The Lady By His Side Read online

  Antonia noticed Sebastian studying the house as they walked. “What are you looking for?”

  “Any sign of unexpected basements. Of anywhere we haven’t yet searched.” He faced forward as they left the house behind. “I swear we’ve searched all possible places inside the house.”

  She nodded.

  And continued to wonder at his apparent ready acceptance of her company. After his attempt to remove her from the house party—and all danger—last night, she’d expected him to try again, or at least to try to dissuade her from accompanying him. She would have sworn that in the moment when they’d taken their leave of Melissa and Claire, and he’d hesitated, he’d debated suggesting she remain with her friends in safety…but he hadn’t.

  Instead, he seemed not just resigned but acquiescent over her presence.

  That was a great deal more than she’d hoped for.

  Almost as if, with respect to her, he was changing his spots…only she didn’t believe that for an instant.

  She and her sister had heard countless tales from their mother of their father’s smothering protectiveness and had endured enough incidents of that on their own accounts to have formed a very clear idea of the only possible way to deal with a similar man—with a nobleman who, when in the grip of instinct, would behave as if he owned them. As if they were somehow his—his to dictate to, at least when there was any danger involved.

  She wasn’t foolish enough to discard or denigrate the protectiveness such men—men like Sebastian—personified. Protectiveness was welcome; any sane lady would agree. But possessive protectiveness was something else again and needed to be guarded against.

  Needed to be trained out of those so afflicted.

  She bit back a smile; Sebastian wouldn’t see that conclusion as amusing, much less approve of such a tack.

  Too bad. That was the price if he wanted her hand in marriage.

  They reached the stable yard to find their mounts waiting. When Sebastian lifted her to her saddle, she discovered she now enjoyed the thrill, the spiking of her senses.

  He mounted up—she enjoyed watching that, too—then they wheeled the horses and clattered out of the yard.

  Only to almost immediately rein in as the inspector, flanked by a bevy of constables, came trotting up.

  Crawford halted his good-looking bay, doubtless borrowed from Sir Humphrey’s stable, waved his men on to the stable yard, then politely lifted his hat to them. “Good morning, my lord. My lady.”

  “Inspector.” Sebastian steadied the gray, who had taken exception to the other horses; at the same time, he glanced about, confirming none of the stablemen and no one else was close enough to overhear. “We’re about to ride out and search the northern half of the estate for any sign of the gunpowder.”

  Crawford nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything enlightening to tell me as to who the murderer might be?”

  “Sadly, no,” Sebastian said.

  Antonia took pity on the inspector. “Last night, everyone was very subdued. We all retired early. This morning, the main subject of conversation about the breakfast table was whether you will allow us to depart tomorrow, as was originally planned.”

  Crawford sighed. “That’s a decision Sir Humphrey and I will have to make later today, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to it. With all evidence pointing to the murderer being one of the guests, the new rules that apply to investigations such as this say we keep you all here, contained, until something breaks. That said, I can see that’s not going to be so easy in this case and might not even be possible.”

  Sebastian hesitated, then nodded and tightened the gray’s reins. “If anything occurs to us, or if we find anything to point to the murderer, we’ll let you know as quickly as we can.”

  “In that case”—Crawford half bowed to Antonia—“I’ll wish you good riding and good luck.”

  They parted. With Antonia beside him, Sebastian set course for the fields lying to the northwest of the grounds surrounding the house.

  When they reached the area they hadn’t yet explored, once again, they zigged and zagged, working their way toward the western boundary, stopping at all structures no matter how small to search for hidden barrels.

  The first place they stopped at was a farmhouse that stood isolated on its own plot. The farmyard with its associated buildings was a short distance away, around the flank of a low hill. Sebastian dismounted and came to lift Antonia down. Together, they walked up the gravel path. The door opened before they reached it; the tenant farmer’s wife blinked at them, then colored and bobbed a curtsy. “Sir. Ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  Sebastian glanced at Antonia.

