In stark contrast to the gloomy atmosphere outside, the interior of the Holbrooks’ ballroom was so bright it was blinding. Mirrors stretching from floor to ceiling covered the walls between the long windows. The reflection of numerous chandeliers enhanced the brilliant ambiance. The pale blue and gilt decor gave a light, airy appearance despite there being far too many people packed into the decadent room.
Walking over to the terrace doors, as that was where he had told Isabella he would wait, Tristan was shocked to see Matthew Chandler propped up against a white marble statue of a naked Grecian goddess.
“I thought you were in Bedfordshire.” Chandler straightened and gave an arrogant grin. “Did your business prove to be unsatisfying?”
Tristan smiled. “Not at all. I managed to achieve a great deal in the space of a relatively short period.” He glanced at the double doors leading into the ballroom, anticipating Isabella’s arrival. “Let us just say that my mood is much improved since I last saw you.”
“Ah, I see. You are waiting for someone.” Chandler missed nothing.
“Perhaps.” Tristan was deliberately vague as he knew his friend thrived on intrigue. “I assume you’re here for the card game.”
“Why would you think that?” Chandler said with a smirk. “No. I am here to ravish a wallflower in the hope she’ll marry me and fund my penchant for reckless gambling.”
The gentleman had no shame. “You’re here for the gambling, though I suspect that will be the extent of your activities this evening.”
Chandler raised an arrogant brow. “One never knows when good fortune may strike. In an hour, I could be celebrating a great victory and then I shall have no choice but to find a pleasurable way to channel my excitement.”
Tristan snorted. “Or you may drown your sorrows in a bottle of brandy whilst cradling a loaded pistol in your lap.”
Chandler brushed his hand through his mop of black hair. “It would never come to that. There are plenty of ways to recoup one’s losses without resorting to despera
te measures.” He glanced up at the statue’s bare marble breasts. “It may require selling my soul to a lonely widow or two.”
Tristan chuckled, amazed that the gentleman could be so calm whilst anticipating such a dire outcome. “I doubt it will be your soul that you’ll be selling.”
Chandler laughed, too. “As you’re so jovial this evening, am I to assume you are eager to be reunited with Isabella? I cannot help but wonder what has happened in the space of three days to alter your mood.”
It occurred to him that his friend could prove to be a useful ally in his investigation. Chandler knew the sordid habits of many gentlemen of the ton. “You are well aware I did not go to Bedfordshire.”
Chandler slapped his hand to his chest in surprise but could not hide his wicked grin. “Then where the blazes have you been?”
Tristan glanced back over his shoulder. “Hoddesdon.”
“Hoddesdon? You mean the village on the road to Cambridge?”
“Isabella lives at Highley Grange, but half a mile from there.” Tristan hesitated. If Marcus were here, he would caution him about trusting a man he had not seen for five years. “Can I trust you, Matthew?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
Chandler jerked his head back in surprise. “You should not have to ask the question. I am not a gentleman who needs friends or companions. I told you once that I would never forget what you did for me, and I meant it.”
Tristan put his hand on Chandler’s shoulder. “There is a reason Isabella sought me out. She believes someone may have murdered her husband. My brother Andrew was travelling from Hoddesdon when he fell from his horse and broke his neck. She thinks both incidents are connected.”
Chandler rubbed his chin. “Or are both unfortunate accidents and she wanted an excuse to be alone with you.”
The mere thought of being alone with Isabella roused the memory of their passionate coupling.
“There is more to the whole situation than that,” he said scrambling around in his mind as he tried to find the best way to tell his friend that he had been chasing ghosts. “Isabella has been the victim of foul play. Whilst at Highley Grange we discovered that Henry Fernall arranged for the servants to frighten her into believing the house was haunted. Indeed, she had taken a house in Brook Street for fear of going home.”
Chandler nodded slowly as he absorbed the information. “And so now you wonder as to Henry’s motive. Now, you wonder if the accidents are in some way related.”
“Precisely. Do not mistake me. Isabella told me about her husband’s sordid parties.” God, he hated referring to Lord Fernall as her husband. “I can only presume to imagine what sort of things went on there.”
“You know I am always the first in line when it comes to seeking pleasure,” Chandler said, his mouth curling up into a wicked grin. “But I cannot understand what is enjoyable about hiding in a secret room to watch unsuspecting couples grunt and groan.”
Tristan jerked his head back, blinked rapidly, as he replayed Chandler’s words over again in his mind. “You mean you know about the secret room in the bedchamber?” He grasped Chandler’s elbow and pulled him into the alcove for he strained to hear whilst the orchestra were playing in full flow. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Chandler shrugged. “I did not think it important. It is certainly not a secret amongst the more dissipated echelons of the ton. It is why I was more inclined to believe he met his end at the hands of a disgruntled guest as opposed to his wife.”
Tristan raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Lord Fernall was alone with Isabella when he died. There is no way to prove someone else was involved.”