They emerged from the trees and looked at John’s small timber and daub cottage in the clearing ahead of them.
“Do you expect Beverley to visit you soon?”
The young gamekeeper’s face reddened. “She’s coming here tonight, milord.”
“Assure her she is not in any trouble. I only wish to question her about this matter.”
“Yes, milord.”
“And arrange your wedding, John, with some speed.”
John laughed self-consciously. “That I will, milord.”
Brendan mounted Bruno and rode back to the stables. He clenched his fingers tightly around the reins. As slender as this discovery was, what Beverley’s mother had said opened a tiny window of doubt about the cause of the tragedy. And it implicated Gaylord. But to find out what lay behind it seemed almost impossible. Memories become uncertain with the passing years. Brendan couldn’t be sure what had happened in the short time when he, as a lad, hearing the two shots, had run up that last flight of steps and into the sitting room and found his parents dead. He searched his mind for anything he might have missed. A smell, a sense, a noise? But there was nothing but the two bodies of those he loved, the smell of blood, and the awful stillness. And he casting up his accounts. Brendan would never forget the horror of it. Even now, he sometimes woke in a cold sweat after a nightmare. He wasn’t sure this new information was even worthy of further investigation. He doubted Beverley would be of help.
Could he allow himself to hope? Or was it too great a stretch? Hope was a two-faced promise. It could raise you high before you were struck down lower than you’d ever fallen.
Chapter Eighteen
The house wasin an uproar as preparations for the party continued. While Laura worked with the housekeeper, the hope of Debnam’s reply remained stubbornly in her thoughts. After breakfast each morning, she waited in the hall for the post to arrive. His reply to her letter should have reached her by now. Concern for him mingled with a deep sense of disappointment. Even should he have considered it of no importance, he could at least send word to tell her so. Had he already forgotten her? She buried the hurt, trying to convince herself for the hundredth time that it was better for him to get on with his life. As must she.
She paused while sorting through the linens, struck by another worrying thought. Had Debnam fallen ill? Could something dreadful have befallen him? The housekeeper cleared her throat. Thrown into a torment of speculation, Laura had failed to reply to something Mrs. Smythe had said.
Laura turned with a look of apology. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe, you were saying?”
The housekeeper held a dozen pillowcases in her hands. “These are the best of the lot, milady.”
“Good, Mrs. Smythe. Put aside those with no darns or stains for the maids when they make up the beds.”
The linens, like most things at Longworth, were in a discouragingly poor condition, which necessitated recent purchases from the haberdasher.
Laura turned back to the linen cupboard. “I shall have to purchase towels.”
Without feeling the need to consult her, Robert had invited Edward to dinner. Drained after a busy day of organizing the rugs to be taken up and beaten, as well as polishing the piano, which footmen would roll into the great hall for the party, Laura wearily dressed to receive him. She chose her lemon muslin trimmed with spring green and arranged her hair in a simple style with green ribbon threaded through it. When she entered the drawing room, Edward stood and smiled. “Pretty as a picture.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Laura returned his smile as she sat down.
“My sister isn’t merely pretty, Edward,” Robert said, waving his arm to encompass the room. “Laura is very competent. She and the housekeeper have worked hard to ready the house for the party.” His gesture encompassed the vases of flowers, the gleaming furniture, the bright rugs, and new tapestry cushions on the sofa. “I can’t remember the house looking so splendid before.”
“It always was when Mama was alive, Robert,” Laura reminded him. But back then, it hadn’t only been clean and well ordered, but also filled with laughter—and love.
Edward’s possessive smile made her uncomfortable. “You will make an admirable hostess, Laura.”
Laura forced a laugh. “You two put me to the blush.”
“A lady shouldn’t spoil her pretty hands with hard work,” Edward observed, drawing a scowl from Robert. “My wife will spend her time embroidering, sketching, or arranging flowers and discussing menus with the cook, like my mother. It is to your credit, Laura, that you have performed menial tasks with such good humor.”
“I like to keep busy.” A little sorry for Robert, she avoided looking into his eyes. She endured sewing, which was a necessity, but embroidery seemed a waste of time. Stuck indoors during inclement weather, she preferred to read. When she had been a child, her father had affectionately called her a “hoyden” because she had more often been found in the stables, or sitting in the oak tree eating an apple and reading a book. Laura did none of those things now, except for reading. Nonetheless, she doubted she’d changed all that much.
After dinner, Robert excused himself, pointedly leaving Laura and Edward alone with their coffee.
Stirring his drink, Edward cleared his throat. “I am pleased we have this moment to talk, Laura. Mother sends her best wishes and hopes you are not overtiring yourself, because you are so short of staff.”
“That is kind of her. I hope she is in good health?”
Edward nodded, his expression serious. “As it’s my intention to bring my bride home to live with Mother, it was necessary to gain her consent. And she has given it, Laura.” He smiled. “Shall we make wedding plans?”
“Oh?” She swallowed. “Isn’t it a little soon to think along those lines?”