  She smiled at the woman. “We’re searching for some barrels that those at the house”—she waved toward Pressingstoke Hall—“believe might have been hidden somewhere about the estate. Have you or your husband seen anyone moving barrels about recently?”

  Clearly mystified, the woman shook her head. “No, ma’am. Can’t say as we have. Not much we have that’s brought in by the barrel-load, so we’d’ve noticed, I’m sure.”

  Sebastian shifted. “Do you know of any old cellar or cave where barrels might have been hidden?”

  The woman studied him for a second, then said, “I was born on the estate, so I know most places, but other than the caves in the cliffs, I’ve never heard tell of any hidden place—not in the fields.”

  Sebastian regarded the woman for an instant, then nodded. “Thank you.”

  He took Antonia’s arm and walked with her down the short path. As soon as they were out of earshot of the woman, he bent his head and whispered, “I want to search the cellar—in a place that size, there’s bound to be one. Can you get her out of the house?”

  The cottages they’d stopped at the previous day had been too small to boast cellars. Antonia halted, studying his face, then she nodded and turned.

  The farmer’s wife was still standing in the open doorway.

  Antonia walked back, smiling easily. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a glass of water?”

  The woman straightened. “Of course, ma’am.” She stepped back. “Come in.”

  Leaving the front door wide, Antonia followed the woman down a corridor that led to a large kitchen at the rear of the house. The woman went to the dresser, picked up a pewter mug, and reached for a jug. Antonia stayed her with a raised hand. “If possible, I would prefer water straight from the pump.”

  The woman nodded. “Of course.” She set down the jug and made for the back door. “The pump’s just out here.”

  Antonia followed the woman out of the door; as she had hoped, the pump stood in the middle of the rear yard. She offered to hold the mug while the woman plied the pump handle. Once the mug was full, Antonia sipped, then asked the woman about her family.

  They were still standing by the pump, swapping observations on male children, when Sebastian came striding around the side of the farmhouse. He halted and frowned at her. “We need to be getting on.”

  She smiled sweetly at him, then turned her smile on the woman and handed back the mug. “Thank you.”

  The woman took the mug and bobbed a curtsy. “Ma’am.”

  Antonia joined Sebastian, and they walked around the farmhouse and back to the horses. Only once they were mounted and had wheeled the horses did she ask, “Anything?”

  He grunted. “A root cellar, but no barrels.” He set the gray trotting. “Come on.”

  They halted in the nearby farmyard, which proved to be deserted. “I suppose all the men are out in the fields at this hour,” Antonia said.

  “At least we don’t have to make excuses.” Sebastian led the way into the barn.

  Their search of the barn and hayshed didn’t take long.

  In silence, they remounted and rode on.

  Antonia set the chestnut to pace the gray. “Is gunpowder transported in anything other than barrels?”

  Sebastian frowned. “It can be. But only smaller amounts would be in bo
xes or paper packages, and not generally for transporting any distance. I can’t imagine Ennis wasting his last breath to warn us about any small amount. Also, the powder needs to be kept dry, and oak barrels are best for that.”

  She sighed. “So barrels it is.”

  Another farmhouse, somewhat larger than the last, sat in a dip ahead. Again, they halted and questioned the farmer’s wife, who confirmed that, at that time of day, all the men were out in the fields. Again, the woman knew nothing of any barrels being moved about the estate. She went with them to look into the barn and hayshed. Antonia distracted her by professing an interest in her extensive vegetable garden while Sebastian circled the house and searched its cellar, but all for the same result.

  “Nothing,” he somewhat tersely informed Antonia before she’d even asked. He urged the gray on, and she followed.

  To that point, she’d had no reason to complain about his behavior. However, the next structure they came upon was a lone hayshed. On reaching it, Sebastian quickly dismounted, waved her to remain ahorse, handed her the gray’s reins, and stalked off to swiftly search.

