A forbidden attraction... A hidden desire!

Years ago, penniless Lorene Summerfield wed for duty, giving her siblings the chance to marry for love. But now the generous-hearted countess finds herself widowed...and the man she’s loved in silence for years is falsely accused of her husband’s murder!

Although he closed his heart to love long ago, the Earl of Penford has always found Lorene irresistible. Their newly ignited passion may be scandalous, but now he’ll stop at nothing to clear his name and win Lorene’s hand!

The Scandalous Summerfields

Disgrace is their middle name!

Left destitute by their philandering parents, the three Summerfield sisters—Tess, Lorene and Genna—and their half-brother, Edmund, are the talk of the ton...for all the wrong reasons!

They are at the mercy of the marriage mart to transport their family from the fringes of society to the dizzy heights of respectability.

But with no dowries, and a damaged reputation, only some very special matches can survive the scandalous Summerfields!

Read where it all started with tempestuous

Tess’s story

Bound by Duty

Read Edmund’s story in

Bound by One Scandalous Night

Read Genna’s story in

Bound by a Scandalous Secret

Read Lorene’s story in

Bound by Their Secret Passion

All available now!

Author Note

Bound by Their Secret Passion is book four in The Scandalous Summerfields series—the last of a series that has been a delight to write.

As I said in my author note for Bound by Duty (book one), the Summerfields are very loosely based on my mother, her two sisters and her brother. This book will be about the oldest Summerfield sister, Lorene, who represents my aunt Loraine.

My Aunt Loraine was the oldest sister as well. When their parents died, Geraldine—the youngest—was only sixteen, and my mother and Loraine were barely in their twenties. Aunt Loraine took custody of Gerry, helping her to finish high school and go to nursing school.

The three sisters lived together and were extremely close. In fact when my parents were married my father moved in with them. Aunt Gerry married eventually, and for many years while we kids were being born the two families lived in a duplex. When my father went back into the army Loraine moved in with us, living with us until I was in high school. She was a career woman—a secretary who still took notes in shorthand even in her eighties.

Loraine never had her happily-ever-after—at least not in the romantic sense. She almost married once, but the man who proposed to her wanted to go into politics and wanted her to give up her religion, which in those days would have been an impediment to his success. She refused.

Will my fictional Lorene find that happily-ever-after—or will it escape her like it did my aunt? I hope you enjoy reading Bound by Their Secret Passion to find out.

Bound by Their Secret Passion

Diane Gaston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DIANE GASTON’s dream job was always to write romance novels. One day she dared to pursue that dream, and has never looked back. Her books have won Romance’s highest honours: the RITA® Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, Holt Medallion, Golden Quill and Golden Heart®. She lives in Virginia with her husband and three very ordinary house cats. Diane loves to hear from readers and friends. Visit her website at: dianegaston.com.

Books by Diane Gaston

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Scandalous Summerfields

Bound by Duty

Bound by One Scandalous Night

Bound by a Scandalous Secret

Bound by Their Secret Passion

The Masquerade Club

A Reputation for Notoriety

A Marriage of Notoriety

A Lady of Notoriety

Three Soldiers

Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress

Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy

Linked by Character

Regency Summer Scandals ‘Justine and the Noble Viscount’ A Not So Respectable Gentleman?

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBooks

The Unlacing of Miss LeighThe Liberation of Miss Finch

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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To the memory of my aunt Loraine, who taught me to dance the Charleston and the jitterbug and to be undaunted.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

The Scandalous Summerfields

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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 Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Christmas Day 1816

Lorene leaned back against the soft leather seat of the carriage. Outside snowflakes fluttered down from a sky almost milky white from the light of the moon. The snow on the fields glowed and the sounds of the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels were as muffled as if passing over down pillows. It was the perfect end to a perfect day, a day-long visit with her two sisters, their husbands and the man she adored.

Thank goodness her husband had refused to come with her.

Her husband, the Earl of Tinmore, a man in his seventies and at least fifty years her senior, had forbidden her to spend Christmas Day with her sisters at their childhood home, Summerfield House. Lorene had defied her husband’s dictate. She’d walked the five miles to Summerfield House that morning. Snow had been falling then, too, but the cold merely filled her with vigour and made her feel more alive.

How different it was at Tinmore Hall where she had to kill every emotion merely to make it through the day.

‘Will you be all right?’ the man seated next to her asked.

She turned to him and her heart quickened as it always did when looking at him, Dell Summerfield, the Earl of Penford, the man who had inherited her childhood home. His blue eyes shone even in the dim light of the carriage. His well-formed lips pursed in worry.

She could not help but stare at those lips. ‘I suspect he will be asleep. He retires early, you know.’ She did not have to explain that she spoke of her husband.

‘What of tomorrow?’

She loved his voice, so deep, like the lowest notes on the pianoforte, felt as well as heard.

How silly to have a schoolgirl’s infatuation at the advanced age of twenty-four, especially since she was a married lady and he’d merely been civil.

No, he’d always been more than civil.

He’d been kind.

The last thing she wanted was for him to worry about her. Or to think of her. He must never know how much she thought of him. Or how much his kindness towards her meant to her.

She smiled. ‘The worst I will endure is a tongue lashing, but I might earn one of those for choosing the wrong dish for breakfast, so I am very used to it.’

Dell frowned and glanced away.

‘It is equally as likely he will say nothing,’ she added quickly. ‘One never knows.’

Dell had insisted upon returning her to Tinmore Hall in his carriage and insisted on accompanying her. Lorene treasured these rare moments alone with him when she could pretend they were the only two people in the world and that she had not been forced to choose marriage to Tinmore.

Although no one had forced her. She had approached Tinmore and offered herself to him. She’d done so because her father had left his children penniless and Lorene could think of no other way to help her sisters and half-brother. She’d promised to marry Tinmore and to devote herself to his comfort for the rest of his life. In exchange he agreed to provide generous dowries for her sisters and enough money for her brother to purchase a captaincy.

Nothing turned out as she’d thought, though. Her sisters and brother found happiness, but who could say it was not in spite of Tinmore, instead of because of him?

Their happiness was a sufficient prize for Lorene, though, even if the cost had been her own happiness.

‘I did have the most lovely day,’ she said to Dell.

She’d felt close to her sisters again. She’d basked in the joy they shared with their husbands.

And in being near Dell.

He turned back to her, his gaze meeting hers and warming her all over. ‘I am pleased.’

Once when she’d been a child caught in a thunderstorm, lightning struck a tree near her, so close she’d felt the crackle of the bolt around and through her. Sometimes it felt like that lightning bolt crackling when she was with Dell.

How silly was that?

The carriage reached the iron gates of Tinmore Hall and their gazes broke away. The cupolas of the huge country house came into view, like wagging fingers chastising her.

She’d done nothing wrong, though, except to defy her husband who had no good reason to keep her from Summerfield House. It certainly had not been wrong of her to want to spend Christmas Day with her sisters at their childhood home. Her infatuation with Dell had nothing to do with it. Besides, being enamoured of Dell was her secret and no one would ever know of it.

Especially not Dell.

When the carriage pulled to a stop in front at the entrance, the butler opened the door. Dell climbed out and turned to Lorene. She clasped his hand, so warm and strong, as he helped her descend the carriage steps.

He walked her up the stone steps to the massive mahogany door where the butler waited.

‘Thank you, Dell,’ she murmured, not daring to look at him.

He stepped back and she crossed the threshold into the hall, where her husband stood leaning on his cane and shooting daggers from his eyes.

* * *

Dell watched Lorene disappear through the doorway. He hated to relinquish her to that old man who was her husband and who neglected or scolded her in turn. Life could be cruelly fleeting. One should cherish those nearest and dearest while one could.

Tinmore’s raspy voice rose as the door closed. ‘A visit with your sisters, eh? A tryst with your lover, more like! I’ll show you—!’

The door closed.

Dell froze.

Lover?

Ridiculous! She’d gone to see her sisters, nothing more, and Tinmore very well knew that.

Dell called to the coachman, ‘I’ll only be a moment.’

Without bothering to knock, he opened the door.

The butler jumped back and Tinmore’s eyes bugged in surprise. ‘How dare you, sir!’

Tinmore stood at the bottom of the grand staircase. Lorene was halfway to the first landing.

