A Spinster’s Guide to Danger and Dukes (Ladies Most Scandalous Book 3)

Once they were in the curricle and driving down the tree-lined lane away from the abbey, Langham had informed Poppy of his conversation with Ned.

She was not pleased.

“What a vexing creature you are,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “I would have liked to be present for the interview. Especially as he was the first person to see Lovell’s body. Why did you not ask me to come with you?”

“Because I know my cousin,” he said, grateful for the need to keep his eyes on the road, because he knew by now that her ire gave her cheeks a lovely flush that made him want to kiss her. “He would not have been comfortable describing the unpleasant details of your brother-in-law’s demise to a lady.”

As it was, Langham was convinced that there was more to the story than Ned had let on. And if it was, as he suspected, something to do with Mrs. Lovell, then Poppy’s presence would hardly have made him more forthcoming.

She made a noise of disgust. “You do realize for whom I was employed in London, do you not? Caro even has a dollhouse furnished with famous death scenes, for heaven’s sake.”

Langham had not known that last bit and wondered for a moment how Val had reacted to that. But recalling the besotted way his friend had looked at his bride, he was confident Val didn’t give a damn.

Realizing that Poppy required a response, he turned his attention back to her. “Of course I know who you worked for, but my cousin does not. And it would not have made a difference to him at any rate. This is the country, you must recall. And there is not as much tolerance for the sort of ideas espoused by Kate and Caro here as there is in London.”

A glance at Poppy told him she would have liked to argue, but she must have decided against it, for her next words were resigned. “What did he tell you, then?”

Quickly, he explained what Ned had said about the knife wound in Lovell’s chest, as well as the instruction that they must not let the authorities know where they’d learned of the injury.

“I cannot imagine Violet choosing to climb up the bell tower,” Poppy said thoughtfully once Langham was finished relating his conversation with Ned. “Especially not at night. She is uncomfortable enough with heights during the daylight hours.”

“It certainly wouldn’t be my preference,” Langham agreed.

Poppy was silent for a moment, and when she spoke up again, it was in a determined tone. “I should like to go to St. Lucy’s now, if you are agreeable.”

He was grateful for his ability to keep his voice even. “But I thought you wished to see your sister at once?” There was no reason to tell her that St. Lucy’s was the last place he wished to go, this morning or any other.

“I do,” she said emphatically. “Of course I do. But it is early yet, and it occurs to me that there might be some clue to the identity of Lovell’s killer there. And if we can show it to Violet, she may recognize it and point us in the right direction.”

Langham bit back a sigh. The devil of it was that her idea made sense.

“Of course,” she went on, this time with anger, “it isn’t as if my stepfather is going to let her out of his sight. If we do find something potentially connected to the murder, we’ll have to devise a distraction for Lord Short so I may discuss it with Violet outside his hearing. The last thing we need is for him to think he needs to ramp up his efforts to falsely incriminate her.”

“We don’t know that he’s lying. It’s possible he truly believes she is guilty.” But Langham’s argument sounded weak even to his own ears.

“If that were the case, then why is he keeping her away from the magistrate?” A glance in Poppy’s direction revealed that her gloved hands were tightly fisted in her lap. “It makes no sense.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “It’s unlikely he’d let her remain in his home if he believed her truly guilty. But are you sure you wish to climb the hill now?” he asked. “In that gown?”

“What’s wrong with my gown?” Poppy glanced down at the delicate blue fabric of her skirts with a frown.

“Nothing is wrong with it,” he said, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. The truth of it was, the gown was just as becoming on her as the one she’d worn at dinner the night before. Maybe more so because the color brought out the blue of her eyes in a way the other had not. “It just seems impractical for a traipse through the woods.”

“If I were able to wear breeches,” she said, oblivious to the way that mental image affected him, “then it might be a sensible claim. But as I cannot, then whatever gown I choose to wear will make no difference.”

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, Langham tried one last time to dissuade her. “It looks as if it might rain. Perhaps it would be better if we go another day.”

