The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca Winters

betrayal.’

      ‘Yet you kept her name out of everything. I am not certain, had it been me, that I could have done that. King, country, oaths and all.’

      Nathaniel laughed. ‘They are all nothing against love, my friend. Wait until you find it.’

      Gathering the documents, Stephen replaced them in the book. ‘If Shavvon knew I had removed these...’ He left the rest unsaid. ‘But if I have them back tonight he will never need to know anything of it. He sends you his best, by the way.’

      Cassie looked up at her husband and wondered just exactly who this Shavvon was that they were speaking of.

      ‘Our boss,’ Nathaniel explained quietly. ‘At the Service.’

      ‘But now this case is closed. For good.’ Stephen faced them both as he promised this and then he was gone, the documents in hand as the door closed behind him.

      ‘A marriage and a reprieve,’ Nat said as he drew Cassandra up against him. ‘A binding and a freedom. It has been quite a day, Lady Lindsay.’ She could feel his breath against her cheek, soft and known.

      ‘Lady Lindsay. I like the sound of that.’

      ‘My wife. An even better resonance.’

      ‘And what of the marriage night?’ she whispered, watching the flare of complicity and question in his pale eyes. ‘I think we should celebrate Hawk’s gift.’

      ‘I am completely at your disposal, my beautiful Sandrine,’ he returned, lifting her into his arms and taking her to bed.

       Chapter Thirteen

      The past week had been a whirlpool of activity. Maureen’s delight at her news, her father’s quiet pleasure at having three daughters now in advantageous unions and Jamie’s thrilled disbelief that the papa he had so often spoken of was promising to buy him a horse when they arrived at St Auburn.

      After their wedding Cassandra had been inundated with calling cards, every door into society now open to her, though Nathaniel seemed distracted by his own work with the Service. She confronted him about it late on the third night after their marriage when she had gone down to the library to find him surrounded by papers.

      ‘You look busy.’

      ‘Busy missing some clue that I am certain is right in front of me,’ he returned and stood.

      ‘It is the girls from the river and Sarah?’

      He nodded. ‘Have you ever heard of the name Scrivener Weeks?’

      ‘No. He is the man who you think killed them?’

      ‘I do. I went to Wallingford and discovered that a few months ago another young woman was murdered there. A tall, dark and well-dressed man signed into the tavern late on the night the body was found, using the name of Scrivener Weeks. He left on the London coach early the next morning. No one can truly remember what he looked like.’

      ‘He could be anyone.’

      ‘Not quite. I think he is a member of the Venus Club.’

      ‘Like Uncle Reginald?’ Another thought occurred. ‘That is why you and Stephen Hawkhurst joined up in the first place?’

      He smiled. ‘It is easier to keep an eye on people at close quarters. For what it is worth I have discounted your uncle.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘He was ill with some sort of a chest infection when the girls were found on the riverbank here in London. He has the same physician as Hawkhurst does and the doctor was adamant Reginald Northrup could not have left his sick bed for a fortnight.’

      ‘How many members does the club have?’

      ‘Sixty-eight, and I have a group of thirteen names who fit the description of Scrivener Weeks.’

      ‘We leave for St Auburn tomorrow. Could Stephen Hawkhurst take over until we return?’

      ‘He will. I have told him my thoughts and given him the names. Perhaps he will see something that I have not.’

      ‘Sarah would be thankful to you for your time and effort in finding her killer.’

      ‘I haven’t yet.’

      ‘But you will.’

      At that she took his hand and led him upstairs.

      * * *

      Late the next afternoon Cassandra could barely believe that they were almost at the principal country seat of the Lindsays, the fields about them rolling and green.

      ‘Will we be there soon, Papa?’

      She smiled. Jamie never spoke to Nathaniel without adding on ‘Papa’. He had lost four years of his father and now he was making up for it. Sitting on Nathaniel’s knee, he looked at the various landmarks that were pointed out.

      ‘I used to swim in that river when I was very young. My father made wooden boats and we would sail them in the summer. Often they got stuck so I would jump in to rescue them.’

      ‘Can you make me a boat, Papa? We could do that, too.’

      Cassandra’s heart swelled as her husband looked over at her, kissing the top of Jamie’s head as he did so. Maureen, Kenyon, Rodney and her father would be arriving the day after tomorrow and she was pleased to have a couple of days to settle in. The only cloud on the horizon was Nathaniel’s grandfather for they had not heard a word from him.

      ‘The first sight of the house can be seen past this rise,’ Nathaniel said and lifted Jamie higher. Cassie leaned forward to see it, too, and an enormous Georgian mansion materialised out of the distance, the six pillars across the front edifice flanked by two plainer wings, sitting on a hill. The tree-lined driveway wound towards it, a lake of grand proportions to one side.

      ‘St Auburn is beautiful.’ She could not keep the worry from her words.

      ‘And big,’ Jamie added.

      ‘It’s home,’ Nathaniel said and reached for her hand. ‘Our home.’

      He had placed three of his staff into running the ledgers for the Daughters of the Poor and with his sizeable cash donation Cassie knew that all the work she had done would be left in competent hands. She would still hold regular meetings with Elizabeth and the staff, but the night-time rambles had ended and part of her was glad. This was a new chapter of her life and one she relished.

      A line of servants had come out to greet them and there at the front door was an elderly man who Cassie reasoned would be Nathaniel’s grandfather. He leaned upon a stick and watched them carefully as the conveyance drew to a halt.

      Jamie was out first, the sun on his hair mirroring his father’s and a sense of urgency and life on show that he had inherited as well. He looked right at home here, the tall yellow walls behind him with their meticulously pointed stone and inset windows. No small task for the masons, this building would have taken years and years to construct.

      The old man came forward, his face devoid of expression. ‘You have come back,’ he said.

      ‘We have come home,’ Jamie cried. ‘This is going to be my home now with the lake and boats.’

      ‘Indeed?’

      Such curling indifference had the effect of bringing Jamie closer to Nathaniel, fingers entwined in the expensive superfine of his father’s trousers.

      ‘William, this is my wife, Cassandra, and my son, Jamie.’

      Pale silvered eyes whisked across her, calculating and assessing, and then they travelled over Jamie, the first glimmer of emotion showing.

      ‘Well, at least he looks like a St Auburn. Does he like horses?’

      ‘I