What Happens in Piccadilly - Chasity Bowlin Page 0,88

He’d sent letters to several very prominent members of Parliament following the chaotic events of the morning, but it didn’t feel like punishment enough for the man’s sins. “I’ve made arrangements to have him removed from his little kingdom. I’ve also sent a letter to the trustees of the Averston estate. No doubt, they’ve already convened to discuss matters. Another reason for the urgency of my marriage to Calliope. It’s one thing to murder a lowly governess. It’s another to kill the Countess of Montgomery in cold blood.”

Those were all excellent points that Highcliff had no counter for. He drained his glass and refilled it. “Fine. You want a special license, I’ll get you one. But you’re not marrying her for such noble reasons, Montgomery. You’re marrying her because you want to marry her. Why?”

“Because I love her,” Montgomery replied without hesitation. “If the opportunity presented itself, would you not marry the woman you love?”

Highcliff shrugged. “There is no woman I love.”

Montgomery’s brow arched. “You’ve evaded the truth often, Highcliff, with misdirection and humor. But I believe that might be the first time I’ve ever known you to lie outright. By the way, she’s here. Effie, as she has asked that I call her, is upstairs with Callie now. We have things to discuss, all of us together.”

“Drawing room,” Highcliff said, his tone surly and his expression chilled as he turned and strode toward the door of the library. He made his way unerringly to the drawing room and waited.

In the library, Winn shook his head. Highcliff was a man of mystery, a man of contradiction, and he strongly suspected, a man who was quite tortured under his urbane and fashionable exterior. Stepping out into the corridor, he noted Foster looking at Lord Highcliff in confusion.

“I’ve worked here seven years, my lord. I’ve never seen that man in this house, and yet he seems to know it like the back of his hand,” the butler mused.

“Sometimes, Foster, it’s best just not to question things,” Winn said. “Send a maid to fetch Miss St. James and Miss Darrow, please. And I suppose tea or something of that nature would be appropriate.”

“It would indeed, Lord Montgomery.”

Winn paused. “Have I really had so few visitors to this house in recent years that I’ve actually forgotten what to do with them?”

“Yes, my lord,” Foster said. “I believe you preferred to be entertained elsewhere or to meet with friends at your clubs though that had lessened of late, as well.”

Winn considered it and shook his head at that unfortunate truth. He’d been on the verge of becoming a recluse. “See to the refreshments, Foster.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

Entering the drawing room, he crossed immediately to the fireplace and waited there for the ladies to arrive. Highcliff was still sipping his brandy, heedless of social edicts that prohibited such spirits so early in the day and in mixed company. Winn imagined that Miss Effie Darrow had something to do with that.

A few moments later, Calliope entered along with Miss Darrow. Winn noted that the tension in the room was a palpable thing upon her entrance. She and Highcliff stared at one another like fighters before a match. Miss Darrow looked disapprovingly at Highcliff’s brandy. Highcliff, in turn, arched his eyebrow in challenge as he raised the glass to his lips once more.

“Well, I’ll start,” Highcliff said. “Charles Burney is dead.”

“What?” Callie gasped.

Winn’s expression hardened. “When did you discover this?”

“Early this morning. His body was pulled from the canal at St. James’ Park.”

Winn recalled his previous conversation with Highcliff about the fate of Averston’s lovers. It would seem Burney had fared no better.

“Was it an accident?” Miss Darrow asked. “Please say that it was.”

Highcliff shook his head. “He was dead before he even touched the water. Strangled with his own neckcloth it would seem… or at least that’s what Ettinger—from Bow Street—thinks.”

“We need to confront Averston,” Winn stated. “We need to corner him and demand the truth from him… and offer him the option to deal with the dowager duchess on his own.”

“We’ve no proof,” Highcliff responded.

“There was an incident this morning,” Winn admitted. “A man with a pistol was taking shots at us as we got out of the carriage… after visiting the workhouse. When I caught up with him on the roof of a neighboring house, he inadvertently confessed something in the struggle. He referred to the person who hired him as ‘she’. I’m past thinking that Averston himself is the issue. I’d lay money on it