The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,16

to give it to him.

“Is my wife at home?” I asked him as I stumped by.

“Yes, sir.” Jeremy blinked at my brusqueness. “Upstairs, sir.”

Brewster had followed me inside instead of simply heading down to the kitchen. He seated himself on a chair in front of the main staircase without a word, his scowl daring anyone to argue with him. Barnstable, gliding from the rear of the house, raised his brows in disapproval, but I knew Brewster wouldn’t move. He’d not let anyone up the stairs who wasn’t above suspicion, and Brewster could be suspicious of everyone.

Barnstable took my greatcoat but I couldn’t stop long enough to remove my gloves, still grime-splotched from Creasey’s filthy warehouse. I clutched the railing as I went up the stairs and peeled off one of the gloves while I limped down the hall.

Donata’s sitting room, as always, was an island of calm. Her most recent portrait, with her two children, dominated a wall, her painted face gazing serenely down at me. In her previous portraits, which had been done when she’d still been Lady Breckenridge, her face had held sharpness, but now it was a softer oval, the eyes showing a woman who’d found peace.

My wife sat at her desk, a delicate thing of mahogany with tapered legs and a rounded top holding a few small drawers and pigeonholes. I paused as I stripped off my second glove, a part of me enjoying Donata’s slender form half turned to me, pen poised, as she glanced up at my intrusion. A peignoir, clasped down the front with a line of bows, flowed over the graceful lines of her legs. It was barely noon, and she would have just risen from her bed.

“Did you have an interesting outing?” she asked. “You ran off with Brewster directly after breakfast, looking like a thundercloud, so Jacinthe told me, so I cannot imagine it was anywhere pleasant.”

“It was not. Mr. Denis sent me on my task.”

Donata knew all about Denis’s condition for what he’d done for me in Brighton. She and I had occasionally speculated during the previous months what the task might be.

Her dark brows arched. “Indeed?”

I threw the gloves to a table, where they landed near a vase filled with fresh hothouse flowers. I dragged a chair next to the desk and sat down to face her. “Why don’t we go to Hampshire? Peter would love to ride his own grounds.”

A pucker appeared on Donata’s forehead. “As I explained, we never return home in September. Opening up the household will take too much time, and everyone on the estate is busy.”

“Oxfordshire then. To visit your parents.”

“Why the haste, Gabriel? We agreed to stay in London to take care of any business and then journey to Grenville’s home in the Cotswolds and await Gabriella’s visit.”

Earlier this summer, we’d planned a trip to France from Brighton with my daughter Gabriella to take her home. However, her French aunt and uncle had turned up, and they’d escorted Gabriella to her mother instead, with the promise she could return in October. This was to be Gabriella’s first Christmas with us.

Lucius Grenville, a famous dandy who was now my closest friend, had invited us to his large new home in Gloucestershire to enjoy autumn revelries and hunting. We’d arranged for Gabriella to meet us there.

“Because Denis has thrown down a gauntlet to a rival.” Rapidly, I told Donata what had transpired this morning. “If this man, Creasey, will strike at Denis through his associates, I do not want you in London.”

“I am hardly his associate,” Donata said, though I knew she was not dismissing my concern. “Even a hardened criminal—a smuggler and a thief, I am assuming—would hesitate to murder the mother of a viscount and daughter of an earl. The consequences would be dire.”

“That might be the case, but what if they aim for me—son of a minor gentleman—but hit you instead? Or Peter?”

“I take your point. Peter will go to Oxfordshire at once.” Her eyes softened. “Though Peter will object most strongly. He has become quite fond of you.”

Peter and I rode in Hyde Park together every day—he’d taken to rising and going out with me early in the morning. The fog had kept both of us indoors today, but I’d planned to take him out later this afternoon, even with the rain. In light of Creasey’s threats, I would change my plans.

“You will go with him,” I stated.

“I will finish what I need to in London,” Donata countered. She was