There was an elongated silence before Aaran said, “Each of you have fallen in love with a perfect mate. I know many of you wish me to claim Lady Freya, but, like you, I want a marriage of equals, not one where my wife will resent me each day for alienating her from her family. If you mean to find the lady a more suitable husband than Sir Patrick Hodge, perhaps I might suggest my brother Boyde. He, too, carries the name Graham and is entitled to his barony. Moreover, Cunningham has always been an advocate for Boyde to replace me. If I do not marry or even if I do and only produce daughters as did both Duncan and Cunningham, Boyde would be next in line for the earldom.”
A long silence followed and no one spoke a denial of Aaran’s declaration, meaning they could be in agreement with him, which shattered his heart in a few more pieces, for, in many ways, he wished them to reason with him.
At length, Marksman said, “Orson and I rode into Hawkins to learn if we might overhear anything of importance at that village’s pub. When we departed, we saw who we thought was…”
Duncan responded, “Donegal MacAlasdair. We encountered him also. MacAlasdair is also residing at the Rayland estate while he conducts a series of lectures at Rochester Cathedral, which makes little sense as Rochester is some two hours removed from this area of Kent. Moreover, the fact that MacAlasdair is Lady Rayland’s guest does not speak well of Rayland’s marriage if the new Lady Rayland’s longtime lover is also living with the recently married couple. I do not know which of Her Ladyship’s admirers to fear more.”
Aaran declared, “If you are ranking those to fear at Rayland’s manor, I would fear my stepmother most. The woman is afraid of nothing and no one. I feel it in my bones.” His mouth flattened into a grim expression. “Though I cannot speak with any accuracy to the why or the wherefore or how all these people came together at this time, we all know the most important thing in Duncan’s life, as well as in Lady Elsbeth’s life, God rest her soul, is family. Someone at Rayland House plans to harm this family in the surest and cruelest manner. I would bet that Lady Eímear’s interest in Lord Rayland formed shortly after the notice of Thompson’s upcoming marriage to Miss Whitchurch appeared in the London newspapers.”
“Worse than an attempt on Duncan’s life?” Marksman asked.
“Since Thompson spoke of his opinions of Duncan’s shooter, I have been thinking long and hard on Benjamin’s suppositions. We now know the coat was smaller than we initially thought so the man was likely shorter and thinner than we first calculated. What if…” he continued, “what if the man had anticipated Duncan following us out?”
“How would that be possible?” Marksman asked. “He would not know the particular night we were to celebrate Hartley being offered a post in India.”
“But perhaps he knew of a woman approaching Mrs. Dove-Lyon regarding a marriage arrangement.” Aaran held up his hand to prevent further arguments. “When I am at Newgate or Marshals or even at Fleet and am listening for information on the Luddites or other turmoil happening on British soil, I also hear of things one would not believe those behind bars would know: A noted gentleman cheating on his wife to how one of the street vendors found a gentleman’s purse and did not return it for fear of being charged as a thief. Though you would not think it possible, some of those being detained spoke of Duncan’s efforts in Dover to prevent illegal guns and ammunition from entering our borders. That was mere weeks before Mrs. Dove-Lyon wrote to Duncan about the mysterious woman who sought a marriage. Obviously, upon his return, it would be logical for Duncan to respond to the letter from the Lyon’s Den’s mistress.”
“Are you not reaching for possibilities?” Thompson inquired with a frown.
“I am not as logical as you,” Aaran admitted. “I trust my gut.” He sighed heavily. “Could it be possible that a shooter had watched the Lyon’s Den in hopes that Duncan would call once he was back in London? Perhaps even hire a woman to pretend to want to marry Duncan? Did not Mrs. Dove-Lyon later say she saw a woman out and about in what appeared to be an upper servant’s dress who she thought was this ‘Mrs. Sorenson’?”
“Possible,” Orson said into the silence that filled the room. “A well-constructed trap.”
“I did not wish to appear at the Lyon’s Den without an excuse,” Duncan admitted. “When Hartley announced his news, I claimed that advantage.”
Silence filled the room for a good minute or more before Duncan asked, “Could Aaran’s assumption hold weight? Be accurate?”
Those in the room fell quiet in deep consideration.
“Perhaps it was a well-orchestrated appearance, as Aaran has suggested,” Beaufort observed. “Something we have yet to consider. We all expected a second attack after the first, but we have seen connected incidents, but not another strike directly on the family.”
“My half sister,” Lady Emma said quietly.
“My sister and Mr. Betts,” Miss Whitchurch added.
“Lord Almano,” Marksman added.
Before anyone else could respond, Aaran took up his suppositions again. “This next part will likely name me as more than a bit witless, but what if the shooter did not want Duncan dead, but rather brought low. Or warned. Or… God, I have no ideas; however, I believe we are searching for someone who is Duncan’spersonalenemy, for lack of another word, to describe the shooter’s motivation. This is not a political enemy, but rather a personal grudge Duncan likely has never considered. A long-standing slight that has come back to plague Duncan and this family.”
Chapter Twelve
Freya spotted thecarriage from her bedroom window. Patting her hair in place and smoothing out the wrinkles in her day dress, she rushed to warn her aunt of the visitors. She had hoped to see Lord Graham’s coach on the road, but she supposed Miss Whitchurch’s carriage would do as well.
“Guests,” she warned her aunt as she rushed into Aunt Felicity’s sitting room. “Miss Whitchurch’s coach is traveling the main road to the vicarage.”
“Just the young lady?” her aunt asked as she dumped her sewing in a nearby basket and covered it with a crocheted cloth.
“I have no idea,” Freya declared as she joined her aunt in plumping the pillows. “I imagine it is several of the ladies from Thom Manor.”
“Find Sarah and order tea and cakes. I shall answer the bell when it is rung,” her aunt instructed. “Your uncle and I are not accustomed to frequent callers. Your presence in the household has brought us more company than usual, not that I am complaining.”
Freya wanted to see who stepped down from the coach, but, instead, she did what her aunt instructed. Fortunately, Sarah was just in the servants’ entrance, so Freya sent the girlback to the kitchen and returned to where her aunt waited for the bell. Freya’s curiosity had her leaning to the side to watch each woman step down from the coach. “Lady Orson, the majestic one,” she whispered, as her aunt motioned her away from the window, but Freya did not budge. She knew she and Aunt Felicity were alike when it came to curiosity. “Lady Beaufort. Red headed, like me. Lady Marksman, Lord Duncan’s daughter. Favors her mother. You recall Lady Elsbeth Duncan, do you not?” Her aunt nodded before moving closer to Freya so she might view the ladies, as well. When Miss Whitchurch stepped down, and the women turned towards the door, Freya whispered, “Miss Victoria Whitchurch. You recall her name from the previous visit.”
The knocker was released, but her aunt stopped Freya from reaching for the door. Aunt Felicity held up her fingers, one by one, counting to ten and then beginning again before she caught the lock to release it. “Good day,” she said, keeping Freya behind her.
“Are you, Mrs. Turner?” Lady Orson asked in that special tone the woman had perfected which announced her importance.
“Yes, my lady,” her aunt responded in breathy tones.
