ALSO BY ANNE STUART
HISTORICALS
The House of Rohan
The Wicked House of Rohan
Shameless
Breathless
Reckless
Ruthless
Stand-Alone Titles
The Devil’s Waltz
Hidden Honor
Lady Fortune
Prince of Magic
Lord of Danger
Prince of Swords
To Love a Dark Lord
Shadow Dance
A Rose at Midnight
The Houseparty
The Spinster and the Rake
Lord Satan’s Bride
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
The Ice Series
On Thin Ice
Silver Falls
Fire and Ice
Ice Storm
Ice Blue
Cold As Ice
Black Ice
Stand-Alone Titles
Into the Fire
Still Lake
The Widow
Shadows at Sunset
Shadow Lover
Ritual Sins
Moonrise
Nightfall
Seen and Not Heard
At the Edge of the Sun
Darkness Before Dawn
Escape Out of Darkness
The Demon Count’s Daughter
The Demon Count
Demonwood
Cameron’s Landing
Barrett’s Hill
COLLABORATIONS
Dogs & Goddesses
The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes
ANTHOLOGIES
Burning Bright
Date with a Devil
What Lies Beneath
Night and Day
Valentine Babies
My Secret Admirer
Sisters and Secrets
Summer Love
New Year’s Resolution: Baby
New Year’s Resolution: Husband
One Night with a Rogue
Strangers in the Night
Highland Fling
To Love and To Honor
My Valentine
Silhouette Shadows
CATEGORY ROMANCE
Wild Thing
The Right Man
A Dark and Stormy Night
The Soldier and the Baby
Cinderman
Falling Angel
One More Valentine
Rafe’s Revenge
Heat Lightning
Chasing Trouble
Night of the Phantom
Lazarus Rising / reprint as Here Come the Grooms
Angel’s Wings
Rancho Diablo / reprint as Western Lovers
Crazy Like a Fox / reprint as Born in the USA
Glass Houses / reprint as Men at Work
Cry for the Moon
Partners in Crime
Blue Sage / reprint as Western Lovers
Bewitching Hour
Rocky Road / reprint in Men Made in America #19
Banish Misfortune
Housebound
Museum Piece
Heart’s Ease
Chain of Love
The Fall of Maggie Brown
Winter’s Edge
Catspaw II
Hand in Glove
Catspaw
Tangled Lies / reprint in Men Made in America #11
Now You See Him
Special Gifts
Break the Night
Against the Wind
NOVELLAS
The Wicked House of Rohan
Married to It (prequel to Fire and Ice)
Risk the Night
Married to It
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2013 Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
PO Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781477807323
ISBN-10: 1477807322
To
Jane and Miriam
For always watching my back
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1869
CHAPTER ONE
MISS BRYONY RUSSELL SAT in front of the dismal fire in the tiny terrace apartment on the very edge of Whitechapel. It was a dangerous area, and well she knew it, but with the small amount of money left the three sisters hadn’t had much choice. Lodgings in London weren’t to be had cheaply in the thirty-second year of Queen Victoria’s reign.
Bryony looked at her sisters and cleared her throat. “I believe there’s no choice for it, we’ll have to go into service.”
Her sisters looked at her with a mixture of interest and horror. “Service?” her youngest sister Sophia echoed faintly. “As in, work? As a maid?”
“What else does ‘service’ mean, you silly goose,” her middle sister Madeleine said. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“I don’t,” Sophia said decidedly.
Bryony surveyed them impatiently. “Not you, Sophie. You’d get fired within a fortnight. And I’m not saying you should do it either, Maddy, if you don’t wish to. But the only way we’re going to find out the truth about what really happened to Papa is to get inside the households of those we most suspect, and I can think of no better way.”
It had all happened so swiftly. One day they were the pampered daughters of a wealthy shipping magnate, the next they were destitute, orphaned, and under a cloud of shame. Eustace Russell had been a self-made man, amassing a fortune through the shipping company that had started out a mere fledgling business and ended up being the foremost company in England and half of Europe. He’d married a great and titled beauty who’d given him three daughters; he lived life well.
And six weeks ago he’d supposedly embezzled a massive amount of Russell Shipping’s finances and then died in a carriage accident as he raced for the Continent, plunging to his death over the high cliffs on the southwest corner of England. His three daughters were finally beginning to emerge from the shock and grief that had overwhelmed them, only to find they were in social disgrace as well.
Two banks had failed immediately following the discovery of their father’s perfidy, setting off a financial panic that had wide-reaching effects. It was no wonder the name of Russell was viewed with scorn and mistrust nowadays.
