Lady Gwendolen Investigates

Consequently, it wasn’t until after she and Joss had enjoyed the intimate little dinner for two, and had returned to the comfort of the front parlor, that Gwen’s thoughts returned to recent events, both happy and sad, and the promise she had made to Annie the previous day.

“Have you someone in mind to replace Mrs. Brice?”

Only for an instant did Joss’s gaze stray from the chessboard, set on the table between them, to cast his worthy opponent a quizzical look. “Hardly my province any longer, my sweet. Domestic arrangements are your concern.”

“Oh, heavens!” Gwen hadn’t for a moment considered this. “Yes, I suppose they are. Or very soon will be, at any rate.”

Lady Gwendolen Investigates

Harlequin®Historical

MILLS & BOON

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ANNE ASHLEY

was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a long time in Scotland, but now lives in the West Country with two cats, her two sons and her husband, who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humor. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

LADYGWENDOLENInvestigates

ANNE ASHLEY

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Author Note

Although it is acknowledged that the heroine of this story, being the widow of a knight, should not be addressed as Lady Gwendolen, for the novel’s title only this rule has been waived.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

Were the inns in England always this busy nowadays? Gwendolen wondered, while neatly avoiding a harassed-looking ostler leading a pair of steaming horses across the crowded forecourt.

It was only to be expected, she supposed, that five years spent abroad might result in her forgetting certain aspects of life back here in the land of her birth. Not that she had ever had much experience of travel, of course…of life, even, before her marriage to Sir Percival Warrender.

Pausing in her musings, she stepped to one side, thereby allowing the stagecoach passengers to traipse unhindered from the inn and return to their conveyance. None of them seemed to notice the bitterly cold gusts of wind sweeping across the forecourt at frequent intervals. Gwen, on the other hand, had been very much aware of the unpleasantly low temperature from the moment she had alighted from her hired carriage, and drew her fur-lined cloak more tightly about her. Having lived in a much warmer climate for very many months, she had forgotten, too, just how chilly it could be in England even in March, when travel became more widespread.

The frequently inclement weather was something else she would need to accustom herself to again, she mused, as she took the added precaution of raising her hood against further cold blasts, the result of which severely restricted her field of vision. One moment she was enjoying the protection the busy posting-house’s pleasantly warm interior offered the instant she had stepped over the threshold; the next, she felt as if she had just walked into a stone-hard wall.

Almost at once a strong-fingered hand fastened itself about her left arm, just above the elbow, instantly steadying her. Some few moments later a deeply attractive and clearly refined voice eventually enquired into her well-being, but not before she had detected the muttered oath, only partially smothered, preceding the belated query. Hence, she wasn’t unduly surprised to discover, upon finally raising her head, that the face peering down at her betrayed a deal more impatience than concern.

She took a step away, the better to focus on a pair of dark eyes set in a ruggedly masculine countenance that wasn’t even remotely handsome. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir. Entirely my own fault,’ she declared, generously accepting all blame.

As she removed her cowl with a casual flick of one hand, there was, just for an instant, a marked softening about the set of thin lips, while brown eyes considered the burnished-copper highlights streaking through chestnut locks.

‘Very true, ma’am, it was,’ he agreed in the very next breath, the softer expression having disappeared so completely that Gwen wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t imagined it in the first place. ‘May I suggest, therefore, you attempt to take more care in future. Journeying about the country, even at this time of year, can prove a hazardous undertaking, without having to contend with acts of downright stupidity perpetrated by fellow travellers.’

‘Well, really!’ Gwen muttered, after he had doffed his hat in what she considered a most condescending manner and had begun to stride away in the direction of the main entrance.

Having to deal with abrasive fellows such as that was possibly something else she would need to grow accustomed to, she supposed, as she continued to watch her tormentor’s progress across the room until he had disappeared from view.

Undeniably she had had little experience of such unpleasant fellows. Her formative years, spent in a quiet country parsonage, and her marriage to a very considerate and protective husband, had certainly proved to be a shield against the more unpleasant aspects of life. All the same, she wasn’t completely unworldly. Furthermore, she had no intention of withering, like some delicate bloom touched by an icy wind, merely as a result of a little unpleasantness.

Besides which, she was not entirely alone and defenceless, she reminded herself. Even though she had no immediate family now living, and had been widowed for several months, she could always rely on dear Gillie’s loving protection and unfailing support.