‘Lord Tinmore, you are mistaken—’ Dell began.

Lorene interrupted him. ‘There is no need to explain. Please, Dell.’ But her panicked voice did not reassure him.

Tinmore pounded his cane on the marble floor and waved her away. ‘Go to your room.’ He pointed his cane at Dell. ‘I will speak with you.’

Tinmore led him to a small drawing room, not the opulent one Dell had visited before when calling at the house to do his neighbourly duty to Tinmore, but one reserved for lesser callers and tradesmen.

‘Sir, you misunderstand.’ Dell started to speak as soon as he entered the room.

‘I completely comprehend, Penford. You have been carrying on with my wife since last Season and then you have the gall to invite her to your house—’ His words were slurred, as if he’d imbibed too many spirits.

‘So she could be with her sisters at Christmas,’ Dell broke in. ‘And the invitation included you.’

‘Hmmph!’ Tinmore lifted his nose. ‘That was merely a ruse. You knew I would not come.’

‘I knew no such thing.’ Although Dell had not been sorry Tinmore refused to come. The man put a pall on everything.

Tinmore’s hairy eyebrows rose. ‘Do not take me for a fool. You were constantly attending her in town, at every social event to which we were invited.’

Of course Dell had approached her. Was he not obligated as a gentleman of her acquaintance? Because of some distant ancestor, he’d inherited her father’s estate. Surely that was reason enough to do her a kindness. ‘You left her alone, sir.’

Tinmore’s face turned red and his voice rose to a shout. ‘You dare to criticise me when you are the one carrying on!’

Was Tinmore demented? Did he not know how difficult it had been for his wife at those balls and routs? The scandals of her parents and of her marriage to Tinmore caused most of society to shun her. Tinmore could have eased those times for her with the strength of his status.

If he’d have remained at her side.

‘There has been no carrying on!’ Dell’s voice rose above Tinmore’s. ‘Your wife has done nothing but visit with her sisters. As you would have seen had you come with her.’

‘Humph!’ Tinmore lifted his nose. ‘Her sisters are as scandalous as their parents. That is why I forbade her to go; that and to forbid her to be in your company.’

Dell met Tinmore’s glare. ‘You forbade her to go? I received an acceptance of the invitation with your signature.’

Tinmore’s gaze faltered. ‘I changed my mind.’

‘At the last minute.’ To be as cruel as possible, Dell suspected.

Tinmore knew Lorene was devoted to her sisters. She’d married Tinmore so her sisters and brother would have advantages denied them when their father left them penniless. Tinmore knew she would want to share Christmas Day with them.

God knew Dell would have done anything to share another Christmas with his family. Nothing would have kept him apart from them.

Nothing except death.

Tinmore sputtered. Dell had forgotten him for a moment.

‘You seek to evade the truth, Penford,’ Tinmore accused. ‘That you are making love to my wife behind my back!’

Dell leaned down to glare into Tinmore’s rheumy eyes. ‘This is nonsense, sir, and you well know it. I’ll hear no more.’

Dell turned away and strode to the door. He made it to the hall before hearing Tinmore’s cane tapping after him. ‘Do not walk away without my leave! I have more to say to you—’

Dell glanced to the stairway and saw Lorene still standing there. How much had she heard? He hurried on to the door which was opened by the butler.

‘Wait!’ shouted Tinmore, advancing on him.

Dell walked outside on to the stone steps. Tinmore still came after him.

‘You stay away from my wife!’ Tinmore swung his cane at Dell.

Dell caught it before it struck him in the head.

Tinmore released his grip on the cane and clapped his hands against his head. He uttered a high-pitched cry as he stumbled backwards. Dell reached out to catch him, but Tinmore slipped on the snow-slick surface and tumbled down the steps. He hit the cobbled ground, his head smacking against the stones.

And he was still.

Chapter Two

Dell leapt down the steps to the stricken man.

‘My lord!’ The butler dashed out of house right behind him.

‘What happened?’ Lorene appeared in the doorway.

Dell turned to her. ‘He fell.’

‘Fell?’ the butler cried. ‘I think not! You pushed him.’

One of Dell’s coachmen jumped down from the carriage’s box. ‘Lord Penford did nothing! I saw the man fall.’

‘You’d lie if he told you to,’ the butler shot back.

Dell’s heart pounded as he pressed his fingers against Tinmore’s neck, but he already knew he’d feel no pulse. As a British army captain in the Peninsular War Dell had seen enough death to recognise it instantly. He opened one of Tinmore’s eyes. It was blank and dilated. There was nothing he could do.

He glanced up at Lorene. ‘He’s dead.’

She covered her mouth with her hand.

‘Dead?’ The butler kneeled at Tinmore’s side and took his hand. ‘Dead?’ He glared at Dell. ‘I am sending for the magistrate!’

This would not be easy. ‘Send for the coroner, too. And a physician. The coroner will want to know the physician’s opinion as to the cause of his death.’

‘There can be no dispute.’ The butler sounded near tears. ‘You pushed him!’

Lorene came down the steps and stood at Dell’s side.

‘I did not push him,’ he said to her. Would she believe him? Would any of them? ‘He tried to strike me with his cane. I grabbed it. He clutched at his head and fell.’

She knelt down next to Tinmore’s body and tentatively touched his hair. ‘He was so angry.’

By this time two footmen stood at the door.

Dell gestured to them. ‘Come. Carry him inside.’

The two men did not move.

The butler swung round to the footmen. ‘Do not move him! The coroner will wish to see his lordship where he lay.’

‘We cannot leave him here!’ Lorene cried.

Dell spoke to the butler in a commanding tone. ‘It is already late and it is Christmas night. The coroner is not going to come. We will not leave Lord Tinmore out in the cold all night. He deserves some dignity.’

Lorene faced the butler. ‘We will move him, Dixon.’

The butler’s face was red with anger. ‘Then you must stay, sir. I’ll not have you escaping to the Continent!’

‘Enough, Dixon!’ Lorene’s eyes flashed. ‘Do not speak to Lord Penford in that manner!’

The butler clamped his mouth shut, but his expression was unrepentant.

‘He is right,’ Dell addressed Lorene. ‘I should stay. It will simplify matters when the coroner arrives.’ He stepped over to his coachman. ‘Jones, return to Summerfield House and leave word of what happened. Lady Tinmore will need her sisters here in the morning. Make sure they know that. And I expect the coroner will want to speak to you and Samuel, so you both bring Lady Tinmore’s sisters in the carriage.’ Samuel, the other coachman, held the horses, but nodded his agreement.

Jones gestured for Dell to step away from the others. Dell walked him back to the carriage.

The coachman frowned. ‘I did not actually see what happened, my lord. I saw the man fall, though.’

Dell could not think about that now. ‘Very well, Jones. When the time comes just tell the coroner precisely what you did see.’

‘As you say, m’lord.’ He climbed back on to the carriage.

Lorene twisted around to face the footmen. ‘Why do you stand there? Carry Lord Tinmore to his bedchamber and lay him on his bed.’

The butler, still thin-lipped, nodded to the footmen who scrambled down the steps to pick up Tinmore’s lifeless form.

Dell helped Lorene stand.

He walked with her behind the body. As they entered the house, another servant, almost as ancient as Lord Tinmore—his valet, perhaps—stood on the landing and screeched at the sight of his master. ‘My lord! My lord!’

Lorene ran to the man and held him back as the footmen passed him with Lord Tinmore’s body. ‘Wicky, his lordship had a terrible fall. It has killed him.’

The valet burst into loud sobs and Lorene’s chin trembled, but she made him look at her. ‘Calm yourself, Wicky. Your lordship needs you. One last time. Make him presentable.’

The old man nodded and followed the footmen up the stairs.

Other servants emerged, looking alarmed. Lorene turned back to the butler. ‘Tell them, Dixon. Make certain all the servants are informed. And kept calm.’

Another old man dressed in nightclothes and a robe came from the floors above. ‘Ma’am?’ he said to Lorene.

She put a hand on his arm. ‘He is gone, Mr Filkins. He fell on the steps outside.’

The man’s face twisted, but he quickly composed himself. ‘May I be of service to you?’