For the past six weeks Bryony and her sisters had been in a fog, numbed by grief and confusion. Everything was gone—the money, their good name, their faith in their father. Their former town house on Curzon Street had been set on fire, presumably by Eustace to cover his tracks, and the ruined shell of it remained, mute testament to the shame
that had come to their family. Even Renwick, the vast country estate in Somerset, had been taken, the entailed property returned to the heir upon Russell’s death. The three daughters had arrived from the country with no place to stay, and it had taken all Bryony’s force of character to keep her sisters from feeling the shame and hopelessness that was crushing her. It was a blessing that their delicate, high-strung mother wasn’t still alive to endure the public recoil. It was hard enough on Bryony, and she accounted herself far sturdier than their mother had ever been.
It hadn’t taken long for Bryony to pull herself together, take a clear look at the so-called proof of her father’s iniquity, and realize it was all a lie. The scribbled note, in her father’s own hand, had further convinced her.
Don’t trust any of them. Someone’s stealing money, and it looks like Kilmartyn’s in league with them, no matter what excuses he makes. Don’t trust Morgan either. Never trust a pirate. Something’s going on, and I’ll get to the bottom of it, or
Don’t trust anyone. That’s what her father had dashed off, a note to himself, but for Bryony it was something else. It was purpose. The idea that there was actually something that could be done was a tonic to her soul. There was no way she could bring her father back, but if she could ensure whoever was truly behind this met justice it would give them all some kind of peace, or, at the very least, resolution.
“We don’t even know that he was murdered,” Sophie protested. “Simply because you found an odd note among Father’s papers doesn’t mean we should pay it any heed. Carriage accidents do happen, you know. And who’s to say that Father didn’t take that money?”
“Because Papa was almost maddeningly honest, and he instilled those values in all of us,” Bryony said firmly. “I simply cannot believe he would ever do such a thing.”
“I told you,” Maddy snapped at her younger sister. “If you ever used your brain to think about anything but fashion and food…”
“We aren’t getting to enjoy any fashion,” Sophie shot back, plucking at her black-dyed mourning dress. “And since I’m the only one who can cook around here we’re not getting to enjoy the food either.”
“Stop fighting!” Bryony said wearily, not for the first time. “I swear, the two of you are like angry cats. If we’re to get through this with any kind of success we have to work together.”
“Sorry,” Sophie muttered, casting a half-resentful, half-apologetic look at Maddy.
“I’m sorry, Bryony,” Maddy said with a degree more sincerity. “Where do you propose we start?”
Bryony sat back, pouring herself another cup of the strong, cheap tea they were subsisting on. “I can think of three suspects—Papa named two of them. The Earl of Kilmartyn was his business partner and made a fortune at Papa’s side. Papa distrusted him, and for some reason the bank panic didn’t affect him in the slightest. He’s the most logical choice. He’s a well-known rake, despite his beautiful wife, and he’s got the morals of an alley cat, or so I’ve been told.”
“He’s too obvious,” Maddy said. “What about Captain Morgan? Father had just removed him from his command, and he was on his way to Devonport when the accident happened. When our choice is between a peer of the realm and a former pirate the answer seems logical.”
“Privateer,” Bryony corrected firmly. Maddy had a tendency to be overdramatic. “You’re right, though. Captain Morgan appears to be a man who wouldn’t blink at the thought of murder. I don’t believe Father ever trusted him completely. Although there are a number of reasons to drive to Devonport—visiting Captain Morgan being only one of them. There did appear to be bad blood between them.”
“There was bad blood between Father and almost everyone he ever met,” Sophie scoffed. “Honest or not, he was hardly the most convivial of individuals. Surely you’re not suggesting Captain Morgan embezzled a fortune and killed our father out of pique?”
“It’s something you would do,” Maddy said pointedly.
Sophie shrugged with surprising good nature. “I suppose I might, if someone annoyed me enough. But what about Viscount Blackhurst? With our father’s death he regained ownership of Renwick, no small treasure. He already murdered his wife. Why hesitate to kill a total stranger if you stand to gain that much?”
“We don’t know that he murdered his wife,” Bryony corrected her. “It’s just rumor. And of the three I admit he seems the least likely. The man was already wealthy, and he owned several estates. Besides, Father didn’t seem to suspect him.”
“Clearly Father didn’t know everything, if he ended up dead,” Sophie replied, sinking back on the window seat and staring out into the rain-drenched city, the sheen of her unshed tears barely noticeable. She looked like a gorgeous, shining doll amidst the trappings of a black crow. Mourning clothes had been expensive, even using the cheapest of worsted, but instead of diminishing Sophie’s vibrant beauty the stark black only made her more stunning. “Why don’t we simply go with our original plan? I’ll marry someone fabulously wealthy and very handsome and support the two of you.”