  She told herself he was simply growing impatient, and it really didn’t take two to search a hayshed that was open on three sides.

  But their next stop was at a derelict barn, and once again, he was off his horse and waiting to hand her the gray’s reins the instant she halted the mare. “This won’t take long” was all he said before stalking into the barn.

  Leaving her to wait outside.

  She humphed. She glanced around, looking for a tree or bush to which to tie both sets of reins…only to realize there wasn’t anything suitable nearby.

  Maybe that was why he’d left her holding the reins. She returned her gaze to the barn door, sagging on its hinges, and narrowed her eyes… Perhaps. But she had to wonder.

  The barn proved uninteresting. His expression hard and unrevealing, Sebastian returned, reclaimed the gray’s reins, mounted up, and they continued quartering the fields, moving steadily westward.

  They saw no other structures requiring searching before they reached the Deal-Dover road, once again not far from Ringwould, although this time to the north of the village.

  Sebastian drew rein and looked toward the cluster of village roofs. “Let’s go back to the Five Bells and have an early luncheon. There’s unlikely to be anywhere else on our route where we might get food.”

  “An excellent idea,” she returned and led the way. She’d discovered her appetite had grown; even the extra scrambled eggs she’d eaten that morning hadn’t entirely assuaged her hunger.

  At the Five Bells, the day’s main dish proved to be mutton stew, hearty and filling and almost as tasty as the previous day’s pie. They spoke little while they ate; for her part, she was absorbed with thoughts of where barrels of gunpowder might be hidden, and what next they might do if their search today proved as futile as yesterday’s.

  Suitably fortified to face the afternoon, they quit the inn, remounted, and rode northward, steadily traversing the fields of the estate bordering the road.

  That tack revealed no structures of any kind and landed them at the northwestern corner of the estate, where a large coppice filled the triangle between the fields, the road, and the northern boundary fence. The coppice hadn’t been harvested for some time and was overdue for attention; the trees grew thick and dense.

  Antonia drew rein facing the coppice. Sebastian rode closer, ranging between her and the trees. He appeared to be peering into the massed thickets.

  She noticed a path leading into the coppice. “There’s a path there.” When he glanced at her, she pointed. “Should we get down and search?”

  Sebastian rode to the opening of the path. Standing in his stirrups, he looked down it, then he shook his head, resat, and turned the gray toward her. “It’s just a clearing. Nothing there. If whoever’s behind this has a grain of sense, then assuming they want to use the gunpowder to blow something up, they won’t risk leaving it in the open, even under a tarpaulin. In this season, damp will get in, and that will be the end of their plans.”

  “We could hope,” she replied and turned the chestnut’s head to the east.

  They rode on, again taking a zigzag route across the fields as they covered the last section of the estate they hadn’t yet searched—the fields inside the northern boundary from the road to the shore.

  The next feature they came upon was another large coppice, a roughly circular one surrounded by fields. Sebastian had been riding on Antonia’s left, but when they slowed before the coppice, he urged the gray forward and across, coming between her and the trees. This coppice had been recently harvested; perched on their horses, they could easily see through the thin young shoots. But with Sebastian between her and the coppice, Antonia had to lean sideways and crane her neck to see around him.

  “Nothing there.” He nudged the gray on.

  Her view finally clear, she cast a swift glance over the coppice, confirmed there was no structure of any kind hidden in its depths, then raised her reins and pressed the chestnut into motion again.

  Still keeping station between her and the trees, Sebastian led the way on.

  From beneath her lashes, she cast him a narrow-eyed sidelong glare. Did he even realize what he was doing? Where was the danger here? What did he imagine—that someone was hiding in the coppice waiting to take a shot at her?

  She humphed and shifted her gaze forward. Were noblemen in the grip of this particular affliction really so illogical? So driven by instinct that common sense fell by the wayside?

  She had a sneaking suspicion her mother would assure her that they were. That she—Antonia—should expect such behavior.