She stared blankly for a moment, then said, ‘Ask Dixon if he might need you. And, if you would be so kind, find Mrs Boon and have some tea brought to us in the yellow sitting room.’

‘I will do so, post-haste,’ the man said.

She turned to Dell. ‘Come. We can sit in here.’

He followed her to a comfortable sitting room on the first floor, its walls decorated with a cheerful yellow wallpaper with birds and flowers abounding. The bright setting could not be in greater contrast to Dell’s feelings inside. Lord Tinmore was dead and, though he’d done nothing to cause the man’s fall, it never would have happened if he had not entered the house.

‘Please sit, Dell.’

He placed his hat on a nearby table and removed his gloves and topcoat. She lowered herself on to a sofa upholstered in gold brocade. He sat near in a matching chair.

‘That was Mr Filkins, Lord Tinmore’s secretary,’ she explained. ‘It was kind of him to do as I asked. He is not a servant.’

No, a secretary would be one of those unfortunate souls who fell somewhere between servant and family. Like governesses and tutors.

Lorene averted her gaze. ‘He is the only one who likes me a little.’

Her words broke through his own worries. ‘The only one?’

She gave a wan smile. ‘The servants are very attached to Lord Tinmore—’ She caught herself. ‘Were attached to him. He was not warm to them, of course, but he paid them well and most have been with him longer than you and I have been alive. They considered me...an outsider, I suppose.’

He’d heard members of the ton describe her as a fortune hunter. Unfair when her marriage was more properly a selfless act. Besides, she’d paid a high price. Her husband neglected and belittled her by turns. And the servants resented her?

What a lonely situation to be in.

She wrung her hands. ‘I—I am not certain what I should be doing. I feel I should be doing something.’

‘If you need to leave, do not hesitate. You do not need to stay with me,’ he assured her. ‘This room is comfortable enough.’

‘No.’ She pressed her fingers against her temples. ‘I should have ordered a bedchamber made ready for you. I had not thought of it.’

‘No need. I do not want you burdened with me.’ He paused. ‘Especially because what—what—happened was because of me.’

Her face turned paler. ‘No. Because of me. Because I defied him.’

His anger at Tinmore flared once more. ‘He refused you a visit with your sisters on Christmas Day. That was very poorly done of him.’

‘Still...’ Her voice trailed off.

What would happen to her now? Had Tinmore provided for her? Or did Tinmore neglect to do so, the way he neglected her in other ways?

Tinmore’s accusations would not help. No doubt she’d become the victim of more gossip because of the way Tinmore died. God knew she did not deserve that. Would anyone truly believe he and Lorene were lovers? Or, worse, that he’d caused Tinmore’s death?

They would not be entirely wrong. He’d certainly been the catalyst for it.

She rose from the sofa and began to pace. Dell stood, as well.

‘I wonder...should I have stayed with him?’ Her voice rose, but fell again. ‘I do not know what is expected of me.’

‘What do you wish to do?’ he asked. ‘If you wish to be with him, do not let my presence stop you.’

She glanced at him with pained eyes, but looked away and paced to the marble mantelpiece, intricately carved with leaves and flowers.

It was agony to see her so distressed. He ought to comfort her somehow, ease her pain, but how could he do so?

When he’d caused it.

‘I am sorry this happened, Lorene,’ he murmured. ‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am.’

She glanced at him again with those eyes so filled with torment. ‘Sorry? You are sorry?’

He stepped closer to her and wanted to reach out to her, but did not dare.

Death arrived when least expected.

Tinmore’s death had been quick, but death had not been as kind to Dell’s family. His father, mother, brother and sister, as well as several servants, perished in a fire in their London town house in April of 1815. Think of the terror and pain of such a death.

He shook himself. If he thought of that, he would descend into depression and this time not come out. ‘I never anticipated this would happen,’ he forced himself to say.

She leaned her forehead against the white marble. ‘Nor did I,’ she whispered. ‘I never dreamed he would think—’

That they were lovers? Who could think such a thing? He had been nothing but polite to her.

With a cry of pain she flung herself on to the sofa again and buried her head in her hands.

He sat next to her, his arm around her. ‘I know what it is to grieve,’ he said. ‘Cry all you wish.’

She turned to him, her voice shrill. ‘Grieve? Grieve? How little you understand! I am the most wretched of creatures! I do not feel grief! I feel relief.’

She collapsed against his chest and he held her close, murmuring words of comfort.

The door opened and she pulled away from him, wiping her eyes with her fingers.

‘Your tea and brandy, ma’am,’ a footman announced in a tone of disapproval.

‘Put it on the table,’ she managed in a cracked voice. ‘And please tell Mrs Boon to make a room ready for Lord Penford.’

The footman put the tray on the table next to the sofa and bowed, leaving without another word.

‘Brandy?’ she offered, lifting the carafe with a shaking hand.

He took it from her. ‘I’ll pour. Perhaps you would like some brandy, as well. To steady yourself.’

She nodded and another tear rolled down her lovely cheek.

He handed her the glass and she downed the liquid quickly, handing it back to him for more. He poured another for her and one for himself, which he was tempted to gulp down as she had done.

He sipped it instead.

She blinked away more tears and took a deep breath. ‘You must think me a dreadful person.’

‘Not at all.’ The dreadful person had been her husband. ‘Perhaps you have endured more than you allow others to know.’

She shook her head and took another big sip. ‘He—he was not so awful a husband, really. He merely liked for people to do as he desired. All the time.’

Tinmore had been autocratic, neglectful and, at times, extremely cruel, from Dell’s observation, no more so than this day when he sought to deprive her of her family on Christmas Day. His accusation that they were lovers was unjust and unfair. Tinmore should have known his wife was much too honourable to be unfaithful.

She swallowed the rest of the brandy in her glass. ‘So it is terrible of me to feel relief, is it not?’ Her chin trembled and tears filled her eyes again.

Dell felt as helpless as when he’d watched Tinmore tumble down the steps. ‘You are merely numb. It is not unusual to feel numb after such a tragedy.’ Dell had felt numb when he’d been told the news about his family. It took time for the wrenching grief to consume him.

He finished his brandy and poured another for himself, offering her a third glass.

She refused. ‘Perhaps I should go to him. Perhaps that is what is expected of me.’

He hated for her to leave. Not because he needed her company, but because he felt she needed him in this house with no allies. But, thanks to Tinmore, the false rumour of them being lovers had been heard by the servants and one footman had witnessed what must have seemed like an embrace between them. He must distance himself from her.

For her sake.

And his.

* * *

Lorene rose from the sofa and reached for Dell’s hand. She held it between her own. ‘I will go to him now. Thank you for sitting with me.’

He covered her hands with his. ‘You mustn’t thank me. But do not concern yourself with me. Take care of yourself.’

His hands were warm and strong and she relished the feel of them against her skin. And instantly felt guilty for even noticing.

She pulled away. ‘Someone should come to show you to your room. At least I hope they do...’ Tinmore’s servants were so loyal to him. But not to her. Never to her.

He looked at her with such an expression of sympathy it almost hurt. ‘I will see you in the morning. You must get some rest.’

The day would not be easy, would it? A magistrate. The coroner. Things she must do but, what? She could not think. ‘I’ll bid you goodnight then.’ She curtsied.

He bowed.

She turned and fled from the room.

Lorene forced herself to make her way to Lord Tinmore’s rooms on the same hallway as her own, but thankfully not too close. She knocked before opening his bedchamber door.

Wicky was seated in a chair next to the bed. The bed curtains blocked a view of the bed. She was glad. She had a sudden horror of seeing the body again.

‘How are you faring, Wicky?’ she asked from the doorway.

He turned his head slowly to face her. ‘I would like to stay here if I may, my lady.’

Her heart went out to the old man. Wicky had loved her husband. Wicky, Dixon and Mr Filkins were especially devoted to Tinmore. Goodness. They’d served him for decades.

‘Of course you may stay,’ she said, backing out of the room and shutting the door.

She walked down the hall to her own bedchamber where her lady’s maid, grim-faced, helped her prepare for bed, speaking only when it was absolutely necessary. Finally the woman left and Lorene burrowed under the bedcovers.

