Page 23 of Death at Fournier Downs
As he’d just stated, he had his heir and spare. Even though the earl held on to vestiges of his good looks—his strong jawline, sharp blue eyes, and athletic build—he was past his prime. Clearly, he did not hold much, if any, affection for his third wife. A man of his status could have simply taken a mistress or two. Why bother to legshackle himself? Unless he needed the one thing Charlotte had brought to the marriage: a dowry. Were his coffers so low? Had he made some bad investments or gambled away a good portion of his fortune? Three years on, and her dowry might have run dry. His debts could have grown. Perhaps he needed to marry again—secure another dowry? Hugh’s mind jumped from thought to thought as he stared down the earl.
“What is that rabid look in your eye, Runner?” Bainbury demanded.
The state of the earl’s finances intrigued him, as did the circumstances surrounding his second marriage. He did not know how long that union had lasted, but he did recall the second countess had been far younger, much like Charlotte. With an attractive dowry? Most likely. He would get nowhere asking Bainbury his probing questions. The lady’s maid, or other members of the staff, might be more receptive.
“Three years ago, you were betrothed to Miss Audrey Haverhill,” Hugh said instead. “She jilted you in favor of the duke.”
The gleam of fury Hugh received now outshone all the others the earl had tossed his way so far. “What does this have to do with Charlotte’s death?”
“Is your wounded pride the reason you’ve dismissed Her Grace’s witness testimony? Your wife might have been in danger. Her Grace saw her running. Heard her scream. Why be so defiant in believing the duchess?”
With vehemence, the earl stepped closer to Hugh. “It is because I know she sees things that do not exist.”
Hugh went still as alarm clanged through him. What could he possibly mean by that? Surely, he couldn’t know of her ability. “Explain,” he said, his voice clipped.
“Lord Edgerton wanted to be rid of her, you see. He confided in me that she…told tall tales for entertainment.”
Hugh fixed his glare on the earl. “Are you accusing the duchess of being a liar?”
“I am simply saying that there are things about her that have been buried to protect Edgerton and his family.”
“What things?” Hugh despised himself for pressing on, but he wanted to know what the earl had been made privy to.
Bainbury scoffed. “You think I would tell you? A scoundrel Runner?”
“Then I have no choice but to treat her testimony as truth.” Hugh started toward the door, finished with the earl. It was safer to leave now too. The fire in his chest over Bainbury’s comments about Audrey had grown too hot, too quickly.
“She was gone for two years,” the earl said to Hugh’s back. He stopped abruptly and turned. Bainbury wore a mean grin as if finding pleasure in revealing this.“The excuse was that she was traveling the Continent and then had a prolonged stay with an aunt in Scotland. Before I accepted Edgerton’s proposal for a marriage to the chit, I had a man look into things. There is no aunt in Scotland. There is no record of Her Grace’s travels abroad.”
A pit opened in the bottom of Hugh’s stomach. “Where was she then?”
“Edgerton increased her dowry so that I would not need to know that answer.” The earl sneered. “The Duchess of Fournier is not a reliable witness. If she continues to press the matter, I will have no choice but to publicly raise the question of where she was for those two, long, mysterious years.”
Hugh barely held his temper in check as he took slow, even steps toward the earl. He stopped an arm’s length away, his stare unyielding. “You would find that course of action ill-advised. She is a duchess. You are nothing in comparison.”
A new glint in the earl’s eye chilled some of Hugh’s stoked temper. He was suddenly aware that in his anger, he’d let his own mask slip.
“And you, Marsden, are no better than the dirt on the bottom of my boot.” Bainbury snorted a laugh. “This interview is over. Another will not be permitted. Get out.”
Hugh departed the study, gritting his molars and wishing he could have reined in his displeasure at hearing the earl speak of Audrey in such poor terms. In a high dudgeon, he found his way belowstairs and ripped through his interviews with the staff.
The countess had been fatigued the last few weeks, her lady’s maid, Miss Dorothy Gates, provided. The cook agreed that her ladyship had not been eating as much, and two footmen claimed to have seen her weeping in the hallways of the manor on two separate occasions. It certainly sounded to Hugh as if Dr. Ryder’s observation about melancholy was correct. Miss Gates retrieved the small glass bottle of laudanum the doctor had given the countess. Tasting a small drop on his fingertip, he concluded it was just as the doctor said—a tincture of opium.
From the staff, he learned the countess had left for her regular constitutional walk in the surrounding parkland just past noon. Miss Gates said she usually walked alone, and that day was no different.
As he conducted his interviews, a stone lodged in Hugh’s gut. The countess had been undoubtedly despondent. He could see where the staff and even the earl might simply assume she had ended her own life.
Finally, he took aside Miss Gates and spoke to her privately.
“You would know her ladyship better than anyone. You would bear witness to things other servants would not. Did she and the earl often argue?”
She pressed her lips thin and hesitated.
“Miss Gates, it could be imperative to discovering what happened to the countess,” Hugh said, as gently as his riled temper would allow.
She shook her head, her brow puckering with confusion. “No. Honest. They barely acknowledged one another.”
A thought came to Hugh, and he put it toward the young maid as delicately as he could. “Was it possible the countess was seeing someone outside the confines of their marriage?”