She glanced up at the sky, then back at him, as if she suspected him of being on the brink of a brain fever. “There is not a cloud in the heavens, Langham. Why on earth are you so determined to keep me from examining the scene of Lovell’s murder? Surely you are not of the opinion, as your cousin is, that it is an unfit topic for a lady to contemplate. Because if that is the reason, then I can tell you right now that—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“Then what?” she persisted.

Realizing that she would continue her interrogations until he bared his soul on the matter, he sighed. “If you must know, I was accidentally locked in the tower when I was a youth, and ever since I have been made…uncomfortable by enclosed spaces.”

Langham clicked the reins and kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. He’d never been gladder to have a reason not to meet someone’s eye.

“Oh,” she said with the air of someone having unraveled a great mystery.

“Yes,” he said hating the fact he had to speak of this at all. “Oh.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” she said with her usual practicality. “I told you about my sister’s fear of heights. It happens to a great many people.”

“But she is—”

“You are not going to say that she is a lady,” Poppy said, steel in her voice, “for if you do, I will lose a great deal of respect for your intelligence.”

He was about to say just that, so he said nothing at all.

“As much as you men—and especially aristocratic men—think you are meant to be immune from the sorts of weaknesses and foibles that affect the rest of the human race, I am here to tell you that you most certainly are not.”

“I know that,” he said sullenly. “I simply do not like admitting to such a thing. Especially not to you.”

“Why not me?” she asked, sounding curious now instead of cross.

There was no way in the devil he would tell her the truth—that she seemed to be invulnerable herself, and he didn’t wish to appear weak by comparison. So instead he said, “Because a man doesn’t wish to seem vulnerable to a lady he finds attractive.”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized this might have been a worse admission than the one he was trying to avoid.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” he said hastily. “You must have seen yourself in the glass. You know you are beautiful.”

And to think, he is considered by most to have a silver tongue when it comes to women.

“I’m hardly going to agree with such a statement,” she said on a strangled laugh.

He was pleased to note, when he chanced a quick glance, that the elusive dimple in her right cheek had reappeared. And her blush this time seemed to have nothing to do with ire. Interesting.

“But I thank you for the compliment, I think,” she continued, unaware of the direction of his thoughts.

“Of course,” he said with a brisk nod. “Now, getting back to the subject of the tower. If you really wish to go, then I will take you. I haven’t been there in decades, so it’s possible I will no longer be affected in the same way now.”

“Or, if you are,” she said, “then I can go up there myself. You can remain on the ground level while I search for signs of what might have happened.”

He disliked the idea of her going up the bell tower alone almost as much as the idea of accompanying her up the narrow, winding stone staircase to the top. But he decided he’d had enough of negotiating over the matter. “Let us simply go to the chapel and make the attempt. I daresay it will no longer be an issue.”

At least he hoped like hell that would be the case.

*  *  *

Poppy was still contemplating both of Langham’s confessions as they drove along the road that led into Little Kidding.

His anxiety over visiting St. Lucy’s again was entirely understandable, considering his explanation of what had occurred there when he was a youth. He hadn’t said so, but she guessed it had also been dark as well as narrow. The very thought of it made her shiver with sympathetic dread.

The admission that he was drawn to her was not quite so easy to interpret her feelings about. Given that she was not unaware of his own good looks, she could hardly be put out by his revelation. Indeed, his words had given her a warm glow of pleasure—though she’d never admit as much to him. Their false betrothal had already brought them far too close to the brink of emotional entanglement. It hadn’t even been two full days since they’d embarked on this charade, and already she felt as close to him as she did to Kate and Caro.

If he’d proved to be the man she thought he was at the outset of their journey there would be no question of her succumbing to his charms. But instead of the outrageously arrogant nobleman he’d been at their first meeting, he’d instead revealed himself to be good humored, kind, and determined to do whatever he could to help her when it came to her sister’s plight.

A man like that she could find herself falling in love with.

And even if she had any desire to be a duchess—which she most assuredly did not—there was also the fact that she wasn’t even certain she wanted to marry at all. She’d become so accustomed to thinking of herself as a spinster—in a way that made her feel independent and strong, rather than a failure left on the shelf—that it was difficult to imagine a future that included a husband and children.