Her blue eyes scanned the coffee room, seeking and quickly locating the plump figure of her lifelong companion-cum-maid. At that moment, the devoted servant just happened to be locked in conversation with a harassed-looking individual, whom Gwen could only assume must surely be the landlord. From the slight look of disappointment so easily discernible when the maid turned in her direction, Gwen guessed there was no private parlour available. Which, considering the number of patrons bustling about the inn, was in no way surprising, she decided, gesturing towards a row of settles set at frequent intervals along one of the walls.

Because the seat nearest the substantial fire was already occupied by a fashionably attired gentleman, Gwen was obliged to slip into a settle sited a little further away from the source of heat. As the seats were placed back to back, she had little difficulty hearing the gentleman talking softly to the inn’s cat, which she had noticed had been curled up beside him and, typically feline, closest to the fire.

She had absolutely no difficulty either, just a few moments later, in recognising the cultured voice that announced authoritatively, ‘My groom will have the carriage round at the door in five minutes.’

‘It’s dashed good of you, Pont, to put yourself out this way,’ the well-dressed gentleman responded, while Gwen herself took the added precaution of slipping further down the high-backed settle so as to avoid detection by the new arrival. ‘It’s a deal more comfortable travelling in a private carriage than going on the mail-coach.’

‘I’ve already told you, Merry, I’m not putting myself out,’ his companion responded, proving instantly that he wasn’t always downright rude and could evidently be quite obliging when so inclined. ‘I’ve managed to conduct my business here in Bristol speedily, as you know. And I did intend to pay a brief visit to the capital within the next couple of weeks. As well go now as later. So long as you don’t object to making that slight detour to Bath first?’

‘Not at all, old chap,’ the abrasive gentleman was speedily assured. ‘Haven’t set foot in the place since great-aunt Beatrice passed away, ten years or more ago.’ There followed a significant pause, then, ‘How have the girls settled in at the seminary?’

‘It’s still early days. Nonetheless, according to the headmistress’s letter, very well indeed…considering.’ The deep and prolonged sigh was clearly audible to Gwen who continued, unashamedly, to eavesdrop. ‘All the same, I’ll not be completely easy in my mind until I’ve seen for myself, and spoken to my wards.’

‘It was a bad business…a very bad business, Pont, especially as both girls had grown so fond of that poor governess. She was quite alone in the world, I seem to remember you saying, no immediate family.’

‘Not as far as I’m aware. I recall her mentioning she’d lost both parents when she was quite young. I do happen to know for a fact she corresponded with someone residing in the capital—a friend, I can only suppose. Naturally, I should have taken the trouble to apprise this person of what had occurred. Unfortunately no letters were found among her belongings offering a clue to the person’s identity. Which was most odd, because I know for a fact she both wrote and received a number of missives during those many months she was in my employ.’

There was no mistaking the thread of sadness in the abrupt gentleman’s voice, proving yet again that he wasn’t wholly devoid of compassion. Although a moment later Gwen wondered if she had credited him with more feelings than he possessed when he added, ‘Oddly enough, I had come to look upon her as one of those rare members of her sex—a refreshingly sensible young woman. Then she ups and does something utterly birdwitted. Takes herself into Marsden Wood, a place she well knew had earned itself something of an unsavoury reputation in recent years. Furthermore, she does so in January, for heaven’s sake! Now, I ask you, Merry, what in the world can have possessed any level-headed creature to go exploring a wood on a dismally damp winter’s afternoon? And what’s more…alone!’

Although, in part, to pass the time while awaiting her servant’s arrival, she had, still without suffering the least pang of conscience, continued to listen to the conversation, Gwen had no very clear idea of precisely what was being discussed. That some misfortune had befallen a woman while out exploring some wood or other was evident. What became obvious too in the next moment was that the gentleman known as Merry was as much at a loss to understand the unfortunate female’s actions as was her abrasive employer.

‘It would take a greater brain than I possess to attempt to explain what motivates many females to act as they do. But that particular woman’s actions on that day were sheer folly, especially after you’d made it clear from the first that to venture alone near the wood might prove unwise.’

The unexpected rumble of laughter that followed the pronouncement suggested that Master Merry had perhaps been well named. ‘And a die-hard misogynist like yourself, Pont, could never hope to unravel the mysteries of the female mind.’