Her heart pounded rapidly as if she’d run a great distance and she realised she’d felt that way since seeing Tinmore at the bottom of the steps. How could she calm herself? She tried to sort through the emotions twisting inside her. Uncertainty about the following day. Would there be trouble with the magistrate or the coroner? Would they question what Dell told them? Would they believe she and Dell had been lovers?

Why had Tinmore thought such a thing? Her infatuation with Dell had always been her private delight. She’d never talked about Dell. She’d always schooled her features when around him. Tinmore could not have guessed. No one could.

Tinmore had never cared a fig when she was thrown into Dell’s company. At social events Tinmore always left her as soon as it was expedient. He’d never shown any interest in whose company she kept while he played cards or conversed with his cronies. He’d shown little interest in Dell, a mere earl, much preferring Dell’s friend, her sister Genna’s husband, the Marquess of Rossdale, a duke’s heir. Or the Duke himself. What had worked its way into Tinmore’s mind for him to make that outrageous accusation?

When Tinmore told her to go to her room, she’d known that would not be the end of it. At least now she didn’t have to listen to him rail at her.

She suddenly felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was free! She would wake in the morning with no one to answer to but herself. No worries about being accused of having a lover, or of saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way. No more pushing down her feelings. No more biting her tongue. She was free to dream again.

If she were ever able to get to sleep.

She tossed and turned in the bed and finally threw off the covers and walked barefoot to her window. She curled up on the window seat and gazed out at the snow-covered park. How bright it looked even at this late hour, so white and clean. It was a new landscape, changed from before the snow.

And now she would have a new life.

She thought over the almost two years she had been married to Tinmore.

He’d done what she wanted most. To provide for her sisters and brother. He’d also given her a home, beautiful clothes, jewels, a comfortable life in so many ways. She’d been grateful to him for that. She never complained about him for that reason. Except maybe that little bit in the carriage when she’d spoken to Dell. That had not been complaining, really. How awful it would be to complain about Tinmore when he’d been the rescue of her family.

After a fashion.

She could say with absolute sincerity that had she not married Tinmore, her sisters and half-brother would not have found their spouses.

What’s more, they’d found love.

Lorene asked very little for herself, only that Tinmore provide her with the means to live in simple comfort after he was gone. She had no idea if he had done so.

Even if not, the jewellery he’d given her would be worth something, she figured. Tomorrow she would make certain she had it safely in her possession. Filkins would help her. Who knew what the servants might do, with their loyalty to Tinmore and resentment of her.

She did not know where she would go or how she would live, but, even so, wretched woman that she was, she would be glad to leave this place.

She left the window seat, found a shawl to wrap over her shoulders and slippers for her feet. Carrying a candle, she made her way to the formal drawing room Tinmore called the Mount Olympus room, because of the murals of Greek gods and goddesses painted by Verrio and commissioned by some earlier Earl of Tinmore.

Placing the candle on the opulent gold gilt pianoforte Tinmore bought for her, she pulled out her favourite music, Mozart’s Quintets in G Minor, and began to play.

Someone had sent her the music after a musicale last Season. She did not know who. Not her husband, though. He’d fallen asleep during music so wonderful, Lorene felt its indelible stamp on her soul.

She played at a slow tempo, appropriately mournful, but the chords she thought of as sword thrusts, piercing what otherwise would have been a typical minuet, perfectly reflected the pangs of anger she felt towards Tinmore for accusing her of infidelity, for involving Dell in his death, for all the times Tinmore had been thoughtless and hurtful.

The music filled the room and it seemed as if the murals of Greek gods and goddesses were watching her and absorbing the music. If her playing could be heard outside the room, she did not care.

She needed the solace only music could bring her.

Chapter Three

Lorene played the pianoforte for at least two hours before returning to her bedchamber. She slept fitfully and awoke before dawn. By then it was no use trying to go back to sleep. She sat on the window seat and waited until it was a decent time to ring for her maid, who was even more grim than usual. Lorene could not tell if it was because the woman was grieving or because she’d been roused earlier than usual.

After Lorene finished dressing and was making her way down the stairs, she heard voices in the hall. Several voices.

If this was the magistrate, surely it was too early an hour for him to call! She rushed to the landing and leaned over the bannister for a view of the hall.

Her sisters had come! Tess and Genna were here with their husbands.

She quickened her step.

Her sister Genna saw her first and ran up the stairs to give her a hug. Tess soon caught up.

‘Oh, Lorene!’ Genna cried.

Tess put her arms around both of them. ‘How do you fare, Lorene? Are you all right?’

‘Yes. Yes,’ Lorene replied, her tears flowing again at the sight of them. ‘But you shouldn’t have come, Tess. Shouldn’t you be resting?’

‘I’m not ill,’ Tess countered. ‘I am merely going to have a baby.’

Tess’s Christmas present to all of them was this happy announcement, but now it seemed long ago that Tess told them this news, even though it had only been the previous day.

The sisters descended the rest of the staircase, arm in arm.

‘Lorene,’ Genna’s husband, the Marquess of Rossdale, strode over to her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘We are at your beck and call. Whatever you need, you must tell us.’

Just for them to be here was more than enough.

Tess’s husband, Marc Glenville, also approached her. ‘Our condolences, Lorene.’

Condolences was not the right word, though.

‘Where is Dell?’ Rossdale asked. He and Dell had been close friends since they were boys.

Lorene shook her head. ‘I do not know.’ She turned to Dixon. ‘Where is the Earl, Dixon?’

‘In the east wing.’ The butler’s words were clipped.

The lesser guest rooms.

‘Send for him, man,’ Rossdale ordered. ‘Tell him we are here.’

‘Where shall you await the Earl?’ Dixon asked haughtily.

Lorene answered him. ‘In the morning room.’ She turned to her sisters. ‘Did you eat?’

‘Eat?’ cried Genna. ‘As if we could eat after hearing what happened.’

Lorene turned back to Dixon. ‘Alert Cook, then, Dixon. We have guests for breakfast.’

Dixon bowed.

‘Tell us what happened,’ Tess said as they walked to the morning room.

‘I did not see,’ Lorene answered. ‘Tinmore fell down the stone steps there where you came in.’

‘On those steps?’ Genna broke in. ‘What was he doing outside?’

‘He was angry.’ Lorene’s head was pounding with the memory. ‘Dell tried to speak to him, but there was no reasoning with him.’

‘I’ll bet he was angry that you came to see us yesterday,’ Genna said. ‘I can just see him in high dudgeon over that. His wife defied him. Imagine that.’

‘He was angry over that,’ Lorene snapped. ‘My defiance possibly killed him, if you must know.’

Genna touched her arm. ‘Forgive me, Lorene. My tongue ran away with me again.’

They entered the morning room, brightly lit with the morning sun. The many windows of the room revealed clear blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds. The bright sun glistened on the snow-covered ground.

Lorene spoke to the footman attending the room. ‘We have more guests for breakfast, Travers. Would you please bring us tea and coffee?’

The footman bowed and left the room. Rossdale and Glenville pulled up additional chairs and helped the ladies to sit.

When they were settled, Rossdale asked, ‘Dell’s coachman told us the magistrate would be sent for. For what reason?’

‘Dixon—the butler who was in the hall—believes Dell pushed Tinmore, but Dell didn’t.’ Dell was too honourable to do such a thing, Lorene was certain.

Rossdale frowned and exchanged a look with Glenville. ‘It is good we came.’

What could they do, though, if the magistrate believed Dixon and not Dell?

‘What’s more, we are not leaving you alone here,’ Genna added.

During Lorene’s marriage, Genna had been with her the longest and knew best what it was like to live at Tinmore Hall, where they were always treated as intruders.

Lorene’s gaze travelled from one to the other and her eyes stung with tears. She’d not realised how alone she felt here. ‘I—I know I must do something, but I do not know what to do.’

Tess leaned over and touched her hand. ‘We will help you figure it out.’

Rossdale spoke. ‘Tinmore’s solicitors must be informed and the will read. And, of course, someone must notify Tinmore’s heir. Do you know who that is?’

Lorene shook her head. ‘Some grand-nephew, I believe. Mr Filkins probably knows.’

‘Mr Filkins?’ Glenville asked.

‘Lord Tinmore’s secretary,’ Genna answered. ‘He sometimes comes for breakfast.’