“This mythical husband of yours has yet to materialize,” Maddy pointed out. “And may I remind you that my suitor discovered a pressing need to travel to South America when all of this came out?”
“Just because you couldn’t hold on to Tarkington doesn’t mean I’ll have similar problems.”
“Stop it!” Bryony said sharply. “This is difficult enough. If we spend all our time arguing with each other we’ll never find out what happened! Surely you don’t want our father’s murderer to go scot-free?”
“We don’t know for sure that he was murdered,” Sophie said in a sulky voice.
“No, we have no proof. A hasty note in Father’s hand that tells us not to trust anyone. Not to mention the fact that every penny of his fortune has disappeared, leaving us on the streets,” Maddy pointed out in a caustic voice.
“Not on the streets,” Bryony said, a stickler for accuracy. “These rooms are warm and comfortable, and there are relatives who have offered us a home any time we choose. In fact, we were just about to leave when I found the note in a box of his papers.” She glanced over at the stained piece of paper on the small table. No matter how many times she read it, it still failed to make any sense.
“Of course there are,” Maddy shot back. “I could live with second cousin Rosalie and take care of her seven ghastly children in between running errands.”
“And how is that different from going into service?” Sophie countered.
“Because there’s no way out from Cousin Rosalie’s,” Maddy said gloomily. “No answers to be found, and not even a farthing to show for it. I’d rather be an honest maid than a slavey for Cousin Rosalie.”
“I thought the whole point was not being particularly honest,” Sophie pointed out.
“That’s enough,” Bryony said firmly. “Neither of you is required to do anything. I came up with the idea, and I’ll follow through. If I can get a job in Lord Kilmartyn’s household it would give me access to his papers. No man can keep secrets from his domestics. Within a matter of days, weeks at the most, I should have my answer, and if he proves innocent I can move on to the viscount or Captain Morgan.”
“What do you intend to do?” Maddy asked, putting her own cold tea down with a grimace. “Could we even pass muster as maids?”
“I’m going to apply for the post of housekeeper. Apparently Lord Kilmartyn is always in need of one—the last stayed less than a month. Given his reputation, he probably drives them away with his reprehensible behavior. I don’t know how his wife can bear it. But I’m not going to be driven away. You know that I’m much better suited to being a housekeeper. Maids are supposed to be pleasant to look upon. Have you ever seen a maid who looks like me?” Bryony said evenly.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Maddy snapped. “You’re beautiful!”
“My face is covered with pox scars, Maddy.”
“Only half of it,” Sophie piped up with devastating loyalty. “And the ot
her side is very pretty. Of course you’re not as pretty as I am—no one is—but you’re still well enough.”
Bryony laughed, used to her sister’s backhanded compliments. “I also know more about running a household than I do about cleaning and dusting. I ran both the town house and Renwick for years, ever since Mama died. I think I’d be perfectly prepared to be a housekeeper. And I already have the right clothes.” She plucked at her plain, ugly dress.
“And when would this start?” Maddy said dubiously.
“I have an interview tomorrow.”
Her two sisters stared at her in dismay. “Don’t you think you should have brought this up earlier?” Maddy said finally.
Bryony managed to smile. “I was afraid you might talk me out of it.”
“And so we should,” Sophie said. “This is absurd.”
“At least I feel I’m doing something,” she shot back. “Not just sitting around waiting… waiting for God knows what.” She sighed. “In the meantime I want the two of you to go stay with Nanny Gruen while I’m working in the Kilmartyn household. I’m old enough to stand as chaperone to the two of you and keep your reputations intact, but you cannot stay together without someone to look out for you. Nanny Gruen has been begging us to come ever since Father died, and I’ve written to tell her you’ll be on your way.”
“Awfully high-handed of you, Bryony,” Maddy said sternly. “Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you have say over our actions.”
“I don’t want to stay with our old nanny,” Sophie broke in. “Her cottage is too close to Renwick, and if you think I can sit by and watch that… that wife-murdering usurper swan around our house then you’re mistaken.”
“Renwick isn’t our house anymore, Sophie,” Maddy said with more kindness than she usually showed her spoiled baby sister. “And it wasn’t ours in the first place—Father won it from the current viscount’s father in a card game. We only had lifetime rights to it, rights that vanished when Father died. We need to accept that.”
Sophie glared mutinously, obviously not prepared to accept anything, and Bryony spoke before another battle could erupt.
“I’ve bought tickets on tomorrow’s stage to Somerset and I’ve written Nanny to expect you. Don’t fight me on this, please. I hate the thought of separating.” Bryony gave Maddy a rueful smile. “You would have left me soon enough, if Tarkington had come up to scratch.”