The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“Yes,” Alexandra said slowly, looking from one to the other, “I do believe you are correct.”

“You will keep us informed,” Douglas said and took his countess out to their carriage.

Lord Beecham turned to Helen, who was staring at him, her eyes so intense he wondered if she was seeing directly into his brain, “As for you, Miss Mayberry, I have just decided that you and I are going to return to Court Hammering. But first, we are going to visit Old Clothhead Mathers, Reverend Mathers’s brother.”

Old Clothhead was drunk when they arrived at Reverend Mathers’s small town house near Russell Square.

“ ’Tis near to puking on my clean carpet ’e is,” said Mrs. Mappe, Reverend Mathers’s housekeeper whom Lord Beecham had met the week before. “Och, my poor master, all kilt by some evil bastid.”

“You already know of this, Mrs. Mappe?” Lord Beecham asked.

“Oh, aye, milord, I know. Jest look at ye!” she said, beaming at Helen. “Ain’t ye a purty big girl.”

“Lord Hobbs came?”

“Aye, strange feller that, all dressed in gray like a man what knows ’e’s got to dress special to ’ave folk pay attention to ’im.”

After ten minutes of weaving in and out of Mrs. Mappe’s very fascinating but nearly unintelligible English, they were shown in to see Old Clothhead.

“I killed my only brother,” wailed Old Clothhead, who was curled into the fetal position on Mrs. Mappe’s clean carpet. “I told anyone who paid for a mug of ale all about what he was doing. I killed my brother. He was always warning me about hell being at the end of my road. I have no chance at all now.”

Lord Beecham came down to his knees beside Old Clothhead, a skinny little man who looked as if he hadn’t eaten a good meal in ten years. “Give me the names of the men you told, not just the common variety of alley criminal, but the important ones, the men with money.”

He had to repeat the question three more times before Old Clothhead understood. “Reverend Older, not that he ever has a groat in his pocket. Titus filled my gullet with brandy, not ale, he was so thrilled about this scroll, though, perhaps his last groat. Then there was Lord Crowley and James Arlington and—”

Old Clothhead didn’t vomit on Mrs. Mappe’s clean carpet, he just passed out in midsentence.

Lord Beecham rose and looked down at the unconscious little man.

“He’s pathetic,” Helen said, “and he is right. He is responsible for his brother’s death.” She drew back her foot to kick him in the ribs. Then she stopped and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no, I am as guilty as he is. I found the damnable thing in the first place. Who are these people, Spenser?”

He put his hands on her, drawing her ever so slowly against him. He kissed her temple. “It will be all right, Helen. I’ll tell you about all of them. Well, no. I didn’t know that James Arlington knew anything about this.”

They discovered an hour later that Lord James Arlington, fourth son of the Duke of Hailsham, was dead, shot, it was rumored, in a duel with Lord Crowley because Arlington had been caught cheating. Dueling was outlawed in England, but since no one would speak openly about it, it remained buried. Evidently the duke, Lord James’s father, had shrugged when told the news of his son’s demise and s

aid simply, “He always did cheat. His mother taught him. He obviously cheated the wrong man.” And it was over. Had Crowley killed him in a duel?

Lord Beecham said, “It’s time for us to go home, Helen.”

They rode horseback for the hour and a half. It was a lovely afternoon, summer flowers coming into bloom, the trees spreading their green canopies over the narrow country roads. “I forgot to tell you,” Lord Beecham said, “we have two more partners.”

“Douglas and Alexandra?”

He nodded, then leaned over and patted his horse’s neck. When he straightened, he kept his eyes firmly fastened on the road between his horse’s ears. “Before you arrived, I had other plans for tonight,” he said at last.

She didn’t even seem interested. “Hmmm.”

“I was going to bed an opera girl and take her three times in under fifteen minutes.”

“Hmmm.”

He eyed her now with growing frustration. “You were new to me, that is all.”

No more humming, just bored silence.

“If you had stayed the night with Douglas and Alexandra, I would probably have climbed up to your window and taken you three more times. What do you think of that, damn you?”

“I am sorry, Spenser. I was distracted by the lovely honeysuckle. Did you say something?”