A Death in Norfolk

Chapter Twenty-Five

I returned to London the next day. I rode with Grenville and Marianne, Grenville again spending most of the journey on his back. Marianne seemed to take this in stride, reading a newspaper and inhaling snuff while he slept.

I asked to be left at my rooms in Covent Garden, though Grenville extended me an invitation to stay at his house. Marianne rolled her eyes at me, amazed I'd not prefer a more comfortable bed, but at the moment, I wanted to be alone.

I greeted Mrs. Beltan, who'd not yet left for the evening. She gave me some fat buns with butter and coffee without asking for payment. She also gave me my post.

My rooms were stuffy, and I opened the windows to admit the cool September air. Summer in London, with its heat and stink, was almost unbearable, but fall could be soft and pleasant.

I ate because I was hungry, drank coffee because I drank any coffee put in front of me. I sat back in my wingchair, feeling the bite of coming winter in the air.

My post sat untouched. I closed my eyes and thought about all that had happened since I'd hired a coach to take me to the Lacey family estate in Norfolk.

Home. Or was it?

I'd thought that there, I'd discover things about my father, about the brute he was, to justify my hatred of him. Instead, I'd found that most people looked the other way at his brutality. I'd found that my mother had taken a lover, had feared to go away with said lover, and had died because she'd fallen ill miscarrying his child.

I'd learned much about my adversary, James Denis, and I'd helped him kill a man. I'd unraveled a mystery involving the disappearance of a young woman, and murder, past and present, and agreed to let things lie.

Three years ago, when I'd left the army and moved to London, I'd had a rigid sense of right and wrong. Since then, the people I'd met and the things I'd seen and done had changed that. Now I'd participated in and covered up murders.

Life had a strange way of tearing apart one's convictions.

Three years ago, I had been alone, those I loved out of reach. Now I was to be married-to an aristocratic woman I'd disliked at first sight.

As though the Fates enjoyed toying with me, I heard my unlocked door open and caught a soft whiff of perfume in the night. My beloved stepped into the room, and spoke.

"Lacey, why the devil are you sitting alone in the dark?"

I did not open my eyes. "Why are you not in Oxfordshire with your son?"

"Because I knew in my bones you'd return to London before you journeyed there. I told Mrs. Beltan to send me word when you did."

She shut the door. Moments later, I felt the weight of her warm body on my lap, her arms around my neck.

She ran her fingers over the healing cuts on my face. "I take it you had adventures," she said.

I finally opened my eyes. "Terrible things, Donata. I did terrible things."

I knew she'd ask me to tell her all. She was not the sort of woman to distance herself from a man's affairs.

But she did not ask just then. I felt her cool lips touch mine then brush my cheek. "It is warmer at the Audley Street House," she said.

I was exhausted. "That is so far away."

"True."

My bedchamber was much closer. I rose, took her hand, and led her there.