The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,20

marriage to a lady from a neighboring estate Tristan had only the vaguest recollection of ever meeting.

“The countess’s grief over Thomas’s death is…extreme,” Lyndon said carefully, but Tristan knew well enough what his friend meant.

The Countess of Gray had never been much interested in Tristan. He was more like his father—that is, dull and serious and far too concerned with tedious things like propriety and honor. Tristan’s elder brother, Thomas, had always been her favorite child, and she’d petted and spoiled him since he was in short pants.

Thomas’s death was a great loss, but not, unfortunately, an unexpected one. After he inherited the title and fortune a decade ago, he’d embraced dissipation with the sort of single-minded dedication that put a premature end to the lives of firstborn sons all across England. Tristan had loved his brother dearly—Thomas had been handsome, charming, and affectionate—but he hadn’t been surprised when years of debauchery had sent Thomas to an early grave.

Now the countess’s overindulgence of her elder son had led to predictably tragic results, she’d succumbed to a grief so violent it bordered on parody. She’d declared herself mere steps from her own grave, and demanded Tristan return to Oxfordshire as soon as possible.

“She expects you to marry still?” Lyndon asked, his tone grim.

Tristan gave a short laugh. “Let’s just say the countess has taken a much greater interest in me since I became the earl.”

Lyndon shook his head. “You were better off before.”

Tristan didn’t argue that point. Lyndon knew him well enough to know Tristan didn’t relish the future now laid before him, but he’d do his duty by his mother and his title.

First, however, he’d do his duty by Henry Gerrard, a friend who’d been dearer to him than his own brother. “My mother will have to reconcile herself to my absence a little longer. I have the rest of my life to be the Earl of Gray.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but when Lyndon’s gaze jerked to his face, Tristan knew he’d revealed himself.

“Yes, you do.” Lyndon’s face darkened with something that was part anger, part sadness. “And I’m sorry for it, Tristan.”

Tristan was sorry for it, too, but he didn’t voice his regret.

Lyndon took his leave soon after that, there being little, after all, left to say.

* * * *

An hour after Lyndon left Great Marlborough Street, Tristan arrived at No. 4 Bow Street, where he surprised the Bow Street magistrate at his breakfast. “Stratford—that is, Lord Gray.” Sampson Willis set his teacup hastily aside and rose from his chair. “I didn’t realize you’d returned to London. Last I heard you were in Oxfordshire.”

“I have some final business to resolve here.” Tristan waved Willis back to his seat and took the chair on the other side of the desk.

Willis cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was sorry to hear of your brother’s passing. It’s a terrible loss for your family.”

“Thank you.”

“How does your mother do?” Willis shook his head. “Poor lady. I imagine her grief must be extreme.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

When Tristan didn’t elaborate, Willis cleared his throat again. “Well, then. What brings you to Bow Street?”

“I regret having to bring ill tidings, Willis, but there’s trouble over at the Clifford School.” Tristan saw no reason to mince words. “One of Lady Clifford’s students was up to some mischief last night.”

Willis had returned to his tea, but he set the cup aside again. “Oh? How did you discover this?”

“Quite by accident. I happened to catch the young woman in question prowling about in the dark after Peter Sharpe.”

Willis frowned. “What, you mean Everly’s man? Are you certain she was following him? Perhaps their being in the same place was merely a coincidence.”

“A rather startling coincidence, wouldn’t you say, for one of Lady Clifford’s girls to be creeping through the streets of London in the same vicinity as the only witness to a murder her ladyship’s servant is accused of committing?”

Willis blinked. “Well, when you put it like that—”

“It was no coincidence, Willis. The girl was waiting for Sharpe on the roof of Lord Everly’s pediment. My library looks out onto the front of Everly’s townhouse, so I got a good, long look at her. As soon as Sharpe came out, she was over the side of the pediment and down one of the columns as quickly as any cat.”

Willis’s eyebrows shot up. “The devil you say!”

“I saw her myself. It was rather impressive, really.”

Willis leaned back in his chair, considering this. “No doubt it was. If