She certainly wasn’t able to contemplate such a thing now. Not with Violet’s life hanging in the balance.

Her ruminations were interrupted by Langham as they neared a clearing. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward a lane bisecting what looked to be two fields of sheep, “is the drive leading to Stannings Hall. He and I used to run back and forth between our two estates so often when we were boys that if I couldn’t be found at the abbey, the dowager would send a footman to look for me there.”

His reminiscence about his boyhood escapades with Stannings reminded her of what his sisters had revealed last night. “Did you not share such boyhood adventures with your brother, Lord Adrian?”

At the mention of Adrian, the duke sighed. “I told you last night that we are not close. There is a decade between us. When Stannings and I were running wild in the hills, Adrian was in the nursery. My parents were killed in a carriage accident not long after his birth.”

“How dreadful,” she said, thinking of not only the infant who had lost his parents before he was even old enough to know them, but also the young boy who had lost his parents after having had them long enough to feel the loss. Neither situation was one she’d wish on any child. “I’m so sorry.”

“I barely knew them,” he said gruffly. “They didn’t spend a great deal of time with my sisters and me. We were all far closer to Nanny Meadows, who had taken over the care of Adrian by then.”

“About Adrian,” she said, into the silence that hung between them.

She saw him open his mouth to cut her off, but for Violet’s sake, she pressed on. “Were you able to contact him about the Amazon railway scheme as you suggested to Sir Geoffrey Stannings last evening? It’s just that if he leaves London before you make the request then we will have to wait until the house party is at an end and—”

She let her statement trail off, and there was a beat of silence between them as if he was waiting for her to finish. When it was clear she was not going to say anything more, he spoke up.

“You are relentless, are you not?” he asked, with a shake of his head. “If you must know, I sent a messenger to London with a letter for Adrian first thing this morning.”

“But if he is to arrive here this afternoon—” she began, but he cut her off.

“He will have time enough to ask a few questions of his colleagues this morning and can take the afternoon train. Have no fear he will give short shrift to the task. If there is one thing my brother loves it’s digging for information.”

Poppy worried that the man wouldn’t have time to make the necessary inquiries, but she was grateful all the same. “Thank you, Langham. Truly.”

She placed her hand on his arm to emphasize her gratitude and was immediately distracted by the warmth she felt emanating from beneath his coat. Not to mention the hard muscle there. So distracted that she hadn’t realized he’d brought the curricle to a halt until he’d turned to face her. Meeting his gaze with her own, she saw something akin to disappointment flicker across his face. Had he changed his mind about taking her to the tower?

Langham cleared his throat, and she had the distinct impression he was hesitating over whatever it was he wanted to say. “I made a commitment to assist your sister,” Langham said, then stopped to clear his throat again. Her stomach dropped. Whatever it was he was struggling to tell her couldn’t be good. “Whatever you may think of me, Poppy, I keep my promises. Even when they entail enlisting the aid of my brother.”

His expression was fierce, and the relief she felt was matched only by the nagging thought that she’d underestimated him once again. Before she could ponder that thought further, Langham pointed to the signs at the junction of the two diverging roads.

“This way will take us to the caves and St. Lucy’s,” he said, pointing to the lane on the left. “This other one, toward the village of Little Kidding and on the way, Rothwell Grange. Are you quite sure you wish to climb up to St. Lucy’s?”

Recognizing that their discussion of his brother was at an end, she nodded. “If you are willing, yes. I would like to see the site of the murder.”

With a nod, he prodded the horses into a brisk walk.

Recalling what he’d just said, she asked, “What did you mean when you mentioned ‘the caves’?”

At that, he laughed darkly. “Have you not heard of St. Lucy’s storied history?”

“No,” she said, puzzled. “I am not overly familiar with this area of the country.”

“My dear lady.” He spoke as if he were confiding some dark secret, and despite her prosaically commonsensical bent, she felt a slight thrill of fear creep down her spine. “St. Lucy’s is short for St. Lucifer’s, and it and all the chalk caves that lie beneath it were used by my great-grandfather’s club to perform their hedonistic rituals. They were called the Lucifer Society.”