A further pause, then,

‘Why, my dear friend, you above anyone should suppose I dislike all women, I cannot imagine. On the contrary, over the years I have thought well of several. Like yourself, I’ve never been tempted into parson’s mousetrap. But that, let me assure you, is simply a matter of choice. I’ve yet to meet a female with whom I could happily share my life.’

‘Nor are you ever likely to do so while you continue to remain so fastidious, Pont, for ever searching for the slightest flaw in either looks or character.’

‘My dear Merry, you delude yourself,’ was the immediate, drawled response. ‘I should never waste time or energy attempting to seek the perfect woman, simply because such a creature does not exist. Nor do I actively seek imperfections in the opposite sex, either. There’s absolutely no need for me to do so, of course, when they surface within minutes of my making any female’s acquaintance.’

A bark of decidedly mocking laughter quickly followed. ‘Now, you take that idiotic creature I encountered a mere few minutes ago,’ Gwen’s ridiculer continued, evidently having warmed to the subject. ‘No need for me even to attempt to strike up a conversation to know she was utterly birdwitted. Walks into a crowded posting-house with a cowl pulled low over her face. Couldn’t possibly have seen where she was going, and looks startled when she cannons into me…I ask you!’

‘Ahh, but was she pretty?’ the other enquired, after an appreciative chuckle at the derision that had simply oozed from his friend’s every word. ‘I bet you didn’t even notice, Pont.’

‘Truth to tell…no, can’t say as I did,’ he admitted. ‘Noticed her hair, though. Dashed pretty colour! Streaked with copper, it was, and curled quite prettily. Never seen anything quite like it before, though whether the hue was Mother Nature’s gift, I couldn’t say. So many of ’em, as you well know, resort to artifice in order to attract.’

‘What a nerve!’ Gwen exclaimed before she could stop herself. Fortunately, though, neither gentleman seemed to have heard, as the rude individual at precisely the same moment had expressed a desire not to leave his horses standing too long in the cold wind.

Gwen waited a second or two before peering round the end of the settle in time to catch a last glimpse of the close friends as they strode side by side across the coffee room. Aggrieved, justifiably so in her opinion, she was experiencing far too much resentment towards the taller man to appreciate that for a large gentleman he carried himself with a dignified air, his gait both smoothly effortless and remarkably graceful. Instead she favoured his retreating form with a basilisk-glance.

‘Odious, odious creature!’ she muttered, turning back in her seat.

It wasn’t his low opinion of her sex that annoyed her. Innate honesty prompted her silently to acknowledge that she herself had come into contact with numerous woolly-minded females during the quarter of a century she had been on God’s good earth. It wasn’t even his condemnation of her actions a short time earlier, either, that rankled. Indeed, it hadn’t been the most sensible thing to walk into a crowded inn with one’s vision severely restricted. No, what she found unpardonable was his suggestion that her hair was possibly not wholly natural. Evidently he was accustomed to associating with females who would resort to any means in order to attain their ends. She was not so naïve as to suppose such women did not exist here in England. Her eyes suddenly twinkled with a very satisfied glint. But at least no female, virtuous or quite otherwise, had been foolish enough to tie herself irrevocably to such a self-opinionated bore as that person appeared to be!

‘Why, Miss Gwennie! I’ve never seen such a mutinous look on your face, not since that time your sainted mother—God rest her soul!—refused to allow you to play in the garden with Miss Jane until you’d finished your lessons.’

Memories of her long-suffering mother’s attempts to instil in her, her only child, at least a basic education swiftly erased the lines of annoyance from Gwen’s brow. ‘Ah, yes, dear Jane was so much cleverer than I. Just as well I didn’t attempt to follow her example by earning a living. I was always slower to learn.’

‘Only because you wouldn’t apply yourself. Leastways, that’s what I recall your mama always said. When something interested you, it was always you took the lead.’

The maid slipped into the settle opposite, apologising as she did so for being away for so long. ‘But you really oughtn’t to walk into inns by yourself,’ she went on, adopting the scolding tone she had used throughout Gwen’s childhood. ‘You ought to have remained in the carriage as arranged. You never know what nasty folk you might bump into.’

‘True! How very true!’ Gwen agreed, tongue-in-cheek, before deciding finally to thrust the unfortunate encounter with the abrasive gentleman from her mind completely. ‘I assume you were not successful in securing a private parlour?’