The footman returned with coffee and tea and enough cups to serve them all. Lorene hoped they knew to guard their tongues around the servants.

‘Where is Dell?’ Rossdale asked. ‘How long should it take to inform him we are here?’

‘You would be surprised,’ Genna responded sarcastically.

Lorene turned to the footman again. ‘Travers, please ask Dixon if he sent for Lord Penford. If not, make certain someone finds Lord Penford and shows him to the morning room.’

The footman bowed and started to leave.

Lorene stopped him. ‘Tell me first if Mr Filkins will breakfast here today.’

‘He has already done so,’ the footman responded and exited the room.

* * *

Dell finally found his way to the hall. He’d been wandering up and down corridors and stairs for a good quarter of an hour before reaching the hall and glimpsing his first servant.

Unfortunate that it was the butler, Dixon, who glared at him with undisguised displeasure.

He’d faced more fearsome men on the battlefield. One grieving butler would not daunt him. He actually felt sorry for the elderly man.

‘Good morning, Dixon,’ he said in a mild voice. ‘Will you direct me to the breakfast room?’

Dixon worked his mouth, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer.

At that same moment a footman reached the hall. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed as if surprised to find Dell there. The footman spoke to Dixon, though, not to Dell. ‘Lady Tinmore requests Lord Penford’s presence in the morning room.’

Dell didn’t give Dixon a chance to respond. ‘Show me where it is,’ He nodded politely to the butler, though, before following the footman.

When he entered the room, it was his turn to be surprised. Her sisters and their husbands had come from Summerfield House as he’d known they would. He’d merely not expected them so early.

‘Dell!’ Ross rose from his chair and crossed the room to shake his hand. ‘How are you faring?’

Dell shrugged. ‘Well enough.’ He directed his gaze to Lorene. ‘The room was comfortable. I thank you.’

She looked pale, but lovely in a plain black dress. The lack of colour did not favour her. ‘I fear the housekeeper chose one in the far recesses of the house. I apologise for that.’

He managed a half-smile. ‘It only took me a quarter of an hour to find my way to the hall. No harm done.’

‘I had your valet pack a clean shirt and neckcloth. And your razor.’ Ross gestured to his face.

Dell rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Forgive my appearance, ladies. I will retire and make myself more presentable.’ He turned to Ross. ‘Where are my things?’

‘We left them with the butler,’ Glenville said. ‘Did you not see him in the hall?’

‘I did, but he was not inclined to be helpful.’

‘I am so sorry!’ Lorene exclaimed. ‘Dixon is behaving very badly.’

‘He blames me.’ Dell turned back to the door. ‘I’ll be back directly.’

Lorene rose from her chair and hurried across the room to him. ‘Please stay, Dell. Your appearance is of no consequence. Have something to eat.’

Two other servants were placing dishes of food on the side board.

He shook his head. ‘I’d best clean myself up. We do not know when the magistrate will arrive and I would prefer to look presentable.’

He returned to the hall and confronted Dixon. ‘Where is the change of clothing the Marquess brought me?’ His tone was no longer mild.

Dixon disappeared behind a door for a moment and emerged with a valise, handing it to Dell without a word.

Dell found his way back to the room where he’d slept. Thank goodness the maids who made up the room had provided soap and towels. He shed his coat, waistcoat and shirt, and lathered his face. Shaving was a task his valet usually performed, but he’d had plenty of practice on the Peninsula during the war where he’d preferred to dress and groom himself.

After shaving, he changed his shirt and tied his own neckcloth. When he donned his waistcoat and coat, he felt he at least looked the part of a gentleman. Nothing with which a magistrate could find offence.

* * *

Dell had been correct about the magistrate’s arrival. He had barely finished breakfast when it was announced that the magistrate had arrived and wished to see both Lorene and him.

‘Do you wish us to come with you?’ Ross asked, ever the steadfast friend.

‘I think it best I see the magistrate alone.’

Ross’s brows rose. ‘And not show him what support you possess?’

‘I have done nothing deserving reproach.’ Except perhaps thinking he could dissuade Tinmore of his erroneous beliefs. ‘I refuse to give the appearance of needing the support of the future Duke of Kessington.’

Ross turned to Lorene. ‘And you, ma’am. Do you wish one or all of us to come with you?’

‘I want to be with you,’ Genna piped up.

Lorene darted a glance towards Dell. ‘I will see him alone, as well. We will join you afterwards.’

Genna looked about to protest, but her husband put a calming hand on her arm. ‘I will see the man before he leaves, Dell.’

Dell knew better than to resist when Ross used such a tone. ‘As you wish.’

With luck it would all be settled before then.

After Dell and Lorene left the morning room, he said, ‘I would offer my arm, but I fear the politeness would be misconstrued if seen by one of the servants.’

She nodded.

It was his first opportunity to see her alone. ‘How do you fare, Lorene?’

‘I am well.’ She averted her gaze. ‘I do not know if I am well. I suppose I am numb. I really feel very little of anything.’

That was better than suffering, he knew.

‘I am dreading this interview, though,’ she murmured.

Of course she was. Telling of it would bring it all back.

‘Speak with complete candour,’ he said. ‘That is the only way.’

Dixon attended the door. He gave them a smug look that set Dell’s teeth on edge, but acted the proper butler, opening the door and stepping ahead to announce them.

The room Dixon had chosen was not the opulent drawing room with murals of gods and goddesses where he and Ross had once been received in this house. This was another lesser drawing room tucked away in one of the corridors on the first floor. Once they entered the room, Dell knew exactly why the butler had chosen this place. Every available space on the wainscoting walls was filled with family portraits, reminding those entering that generations of Tinmores would be watching.

Lorene’s step faltered.

Two men were present in the room. One, a pleasant-looking, somewhat corpulent man in his fifties, sat behind a desk, paper, pen and ink in front of him. The other man, taller, thinner with dark assessing eyes, stood at his side.

‘Lady Tinmore and Lord Penford,’ Dixon announced in a voice tinged with disdain.

The gentleman behind the desk stood and walked around to greet them. ‘Come in. Come in.’ He spoke as if inviting them for tea.

Lorene walked up to him. ‘Squire Hedges. Do you remember me? I was Miss Lorene Summerfield, now Lady Tinmore. You were frequently a guest in my father’s house.’

‘Ah, yes, indeed I remember you,’ he replied with an engaging smile. ‘But you were in a pinafore last I saw you. Your father and I were indeed fast friends...for many years until he...but never mind that. I was sorry to lose him.’ The Squire seemed to collect himself and his expression sobered. ‘May I express my condolences? For the loss of your husband, I mean. Not your father.’

‘I do understand, sir.’ She made a nervous glance to the other man.

Dell had heard of Squire Hedges, a local landowner. Was he the magistrate? He would have known Tinmore, perhaps for decades. Who, then, was the other man?

Lorene turned to Dell. ‘Lord Penford, may I present Squire Hedges. The magistrate here.’ She again addressed herself to the Squire. ‘Lord Penford inherited Summerfield House.’

Dell bowed. ‘Squire.’

The man bowed in return. ‘I intended to call upon you, sir. Forgive the omission. Busy, you know. Time gets away from a person.’

‘Yes, it does.’ Dell pointedly looked at the other man.

‘Oh.’ The Squire stepped over to the stranger. ‘Allow me to present Mr Walsh. He is the coroner.’

‘The coroner?’ Lorene’s brows rose, but she collected herself. ‘Oh, yes. Lord Penford said there would be a coroner.’

‘Must call in the coroner, my lady,’ Squire Hedges explained. ‘Not a natural death and all that.’

The coroner bowed. ‘My lady. Lord Penford.’

‘Sir,’ Lorene responded.

The Squire smiled at her, sobered again, cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. ‘Well! I suppose we should proceed, should we not?’ He walked back to the chair behind the desk.

‘Lady Tinmore.’ Mr Walsh spoke up in a deep voice with little modulation. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to leave the room while we speak to Lord Penford?’

Squire Hedges smiled again. ‘We will call you forthwith.’

A worry line formed between her eyes before she curtsied and left the room.

The Squire gestured with his finger. ‘Please sit, sir.’

Dell took a step closer to the desk. ‘I would prefer to stand. I have no objection to you sitting, though.’ His years in the army taught him it was better to stand when facing a man who might have power over him.

