there to explain?—he stepped up beside her and brought her hand to his lips. His eyes were merry when they met hers, and she felt her stomach flood with butterflies.
“I was merely paying you a compliment, Langham,” she retorted with as much dignity as she could muster. “Perhaps you should take your own advice and refrain from gloating yourself.”
“Your Grace,” Miss Halliwell said, dropping into a curtsy. “I’ll leave you both to your privacy.”
“Do not go yet, Miss Halliwell,” Poppy implored. “I assure you, the duke is not nearly as fearsome as you’ve been led to believe. Langham, show her how unthreatening you can be.”
“No, I really must go,” said Miss Halliwell with a smile. “My charges will have finished breakfast by now. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Delamere. I hope the rest of the party is more pleasant for you.”
To Langham, she gave another curtsy, and said, “Your Grace.”
And before Poppy could protest further, the governess hurried back into the house.
“And who is this Miss Halliwell?” Langham asked turning to face her with a raised brow. “I wouldn’t have thought you would confide in a stranger about your difficulties with the other ladies at the party.”
“She’s not a stranger,” Poppy said, giving him a pointed look to let him know she knew that by “stranger” he meant “servant.” “Well not exactly. She is governess for Lord and Lady Carlyle.”
“That’s an unfortunate position for your new friend,” he said with a grimace, and suddenly Poppy wondered if she’d judged him too harshly moments ago. “Carlyle is pleasant enough, but as you now well know, his wife is, well, not.”
“Exactly what I thought,” Poppy agreed. And not for the first time, she was grateful at having been employed by someone like Kate, who treated her with respect and had become a friend. “The poor girl must have a wretched existence in that household.”
They were quiet for a moment, and as Poppy’s mind wandered, without meaning to, she allowed her gaze to take in Langham’s appearance more fully. He was dressed for riding, in boots and breeches—the picture of a country gentleman. And though there was no denying he seemed comfortable with himself no matter what he wore, she couldn’t help but note that here in the country he was far more relaxed.
“Do I pass your inspection, then?” he asked, his voice lower than normal. Despite her resolve to remain indifferent to him, she felt a tickle of awareness skip down her spine.
“Don’t be absurd,” she said primly. “I was just thinking you’ll need to change before we depart for Rothwell Grange.”
He looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “I’ll only be a few moments. I’ve already asked the curricle to be brought round.”
At her look of surprise, his expression turned stern. “I haven’t forgot the reason you’re here,” he said. “We may be under constant attack from thwarted matchmaking mamas, but that has hardly obliterated your sister’s plight from my consciousness.”
She was about to protest that she had thought no such thing, but before she could gather her thoughts he had turned away and disappeared inside the parlor, leaving her to stare after him in frustration.
Poppy had been quite happy to think of him as an arrogant aristocrat, and perhaps too often quick to paint him with that brush. In fact, he was proving himself to be far more decent than she’d first thought with every passing moment.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, she found decency more attractive than all the ducal coronets in England.
