The Regency Season: Hidden Desires. Anne Herries

a shotgun wound now when he was at his own home in peaceful Huntingdonshire?

      ‘What is happening?’ Paul’s voice cried. He came running from the side of the house, a shotgun broken for safety and lying over his arm. As he approached, he dropped the gun and flung himself down by his brother’s side. ‘No—oh God, no,’ he cried and tears started to his eyes. ‘Did you see what happened? Who could have done this? I heard shots almost at the same moment as I shot a rat in the walled garden. Did anyone come this way?’

      ‘No one but Mark,’ Adam said. He stood up as servants started to converge on them from all sides. ‘Some of you make a thorough search of the grounds. One of you must go for the doctor. I think it is hopeless, but the attempt must be made. If you see a stranger or intruder, apprehend them—I want justice for my cousin.’

      Pandemonium broke loose. Men were shouting at each other, feet flying as they divided into groups to search for the murderer. Adam lifted Mark off the ground, carrying him into the house. Then, remembering his passengers, he turned to look at them. Both young women looked stunned.

      ‘As you see, my cousin has been shot,’ Adam said. ‘Forgive me. I had not expected to bring you to such a reception.’

      ‘You must not think of us,’ Jenny said and dabbed at her cheeks with a lace kerchief.

      ‘Mrs Mountfitchet,’ Adam addressed a woman dressed all in black, who hovered nearby. ‘These young ladies were in distress for their carriage has broken down—send word to Lady Dawlish, for they are meant to be her guests, and please feed them. They are hungry.’

      ‘Do not worry for them, sir,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Come along, my dears. I’ll find you a comfortable parlour to sit in and you shall have some bread and butter, cold meats and pickles—and a pot of tea.’

      ‘Thank you...so kind...’ Jenny said, then, in a louder voice. ‘Please, I would know how your cousin goes on, sir.’

      Adam made no answer for he was hurrying away and up the stairs, the younger man hard on his heels.

      ‘I can’t believe it,’ the housekeeper said. ‘That such a thing should happen to the young master here in his own home. It’s scandalous, that’s what it is, and no mistake.’

      ‘It was such a shock,’ Jenny said and dabbed at her eyes again. ‘I am so very sorry. I wish we were not here to cause you more trouble.’

      ‘Now don’t you be worrying about that, miss. It has given me a proper shock, but as for looking after you, well, I’d rather have something to do. His lordship’s man will do all that is needed upstairs. Are you related to Miss Dawlish, miss—the poor young lady? What she’ll do now I dread to think.’

      ‘It is terrible for both families. Everyone was so happy, looking forward to the wedding...’ Jenny’s throat caught. She had come down for Lucy’s wedding and now her husband-to-be was dying. ‘I cannot believe such a wicked thing could happen here.’

      ‘There’s a good many wicked things go on,’ the housekeeper said in dire tones. ‘But not at Ravenscar. What his lordship will say to it all I do not know...’

       Chapter Three

      ‘How can it have happened?’ Lord Ravenscar asked, staring at Adam in disbelief. ‘You say that you heard shots just as you arrived?’

      ‘We had just got down from the phaeton,’ Adam confirmed. ‘I had brought a young lady I found in distress, her coach having broken down, and was about to take her into the house when it happened. The shots seemed to come from the back of the building’

      ‘And my son?’

      ‘Mark is dying, sir,’ Adam replied. There was no way of softening the blow. ‘He was conscious only for a moment or two after he fell into my arms. I carried him to his room and the doctor was summoned, but he thinks as I do that it is only a matter of time. The wound is fatal. I have seen such wounds before and Mark cannot survive more than an hour or so.’

      ‘My God!’ The elderly man covered his face with shaking hands. ‘It beggars belief that he should come through so many battles with hardly a scratch only to die of gunshot wounds here in his own home.’

      ‘Whoever shot him did so at close range. He would have had little chance to defend himself,’ Adam said grimly. ‘I am sorry, sir. I wish I could give you better news, but there is no point in giving you false hope.’

      ‘Has the assassin been apprehended?’

      ‘Not to my knowledge. I have scarcely left Mark’s side until now. I hoped we might do something to save him, but all the doctor was able to do was to give him something that would ease his pain should he come to himself.’

      ‘If only I had been here when it happened...’

      ‘How could it have altered things?’ Adam looked at him with compassion. ‘Paul and I were here and there was nothing either of us could do.’

      ‘Has Hallam been sent for? Those two have always been close—as you know, Adam.’

      ‘Yes, sir. All of us loved Mark. He was like a golden god to the men he commanded. They would have followed him anywhere and he was universally loved by his fellow officers.’

      ‘Someone did not love him,’ Mark’s father said, his features harsh with grief. ‘I would have sworn he did not have an enemy in the world—but this was murder. Someone must have done this wicked thing deliberately—come here on purpose to kill Mark. Have you any idea of who might have done it?’

      Adam shook his head. He could not forget his cousin’s last words, but how could he raise doubts in the grieving father’s mind? Mark might have been accusing his brother or he might have been warning them to watch out that the same fate did not happen to Paul. The fact that Paul had appeared carrying a shotgun that had been fired at about the time of the fatal shooting was damning—and yet it might be coincidental. Adam would not cast the first stone until he’d had time to investigate—even if it were the truth he would find it difficult to believe.

      ‘I believe I shall sit with my son now,’ Lord Ravenscar said, his face showing the extent of his shock and grief. ‘If you will excuse me...’

      ‘Of course.’ Adam watched him walk up the stairs and then turned towards the sound of voices coming from the large front parlour. There was the sound of crying and a babble of voices. If he were not mistaken, Lucy Dawlish had arrived.

      He hesitated outside the parlour and then walked in on a touching scene. Lucy was in floods of tears at the news, as one would expect. Miss Jenny Hastings had her arms about her and was attempting to comfort her—and both Paul and Hallam were watching with varying degrees of distress and horror.

      ‘Oh, Adam,’ Lucy cried as he entered the parlour. ‘Tell me it isn’t true, I beg you. Please tell me Mark will recover and this is all a bad dream.’

      ‘I wish that I might do so,’ Adam said. Lucy’s grief was a piteous thing. He noticed that she threw a look almost of accusation at Paul, almost as if she blamed him for being hale when his brother lay dying. ‘However, the doctor told me that it is a matter of hours. He does not expect that Mark will recover consciousness.’

      ‘It cannot be.’ Lucy fell into a renewed fit of wild sobbing. ‘We were to be married...how can this have happened here? He promised he would come home safe from the war and we should marry. Now...’ She shook her head and broke from Jenny’s protective arms. ‘May I see him? I must say goodbye to him...’ She looked so fragile, so close to breaking that Adam was wrenched with pity for her.

      ‘His father asked for a little time alone with his son—but I am sure he will send for you as soon as he has made his own farewells.’

      ‘Adam...’ Hallam drew him to one side away from the others. ‘This is a bad business. Has the culprit been found?’