The Squire lifted his shoulders and sat, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. Mr Walsh remained standing.

Dell waited for one of them to speak.

The Squire cleared his throat again. ‘Uh...suppose you tell us what happened?’

Dell glanced from one man to the other. ‘First tell me what you have heard already.’

Had Dixon already spoken to them? he meant.

Squire Hedges picked up the pen and rolled it in his fingers.

‘We interviewed Dixon, the butler,’ Mr Walsh answered, which told Dell very little.

Dell straightened and gave each man a steely glance. ‘You spoke to the butler before me?’ To speak to a servant before a member of the aristocracy was a breach of proper conduct.

Squire Hedges tapped the feather pen on the desk. ‘Well, he greeted us in the hall, you see. Expedient to talk to him first.’

By Dixon’s design, Dell was certain. Dell stared at the Squire, until he squirmed in his seat.

Still holding his gaze steady, Dell spoke. ‘What did the butler tell you?’

Hedges looked even more uncomfortable.

‘He believes you pushed Lord Tinmore to his death,’ Walsh said.

Dell turned to Walsh and spoke in a firm, no-nonsense tone. ‘You have placed me at a disadvantage by speaking to Dixon first, but I assure you I did not push Lord Tinmore to his death.’

Walsh shrugged. ‘Then tell what did happen.’

Dell answered, ‘Lord Tinmore attempted to strike me with his cane. I seized it to fend off the attack. He abruptly let go, put his hands to his head and staggered backwards. He lost his footing on the steps. I attempted to catch him, but he fell down the steps to the paving stones below.’

‘You did not push him?’ Walsh asked.

‘No. I merely seized his cane.’

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘And why did he try to strike you with a cane?’

Of course the man would ask this question. ‘He quarrelled with me. I was attempting to leave when he came after me, following me out of the house. That is when he tried to strike me.’

‘What was the quarrel about?’

Dell anticipated this question, much as he detested having to answer it. This coroner, though, would notice any hesitation in responding.

Dell met the man’s gaze. ‘Lord Tinmore believed Lady Tinmore and I to be engaging in an affair. It was not true. I attempted to convince him of that fact. When he would not listen to reason, I tried to leave. That is why he was outside with me without a topcoat, trying to strike me with his cane.’

‘Without a topcoat.’ Squire Hedges dipped the pen in some ink and made a note. He looked up again. ‘It was not true? The affair, I mean?’

Dell bristled. He’d already said it was not true. ‘Not true. I merely escorted Lady Tinmore home from Summerfield House. She and the Earl were invited for Christmas Day. He declined at the last minute, but Lady Tinmore came to spend the day with her sisters, who, with their husbands, were my guests. They are at Tinmore Hall now,’ he added. ‘Lord and Lady Rossdale. Mr and Mrs Glenville.’

‘I will speak to them,’ Walsh declared.

Would he believe them, though, when they told him there was no affair?

Walsh looked askance. ‘Why did Tinmore decline the invitation?’

‘I do not know why.’ How could Dell speak for Tinmore?

‘Why did he believe you and Lady Tinmore were...’ he paused and his voice dipped even deeper ‘...having an affair?’

‘I do not know. There was no reason for him to believe it.’ Lorene would never be so dishonourable and Dell—Dell did not form attachments. Not any more. ‘Lady Tinmore and I met on social occasions. And I sometimes did my duty by her and her sister as their father’s heir, but nothing more.’

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘Nothing more? Tinmore was an old man and you are not—’

‘To suggest that is to insult Lady Tinmore.’ Dell snapped. ‘She is an honourable lady.’

‘But you invited her to this house party. Why have a house party at what must be a minor property of the Earl of Penford, instead of at Penford?’ Walsh asked.

‘Do you not know my history, sir? Surely you heard that my mother, father, sister and brother—my whole family—died in a fire not two years ago. I am not yet comfortable in the country house I once shared with them. The Marquess of Rossdale, though, is a friend and he is married to Lady Tinmore’s sister. To please my friend’s wife, I offered to open Summerfield House to her and her sisters for Christmas.’

Of course, Dell did not mention that when he’d invited Lorene and Genna to Summerfield House a year ago, both he and Ross had met them for the first time. He did not speak of pocketing the miniature Genna had painted of Lorene, the one Tinmore tossed aside at Christmas a year ago. Nor did he mention he had sent sheet music to Lorene as a gift last spring, even though he sent it anonymously.

He certainly would not be able to explain his motivation to do those things, because he did not understand why himself.

‘You don’t know why Tinmore thought there was an affair?’ the Squire asked.

‘I do not know why he thought what he did. I do not know why he would not listen to reason when I told him his fears were unfounded,’ Dell continued in a firm voice. ‘I grabbed his cane to keep him from striking me, but that is all. When he let go of the cane, his feet were firmly on the stone outside the door. Something else made him stagger backwards. Something made him press his hands on to his head.’

‘Yes. Well.’ Squire Hedges tapped his fingers on the desk.

Dell turned to the coroner. ‘You will call in Lord Tinmore’s physician, will you not? Tinmore looked as if he was seized with some sort of fit. Something caused him to stagger and fall. Perhaps his physician will know what it might have been.’

Walsh glanced at the Squire, who dipped his pen in the inkwell and wrote a note. ‘Yes, indeed. Speak to Tinmore’s physician.’

Walsh turned back to Dell. ‘Thank you, Lord Penford,’ he said. ‘You may go now.’

That was it?

Dell nodded to each of them and turned to go.

‘But do not leave town until after the inquest,’ Walsh added.

As if he would return to London before all this was settled.

Dell nodded. ‘You have my word.’

‘If you would be so good as to send in Lady Tinmore,’ Walsh said.

Dell left the room only to encounter Dixon attending the door.

‘Where is Lady Tinmore?’ he asked the butler.

Dixon avoided looking at him. ‘Returned to her guests.’

Dell made his way back to the morning room and the Summerfield sisters and their husbands all looked at him expectantly when he entered.

‘Nothing is resolved,’ He turned to Lorene. ‘They wish to speak to you.’

She nodded and stood.

He escorted her back to the magistrate and the coroner, although there was really no reason for him to do so.

‘What did they ask you?’ she asked as soon as they were out of the morning room.

‘They asked me to tell them what happened,’ he responded. ‘Then they asked about Lord Tinmore’s accusation.’ He did not need to explain what accusation he meant.

Her eyes widened. ‘But that was all nonsense!’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘Tell the truth and all will be well.’

‘Sometimes men do not listen to reason,’ she said.

She was speaking of Tinmore, of course. Certainly he had not listened to reason.

‘You can only control what you say and how you say it,’ he responded. ‘You cannot control what they will think.’

‘That is why I am afraid,’ she murmured.

They fell silent when nearing the room, its door still guarded by Dixon. When the butler saw them, he opened the door to announce her, just as he ought.

Dell gave her a reassuring look and watched her disappear behind the door.

Chapter Four

Dell turned and encountered Dixon’s scathing glare.

Dell met the butler’s gaze. ‘I regret what happened, Dixon, but, I assure you, I did not push Lord Tinmore.’ He turned to leave.

Dell was willing to accept his part in the sequence of events that led to Tinmore’s death. He should have returned to his carriage instead of confronting Tinmore. But his intentions were honourable. He wanted to defend Lorene and prevent her husband from believing ill of her. But he had not killed Tinmore. Killing was what one did in battle. The images of those soldiers he killed could never be erased from his mind.

Dixon spoke. ‘You killed him, sure enough. You and Lady Tinmore.’

Dell whirled on him. ‘Enough of this talk. Lady Tinmore has done nothing.’

‘That is not what his lordship said,’ Dixon persisted.

‘Tinmore was wrong. His wife’s attachment is to her sisters, not to me. I am merely a friend of her sister’s husband.’

What was the use? This butler was as thick-headed as Tinmore had been. Not listening to reason. Nothing good would come of trying to convince a man who was determined to think otherwise.

Dell turned to leave again.

‘I could be quiet about it,’ Dixon called after him.

Dell looked over his shoulder, not certain he’d heard correctly.