‘No, Miss Gwen. Seemingly there’s only two, and both in use at the present time, though the landlord did offer to put himself out and serve us in one of the unoccupied bedchambers, if we were—er—willing to pay the price.’

‘Needless to say you declined,’ Gwen responded, smiling to herself. One could always rely on dear old Martha Gillingham to know how to deal with any presumptuous fellow. She might have been in service throughout most of her life, and her education limited, but she was quite a remarkable judge of character, and was never slow to recognise when someone was attempting to take advantage.

‘I said as how my mistress didn’t intend to break the journey for long, and that we’d be comfortable enough eating our broth in the coffee room.’

‘Which is no less than the truth,’ Gwen quickly avowed. ‘According to the post-boys, we should reach our journey’s end, barring any mishap, before evening.’

‘And as long as the old master’s housekeeper has received your letter, everything should be in readiness for our arrival.’ The maid beamed across the table, her small, round eyes positively aglow with excitement. ‘You must be longing to see your new home, Miss Gwennie. I know I am.’

‘I’m longing to see Jane again far more.’ Gwen released her breath in a sigh. ‘She must have changed a good deal in the years since I’ve seen her. I know I have.’

Martha’s smile faded. Her plump features clearly betrayed a moment or two’s thoughtful contemplation before being replaced by a look of gentle affection. ‘Not that much, miss, you haven’t,’ she eventually countered. ‘You still get that same wicked glint in your eye you had as a child when you’re amused by something, or annoyed. And you’re still not afraid to speak your mind on occasions neither, though thankfully you’re a deal less headstrong than of yore.’

Gwen didn’t waste her breath in fruitless argument, simply because there was a deal of truth in her loyal maid’s utterances, and merely said, ‘Well, let us hope dear Jane hasn’t retained that stubbornly independent streak of hers. She may have been overjoyed to obtain that position as governess to those two orphaned girls, granting her the God-given opportunity to remove to the West Country. And so conveniently close to dear Percival’s house, too! But it doesn’t automatically follow that she’ll be any more willing to come and live with me now that I’m taking up permanent residence in my late husband’s home.’

A shadow of mingled resentment and regret flickered across Gwen’s delicately featured face. ‘I haven’t forgotten she refused to oblige me six years ago.’

A completely trouble-free last stage of the long journey resulted in the post-boys’ prediction of a late afternoon arrival proving accurate. Consequently, Gwen was privileged to enjoy the first glimpse of her new home bathed in flattering pale-golden sunlight glinting welcomingly on mullioned windows. An untidy and overgrown garden detracted somewhat from what might otherwise have been a very pleasing setting for the Restoration building, as did the profusion of choking ivy clinging to the front wall.

If the truth were known, though, Gwen wasn’t so much concerned about the architectural merit of the house that was shortly to become her permanent place of residence, at least for the foreseeable future, as she was about the atmosphere prevailing within. Much, she strongly suspected, would depend on the character of the female her late husband had employed almost twenty years before to maintain the smooth running of his household.

Gwen knew next to nothing about Mrs Travis, save that she was a female now well into middle age, and that Sir Percival had considered her to be a first-rate cook-housekeeper, completely trustworthy and conscientious. So unless she discovered the woman to be quite otherwise, Gwen was prepared to allow things to remain as they were. More importantly, her own dear Gillie had promised not to interfere in the running of the house, and to continue with her duties as personal maid-cum-companion. So one might be inclined to take an optimistic view, expecting everything to run smoothly, and everyone to rub along together remarkably well. Except that Gwen, now, was nothing if not a realist, and was well aware that things frequently didn’t work out as one might have wished. Furthermore, love her though she did, she wasn’t blind to her dear Gillie’s faults.

Martha Gillingham had assisted in bringing Gwen into the world, and had always been treated as a member of the family, rather than a servant. Consequently Martha had never had too many restrictions imposed upon her.

The maid had never been afraid to speak her mind, airing her views whether called upon to do so or not. So, should it be discovered that the house wasn’t being maintained to the high standards to which she herself had always adhered, when she had held the position of cook-housekeeper in the late Reverend and Mrs Playfair’s home for all those years, she wouldn’t be reticent to point out any deficiencies on Mrs Travis’s part.

Gwen quickly discovered there was thankfully no possibility of an early confrontation between the two women, when she was admitted by a housemaid who wasn’t slow to impart the unfortunate tidings that Mrs Travis had taken to her bed.