Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

you did not have anything to do with my abduction.’

      What could he do to make her believe? ‘I swear it. On my honour.’

      ‘Then why would they say you did?’

      ‘If they did it in my name, I suppose I am as guilty as they are.’ He turned back to the view. ‘There is only one way to end this nightmare. I have to go to the authorities and admit the truth.’

      A light touch fell on his shoulder. He’d not heard her approach. Half-afraid of what he would see in her face, he turned and saw pity and the shimmer of tears. His heart cracked open and pain flooded in. The pain of guilt he’d held back for so many years.

      ‘You really can’t remember?’ she murmured.

      He shook his head.

      ‘It must have been an accident,’ she said.

      Ellie. Sweet gentle Ellie. Even now she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

      He forced a laugh, heard the bitterness. ‘I don’t need to remember. There was a witness.’ He brushed the thought aside. ‘The most important thing is to get you home safe. Then I will deal with my uncle.’

      ‘But—’

      A scratch at the door and Mrs Brown, her hands full of tray, entered. ‘Here we are, at last. And look who came to see how you are, my lord. My John though it best to send word to the Court after all.’

      Garrick’s heart dropped to the floor as Le Clere stepped into the room behind Mrs Brown.

      Ellie could not restrain her gasp.

      ‘Why don’t you all have a nice cup of tea before you set out?’ the farmer’s wife said with a beaming smile, placing the tray on the table in front of the sofa. ‘There are some scones here and preserves and a nice dollop of cream.’

      Ellie wanted to scream. While the sweet, well-meaning Mrs Brown chattered about cakes and set out plates and cups in front of her, she wanted to charge past the portly noble looking over the woman’s shoulder with the sorrowful expression of a bloodhound.

      Garrick stood pale and stiff, his hands clenched at his side. Why didn’t he object, consign his uncle, or cousin, to the devil, if they weren’t in league? This was a nightmare. At any moment she’d wake up in Castlefield and discover it had all been a horrible dream.

      But it wasn’t.

      ‘That will be all, Mrs Brown,’ Le Clere said, moving aside. Then Ellie saw the reason for Garrick’s posture. Le Clere held a pistol. This really was too much. How many more men were going to hold her at pistol point today?

      She started for the door, intending to follow Mrs Brown out.

      ‘Don’t move, Ellie,’ Garrick said.

      She darted a glance at him. It was two against one. If they rushed Le Clere, surely they could overpower him? His face a mask, Garrick shook his head, refusing her aid. Was he in this with his uncle, after all? Her stomach fell away, a sickening sensation.

      ‘Well, well, isn’t this pleasant,’ Le Clere said in genial tones the moment Mrs Brown closed the door. ‘And here I thought Matthews had lost the pair of you.’

      ‘What the deuce do you think you are doing?’ Garrick said tightly. ‘This is Lady Eleanor Hadley.’

      Eleanor let go of her breath. He knew his uncle better than she. Perhaps he thought he would listen to reason.

      Le Clere raised a heavy black brow. ‘I know.’ He bowed. ‘By now your brother should be in possession of your letter, and be following his instructions. The exchange will continue just as planned.’

      ‘No,’ Garrick said. ‘I will not allow it.’

      ‘You won’t allow it?’ Le Clere’s face hardened. He no longer looked like a bloodhound, more like a bulldog. ‘After everything I have done for this family? Either Lady Eleanor co-operates or she dies, as will every member of her family.’

      Horrified, she stared first at Le Clere, then at Garrick, who paled.

      ‘Uncle Duncan, what the hell have you done?’ Garrick started forwards. ‘This must cease now.’

      Le Clere tightened his grip on his pistol and moved closer to Eleanor.

      Garrick stopped short. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Garrick asked, his eyes intent. ‘What does Castlefield have that is so important?’

      ‘Sit down, Garrick,’ Le Clere said mildly. ‘We might as well have this conversation in a civilised manner. Perhaps, Lady Eleanor, you would be good enough to pour the tea?’

      Back to kind elderly gentlemen. It was uncanny. A shiver ran down her spine. Garrick sat. She followed suit. With a sense of unreality, she poured each of them a cup of tea. Le Clere’s pistol didn’t waver as he took a sip from his cup.

      Garrick refused tea. Eleanor poured a cup for herself. Perhaps if she threw it in his face…

      ‘To answer your question, Garrick,’ his uncle said, ‘we need the letter Piggot left with this young lady’s father and everything can go on as before.’

      ‘Piggot left a letter?’ Garrick squeezed his eyes shut as if the words caused him pain. ‘How can you know?’

      ‘He sent me word of a letter to be opened at his death,’ Le Clere said. ‘Do drink your tea, Lady Eleanor. And don’t think about throwing it in my face. I can assure you a bullet travels faster than hot liquid.’

      Eleanor put down her cup. ‘It would be a waste of good tea.’

      Garrick whipped his head around and gave her a hard, warning stare. Well, it had been a feeble idea, but she hoped he’d think of something better, and soon, or she’d be forced to give it a try. Perhaps the teapot would make a better missile.

      Le Clere smiled. ‘Very wise, Lady Eleanor.’ He returned his attention to Garrick. ‘Piggot warned what would happen if anything happened to him or his family. What I didn’t know was the letter’s location. I should have guessed he’d go to one of your father’s army friends. When the man I hired finally tracked him down, Piggot was dying. It seems he wanted it all off his conscience and told his nurse the whole story. A few guineas later, and I knew exactly where to look.’

      Garrick looked as if the walls of the farmhouse were folding in on him. ‘You never told me any of this.’ He looked genuinely shocked and horrified.

      ‘Why did this all come to a head now?’ Eleanor asked.

      ‘The impending arrival of your brother made action imperative. He is bound to find the letter sooner or later. When he does, he will see it as his duty to bring it to the authorities. I could not allow that.’ He sounded as if it was the most natural occurrence in the world.

      Garrick leaned forwards, his face dark. ‘Did you kill Piggot? Is there more blood on my hands I don’t know about?’ He was white beneath his tan, looking ill.

      ‘Don’t be foolish, my boy.’ Le Clere almost chortled. ‘What would that advantage? All the while he remained alive your secret was safe. Now the letter is to be opened. Fortunately your older brother died before he had time to go through your father’s papers, Lady Eleanor. We needed more time to look.’

      The words were like hot pebbles dropped on ice, the import fracturing the surface of her mind, the cracks spreading out, until the surface weakened and the stones fell through, sinking to the bottom with a threatening hiss. She gripped the fabric of the sofa, needing to feel something solid in her world. ‘You killed Michael?’

      ‘Let us say the timing was fortuitous,’ Le Clere said.

      ‘No!’ The word seemed to be ripped from Garrick’s chest. ‘No,’ he whispered. His fists clenched. The knuckles white.

      ‘Control yourself, Garrick,’ Le Clere said.