Dixon smirked. ‘You have money, Lord Penford. You wouldn’t miss a few quid. You’d see how easily I could change my mind. Tell them I was mistaken and no harm done.’

Enough sympathy for this man. Dell had thought him motivated by grief, which Dell could well understand, not greed. ‘You want me to pay you to keep quiet?’

‘If you like.’ Dixon sounded all innocence suddenly. ‘I could say I misspoke—out of shock at losing my lord. I could say I didn’t see you push him.’

‘You did not see it. It did not happen.’ Dell’s voice deepened. ‘Perhaps you would like me to tell those gentlemen behind the door that you attempted to extort money from me?’

Dixon continued to look smug. ‘My word against yours, is it not? Who has the most to lose if it comes to that?’

The word of a servant against a peer of the realm. A lying servant at that. Dell would like to believe there would not be much contest.

Unless a jury were willing to believe a young wife of an old man would engage in an affair with a younger man who seized upon an opportunity to hasten her becoming a wealthy widow, assuming Tinmore made a generous settlement on her. That made for a good story. Especially if the young wife was one of the Scandalous Summerfield sisters.

‘Your lie against my truth,’ Dell countered. ‘I’ll bank on the truth and I suggest you do the same.’

He strode away.

Curse Dixon. Grief Dell could accept, even understand, but he’d be damned if he’d pay Dixon to keep the man from lying.

He headed back to the morning room, but Ross intercepted him on the way.

‘You look like thunder,’ Ross said.

‘I feel like thunder.’ He still reeled from the exchange with Dixon. ‘Do you know what that butler said to me?’

‘What?’

‘He asked for money. If I paid him money, he would not lie about what he saw.’ Dell shook his head. ‘Can you believe the man?’

Ross’s brows knitted. ‘He could cause you a great deal of trouble, Dell.’

‘I know that, but I’ll be damned if I pay the man.’

‘I’m not suggesting you pay him,’ Ross countered.

‘This death was not my doing and I’ll not be intimidated by some butler who thinks he can make it appear so.’

‘I want to talk to the coroner, Dell.’ Ross tried to pass him. ‘I’ll make him listen to me.’

Dell held him back. ‘You will have your chance. They wish to speak with all of you.’

‘Good.’ Ross nodded. ‘They need to know who you are and who your friends are.’

‘They know who I am. The Earl of Penford.’ He released Ross. ‘But all that is irrelevant. You being my friend is irrelevant. All that matters is what really happened. And I have nothing with which to reproach myself.’

They started back to the morning room.

‘Damned Tinmore,’ Ross said. ‘If anyone is to blame, it is he. Fitting end, I say. He tried to manipulate everyone. Tess and Glenville told me what he did to them.’

‘What did he do to them?’

‘Forced them to marry. They did not even know each other. They were caught in a storm together and Tinmore used that as an excuse to marry her off without paying her dowry. He put pressure on Genna to marry, too.’

Dell knew about Tinmore’s pressure on Genna. That was partly why Ross came up with his scheme to pretend to be betrothed to her.

‘Lorene should never have married him. She and her sisters deserved better than his treatment of them,’ Dell said.

Of course, it was really Dell’s father who put Lorene in a position to agree to marry the elderly, autocratic Tinmore. When Lorene’s father died, Dell’s father inherited the Summerfield estate. It was Dell’s father who turned out the Summerfield sisters. His father might have been generous to them instead. Allowed them to stay at Summerfield House; provided them dowries. He might have done so, but Dell’s father assumed the sisters were as morally loose as their parents.

What possessed his father to be so heartless?

A pang of guilt hit Dell.

How could he reproach a father he so tragically lost a few months after his father made that decision?

Ross went on. ‘I am going to tell the coroner and the magistrate just what I think. I would be remiss if I did not.’

‘Do not bully them, Ross,’ Dell insisted. ‘It will not work with this Walsh fellow.’

‘I can at least let them know I expect them to proceed properly,’ Ross insisted. ‘And that I expect them to protect Lorene’s reputation.’

For Lorene’s sake, Dell would not further argue with his friend. Her reputation must be protected above all else. After all, the Summerfield sisters had suffered enough damage to their reputations, most of it due to their parents, not themselves.

Lorene, though, had often been the object of gossip, accused of tricking the ancient, but wealthy, Lord Tinmore into marrying her. Yes, she had married Tinmore for his money, but not for herself. For her sisters and her half-brother.

She deserved their esteem, not more gossip.

* * *

Lorene’s knees shook as she stood before Squire Hedges and the coroner. There was no reason for her to be fearful, but she could not help it. She glanced around the room, but it did nothing to still her unease. Rather, the portraits on the wall seemed to be glaring at her, blaming her for what happened.

If she had not defied him, they seemed to say, he would be alive today.

Would the Squire and the coroner see her guilt?

Or did they already believe Dell had pushed Tinmore?

Dell would never have done such a thing. Never. Surely they would have believed him and not a grieving butler too upset to realise who he accused.

Squire Hedges gestured to a chair near the desk. ‘Would you care to sit, Lady Tinmore?’

Sitting would make her feel too small, somehow. She was Lady Tinmore, she must remember. Here was one rare occasion that she must assert her rank.

She straightened her spine. ‘I will stand, thank you.’ She pointed to the pen and paper on the desk. ‘But you must sit so you may write.’

The Squire inclined his head and lowered himself into his chair. Mr Walsh, the coroner, stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was the one who made her insides tremble.

Squire Hedges smiled. ‘Tell us what happened, my lady. What you saw. What you heard.’

She decided to begin with her return from Summerfield House. ‘I spent the day with my sisters at Summerfield House and when the day was over, Lord Penford offered his carriage and his escort to return me to Tinmore Hall—’

Mr Walsh interrupted. ‘You did not have a carriage at your disposal?’

She faced him. ‘No.’

‘Then how did you travel to Summerfield House?’ he asked.

‘I walked.’

His dark brows rose. ‘You walked?’

‘Lord Tinmore was supposed to have come with me to spend Christmas with my family. At the last minute he declared that we would not be going. He gave no reason for declining the invitation right before we were expected to arrive.’ It had been a deliberate cruelty, which had surprised her. Tinmore’s cruelty was more commonly thoughtless. ‘He knew how much I desired to see my sisters. I had not seen my youngest sister since her wedding to Lord Rossdale. I decided to go without him even though he refused me the carriage. So I walked.’

‘You defied him,’ Walsh stated.

‘Yes.’ No use denying it.

Walsh nodded. ‘Go on.’

She wished she could tell what the man was thinking. ‘When Lord Penford’s carriage reached Tinmore Hall, Lord Penford walked me to the door. I entered the house and encountered Lord Tinmore in the hall, waiting for me. He immediately started to accuse me of—of things that were not true. I started up the stairs when Lord Penford opened the door and tried to speak with Tinmore, to tell him he was mistaken—he must have heard Lord Tinmore shouting at me through the door. Tinmore took him to one of the drawing rooms to talk, but only for a minute or two, then Lord Penford returned to the hall and walked out. Lord Tinmore followed him.’

‘Followed him?’ Walsh repeated.

‘Yes.’ Was she telling Walsh too much? ‘Tinmore was angry. First angry at me, then at Lord Penford, but without reason. I never saw him so angry.’

Walsh’s face remained expressionless. ‘Then what?’

She took a breath. ‘Lord Penford left, but Tinmore followed him outside.’ She swallowed. ‘I heard a cry and I ran outside, too. Lord Tinmore was—was on the pavement.’

‘You did not see him fall?’ Walsh asked, somewhat ominously.

‘I did not.’

He glanced away. ‘And in what position did you find him when you came outside?’

She was confused. ‘I—I—he was at the bottom of the steps.’

Squire Hedges spoke, his voice kinder than the other man’s. ‘This is a delicate question, we do realise, my lady. Mr Walsh means for you to describe the position of your husband’s body. Describe how he looked.’

She closed her eyes, but it only made her see it all again. ‘He—he was on his back, his head to one side in—in a pool of blood.’

‘Where were his arms and hands?’ Walsh asked.

‘Up.’ She raised her arms to demonstrate. ‘Up above his head.’

Walsh nodded. ‘Tell us, ma’am, was your husband ill?’

‘Not that I knew of,’ she responded.

