A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,129

ye already ken. It went by aboot a quarter o’ an hour afore ye came bargin’ through the door.”

Except we’d come across the gun terrace, not through the grand portico.

Gage grabbed my hand and hurried me toward the door, pausing only long enough to yell back at Colum, “Stay here!” Then we set off up the drive as quickly as I could manage.

We’d nearly reached the portico when the sound of cantering hooves fast approaching behind us made Gage draw me toward the side of the lane. I pressed a hand to my side, panting as we watched the gentleman approach. I squinted as he drew nearer and then exclaimed in delight as I recognized him. “Anderley!”

He reined in at the sight of us. “Well, I never expected such a welcome as this,” he quipped, before flashing us a grin. His teeth shone white against his dirt-flecked, olive-hued skin.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” Gage declared as Anderley dismounted, offering him his hand in a hearty shake.

I lurched forward to hug him, heedless of the impropriety and the mud splattering his attire. I was simply that relieved he was safe.

Clearly shocked by my embrace, he awkwardly accepted my display of affection. “I’m pleased to see you as well, my lady.”

I sniffed back a sudden wave of emotion as I stepped back to gaze up at the bemused expressions on both of their faces. “Oh, just blame it on my being in the family way,” I retorted, dashing wetness from the corners of my eyes. “Aren’t women supposed to be maudlin in such a condition?”

Gage’s face softened with affection and he pressed his arm to my lower back in support.

“Is your condition also to be blamed for this?” Anderley asked, his brow scored with concern as he gestured to my sling.

“No,” I replied, my voice tight with the awareness that Lord John may also have been the one to push me down the ballroom stairs.

Anderley looked to Gage for an explanation.

He shook his head as we resumed our steps toward the portico. “Later. Tell us first, is it true? Was Miss Renton Lord Helmswick’s lawful wife?”

“You received my last letter, then.” He nodded, leading his horse. “I’m afraid so. Though I had to use some strong persuasion to convince the local vicar to finally admit to it.”

The two men shared a significant look, letting me know I didn’t want to ask too many questions about what that method of persuasion might have been. I trusted Anderley hadn’t done real harm. Gage would never have stood for such tactics.

“Apparently it took place some years ago when Helmswick’s parents were still alive. They didn’t approve of the match, and so Helmswick persuaded the vicar to wed them in secret. It seemed he loved her, at least for a time. The only witnesses were Renton and Mr. Warren, Helmswick’s valet.”

“Then you found the marriage record?” Gage asked.

“Not exactly,” Anderley demurred. “The vicar told me that Renton had stolen that parish register some years before, for safekeeping, he said.”

“I suppose that makes sense if he intended to carry through on his blackmail scheme,” I ruminated out loud, lifting my skirts as we stepped over a suspicious patch in the dirt.

“Yes.” His eyebrows lifted. “And I wasn’t the only one who’d paid the vicar a visit recently to ask about the register.”

Gage’s eyes met mine. “Lord John Kerr.”

Anderley seemed disgruntled to have his thunder stolen. “Yes. And when I visited Renton’s cottage, it appeared he’d gotten there before me as well, for the leather binding of the register was in the hearth, its pages burned to ash.”

“He was destroying the evidence of Helmswick’s first marriage,” I surmised. Evidence that Lady Helmswick wished to have, if her outburst to Lord John had been any indication. For Lord John had not only destroyed the evidence of the earl’s bigamy, but also the proof she needed to coerce him into allowing her to live separately.

We passed beneath the stone portico, and a footman stepped out from the passage, his posture straightening at the sight of us, before he ducked back inside. When he reemerged, he hastened forth to take the reins of Anderley’s horse. “Mr. and Mrs. Gage, the duke is asking for you.”

Gage clasped his hand over mine in solidarity where it rested on his arm, no doubt anticipating, as I was, that Helmswick was stirring up some sort of hornet’s nest over having been misidentified as a corpse. But when we reached the guardroom, we were