  She felt like snorting.

  She bit back an acerbic comment when they came to another coppice, this one on the other side of their route, and he behaved in the same shielding way, wheeling the gray around her to do so.

  But when a large barn, not derelict and apparently very much in use, loomed ahead, she scanned the area, spotted a small tree to one side, and planned her approach. At the last moment, she pushed the chestnut into the lead, headed straight for that useful tree, pulled up, slid from her saddle to the ground—an admittedly precarious undertaking given the chestnut stood a good sixteen hands tall—regained her balance, and swiftly tied the chestnut’s reins to the tree.

  She turned to find Sebastian scowling down at her.

  But “Wait” was all he said.

  She hid her grin and decided not to take umbrage at his tone. He would learn.

  She duly waited while he dismounted and tethered the gray. She even allowed him to lead the way into the barn.

  Searching that barn took some time—there were piles of hay to poke beneath and stalls, presently empty, to explore. But, once again, they found nothing.

  In disaffected silence, they returned to the horses and mounted up again. As Sebastian turned the gray eastward once more, she glanced at him. His face, with its angular features and chiseled planes, would never be described as soft, but his expression was even more granite-like, more impenetrable than usual.

  There was a hint of bleakness in his gaze as he scanned the area ahead of them.

  She could understand. This might be something of an adventure, but it wasn’t a game. Gunpowder destroyed, not just buildings but people, too. There was duty of a sort weighing on Sebastian’s broad shoulders, and, now she thought of it, she felt she shared that burden.

  They needed to find the gunpowder.

  Not finding it would feel like failure.

  And failure wasn’t something he was conditioned to accept, any more than she was.

  They came upon two abandoned huts; one showed evidence of being used as a shed. Although she sensed it went against his grain—that he had to rein in his impulses to do it—he refrained from trying to stop her following him into the huts.

  They shifted tools and checked the floors and, again, found nothing.

  When they mounted and rode on,
they could smell the sea.

  Minutes later, they reached the bridle path that followed the edge of the cliffs. Judging by the position of the sun, barely discernible through the thick clouds, it was midafternoon. The breeze had picked up, and it was chillier this close to the sea.

  They halted and looked around. Sebastian pointed to a fence a little way to the north. “That’s the boundary line. This is the northeastern corner of the estate.”

  Looking farther to the north, Antonia glimpsed the distinctive walls of Walmer Castle a mile or so away.

  Sebastian followed her gaze, then looked away. The sight of the castle was a stark reminder of his failure to locate the gunpowder. He turned the gray’s head to the south and nudged the heavy beast into a walk.

  Antonia brought the chestnut alongside.

  After a moment, he gave voice to his frustration. “I cannot believe Ennis used his last breath to tell me something that didn’t matter. So the threat posed by the gunpowder is real. More, it’s significant. And by here…he must have meant, at the very least, this estate. The missing three hundred pounds confirms that. And while it’s now nearly three days since he was murdered, and the barrels might well have been moved, we haven’t found a single place in which they might even conceivably have been kept.”

  He glanced at Antonia.

  Her gaze fixed ahead, she lightly shrugged. “So we keep searching. Ennis said the gunpowder was here, so it will be, or will have been, here, somewhere.”

  He snorted disgruntledly. “Where remains our abiding question.”

  She tapped her heel to the chestnut’s side and moved into a trot. “You scan the land, and I’ll search the sands.”

  It was the same division of labor they’d used the previous day. He spotted an isolated cottage, and they diverted inland to search. Although a couple clearly lived there, the building stood empty. They searched, but found nothing.

  Feeling increasingly helpless, he led the way back to the cliff path, and they continued southward.

  After several minutes, she asked, “If they want to blow up something in England, why bother bringing gunpowder from somewhere else?” She looked at him and, when he met her gaze, arched a brow. “Don’t we have enough gunpowder in England?”