But he had been acting strangely that day. Had he been ill? If so, she never should have left him. Although he always refused to allow her to tend to him when he was ill, so what good would her presence have done?

‘He was acting very unlike himself, though. Very irrational,’ she added.

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘Are you referring to your husband’s suspicion that you and Lord Penford were having an affair?’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘Yes. That. There was no reason for him to think such a thing.’

Tinmore could not have known of her infatuation.

‘Come now, Lady Tinmore,’ Walsh began, in a smooth tone that did not ring true. ‘Lord Tinmore was a very old man and Penford...’ he paused significantly ‘...is not. Why would your husband not believe you engaged in a little dalliance?’

Her face turned hot with anger this time. ‘I promised fidelity to my husband and I kept that promise. Lord Penford has always acted as a gentleman ought. He thought he could explain to my husband that my husband was wrong, but Tinmore would not listen. It was as though Tinmore was crazed.’

Walsh’s brows rose. ‘Crazed? But would not a man who suspected his wife of infidelity act crazed?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I do not know. How would I know of such things?’ Except, perhaps, from the loud arguments between her mother and father before her mother ran off with a lover. ‘I do know I never saw my husband behave that irrationally before.’

Of course, she had never so blatantly defied him before. Why had she done so? She could admit to being weary of his dictates and it was true she wanted to see her sisters, to share Christmas with them.

But was it also true she wanted most to see Dell?

Walsh made an incomprehensible sound.

Did he believe her about Dell? Or not?

‘Do you know for certain that your husband did not scuffle with Lord Penford?’ he asked.

Her jaw stiffened when she tried to answer. ‘I did not see what happened.’

Walsh glanced at Squire Hedges, who stood. ‘Thank you very much, Lady Tinmore. That will be all for now. We will be questioning your servants, as well.’

The servants!

She had completely forgotten. This was Boxing Day. The servants would expect the day off. And their boxes. She was supposed to distribute their boxes. She’d scoured the attics and closets and old linens and had found enough cloth and old clothing to make a box for each family. Tinmore was to have given them money and she was to have stood at his side, handing them each a box.

‘Please do not delay in speaking to them,’ she requested. ‘They expect to have the day off.’

Squire Hedges walked around the desk to escort her to the door. ‘We will move as quickly as possible. Dixon will organise them for us.’

Certainly. Dixon would be pleased to do so, Lorene was sure. He would probably be pleased to tell them what to say, as well.

Squire Hedges opened the door for her and she stepped into the corridor where Dixon still stood on guard, but the area soon filled with other voices. Her sisters and their husbands. And Dell, who looked absorbed in his own thoughts.

‘Tess. Genna. I forgot it was Boxing Day. I do not know where Tinmore put the purses for the servants and tenants.’

‘Filkins will know,’ Genna said. ‘I’ll find him.’

She dashed off, but her husband, the Marquis of Rossdale, heir to the Duke of Kessington, marched right past Dixon, entering the room with the Squire and the coroner.

‘What is he doing?’ Lorene asked, alarmed that Rossdale just barged in on the men.

Glenville, Tess’s husband, answered, ‘He wants to be certain they handle this properly. And as quietly as possible.’

She supposed a future duke would have some influence. It was a good thing to have someone even more important than Earl Tinmore to advocate for her.

And for Dell.

‘Surely they will decide that it was merely a horrible accident,’ she said.

‘Dell tells us there will be an inquest,’ Glenville explained. ‘The coroner will have to find jurors and swear them in. They will have to see where the death occurred and view the body, so you cannot bury your husband until that takes place.’

It all sounded dreadful. She hated thinking of his body lying on his bed for as long as it took to find the jurors. Between Christmastide and winter weather, it could take more than a week.

She glanced at Dell, who leaned against the wall, a scowl on his face. He glanced up at her and his expression changed to something more tender, something like regret in his eyes.

She held his gaze for a moment before glancing away.

* * *

The afternoon was exhausting. Not only the sheer numbers of gifts to distribute, but over and over to hear and accept condolences, to answer questions about what had happened, to attempt to reassure the servants and tenants that Tinmore’s heir, whoever he was, would do right by them.

She really had no idea what would happen to any of them, including herself. She had signed a marriage contract with him, but it stipulated that her sisters receive a handsome dowry, that her half-brother receive funds to purchase an advance in rank, and that she receive a modest living upon his death. As it turned out, neither of her sisters received the dowry, nor did her brother keep the money Tinmore bestowed on him. Would she fare any better?

She also did not know the heir to Tinmore’s title, lands and fortune. A great-nephew, he’d said, but never named the man. Was he among the important people Tinmore invited to house parties and whom he called upon in London? She did not know. She hoped her reassurances to the servants and tenants would be true. Any decent man would see to it.

Lorene had insisted Tess leave to rest while she finished up and Genna had hurried away to see what Cook had provided them all to eat and to see to making tea immediately. Lorene was alone with her thoughts in this drawing room, the same room to which Tinmore had taken Dell the night before.

There was a light rap on the door.

Lorene rubbed her face and straightened in her chair. ‘Come in.’

Dell appeared in the doorway. God help her, her body flushed with awareness just looking upon him, even though his expression was dark.

‘May I disturb you for a moment?’ he asked.

She stood. ‘Yes. Come in. You do not disturb me.’

He crossed the room to her. ‘I came to bid you goodbye.’

‘Goodbye?’ She had not thought of him leaving. The idea of it made her insides twist.

He nodded, still looking grim. ‘My coachmen need their holiday and—’ his impossibly blue eyes captured her gaze ‘—there is no reason to stay.’

‘No reason?’ Goodness. Could she do nothing but repeat his words?

‘The Squire and Mr Walsh left.’

Had that been why he’d stayed this long? ‘But surely you will stay for dinner.’ If Cook left them anything to eat.

He shook his head. ‘Ross and Glenville will stay. And your sisters. They will...’ He paused. ‘Look out for you.’

She’d have no friends here if they did not stay, except perhaps for Mr Filkins, but he had no power or status.

‘Still...’ she murmured. Still, she wanted him to stay.

Again his eyes met hers, piercing into her as only his eyes could. ‘It is better I leave. And better I stay away, lest my mere presence makes it seem as though—as though there was truth to Lord Tinmore’s accusations.’

She could not deny the sense to that.

‘So—’ He bowed rather formally. ‘Goodbye, Lady Tinmore.’

Her arm reached out to touch his. ‘Dell,’ she rasped. ‘I am so sorry. I have caused you a great deal of trouble and I am so worried sick over what could happen—’

He took her hand in his warm, strong one. ‘You have caused nothing.’

But she had! If she had not defied her husband, if she had not formed this schoolgirl worship of hers, none of this would have happened. Instead of standing here with him, feeling the heat of his palm against her fingers, she would be taking tea with Tinmore, hearing all his praise of his generosity and his complaints of those less than deserving. He’d correct something about how she gave away the boxes and instruct her on how a lady ought to have done it.

She lowered her gaze and he dropped her hand, but she still did not wish to let him go. ‘What of this inquest? Will you be accused of killing him?’

He could lose his life.

His face hardened. ‘I did not kill him.’

She blushed. ‘I know, but Dixon will have said—’

‘He did not see what happened.’

She did not want to obsess about who the coroner and Squire Hedges would believe, not any more than she had already done.

She absently straightened the items left over on the table where she’d piled the boxes. ‘Things change so rapidly.’ She glanced back up at him. ‘Yesterday was such a lovely day. A lovely Christmas. That was your doing, I know. You came to Summerfield House so we could all be together.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Not only for you. I did not want to be alone.’

Her heart lurched for him. He’d lost his whole family. She reached out for him once more, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you also came here for us. I am so grateful to you.’

He glanced away. ‘To go from such a happy day to such a horrific one—I am so sorry for it.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘You must never apologise, not for what happened.’

His gaze pierced her again. ‘It will get better, Lorene. I promise you.’

It must, but if he were held responsible for this dreadful event, she would never forgive herself.

She remained captured by his eyes. It seemed as though she would stay there for ever, but he abruptly broke contact and stepped back.

‘I must leave.’

‘When will I see you next?’ It was the question of a lover, not the sort she should be asking, but it burst from her lips.

‘At the inquest.’

He bowed again, turned and left.

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