A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(17)
“Now then, Lady Bearsden,” Aunt Cait declared, arranging her full juniper green skirts as she settled beside me, the width of her gauze oversleeves dwarfing my own. “Out with it. What have you remembered?”
It was moments like these when I could see so clearly the resemblance between mother and daughter, for Morven was perched in the adjoining chair with the same expectant look as my aunt. Even Alana exhibited some of the same mannerisms, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d picked them up from our mother before she died or Aunt Cait—Mother’s younger sister—when she resided with her in London for two years as she and Morven made their rounds as debutantes in search of husbands.
Unfortunately, Lady Bearsden did not appear as ready to admit what she knew. “What makes you think I’ve remembered anything?” she demurred, feigning interest in the exquisitely painted porcelain Sèvres potpourri vase set in the middle of the low table between us.
Aunt Cait’s mouth screwed into a tiny moue of irritation before she replied. “Because you were as quiet as a mouse at dinner, and I have never known you to be so.”
She lifted her chin almost in challenge. “Perhaps I’m not feeling myself this evening.”
Charlotte leaned toward her as if fearful she might collapse.
“Is that the line you mean to take?” Aunt Cait countered, nodding toward her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, who was visibly distressed.
Lady Bearsden’s expression softened as she turned to her great-niece, and she reached out to touch her cheek. “Don’t fret, my dear. It will give you wrinkles on your lovely face, much like my Lumpy. He was always working himself into a dither, and all the dear fellow got for it was more wrinkles.”
I suspected that, like me, Charlotte found her great-aunt’s reference to her late husband to be reassuring. I had never discovered why Lord Bearsden had been given such a mildly insulting nickname, but the affection with which his wife used it told me that he must have been a good man.
“Lady Bearsden, please,” Aunt Cait pleaded, sitting forward in impatience. “The men are about to set off in search of Lord Barbreck. Would it not be better to send them off with some idea where his lordship has gone and what they might find when they get there?”
When still the older lady hesitated, bowing her head full of snowy white hair, I decided enough was enough.
“He’s gone to Poltalloch Castle, hasn’t he?”
Aunt Cait and Morven turned to me in surprise and then chagrin as if they felt they should have realized this sooner themselves.
When she lifted her head, Lady Bearsden’s expression was far more resigned. “It only seemed right that I should allow him the opportunity to explain himself.”
“Well, it seems to me he forfeited that right when he unfairly lashed out at Kiera and then ran off, leaving us to worry about him,” Morven admonished, revealing for the first time the genuine concern beneath her glib fa?ade.
“True enough.” She sighed. “Then, to answer your question: yes, I believe he’s gone to Poltalloch. Though I’m not entirely certain why.” Her gaze shifted to each of us in turn. “The only thing I’ve recalled that may be pertinent is that when Lord Barbreck was a young man, he was engaged to marry a Miss Campbell of Poltalloch.”
Aunt Cait straightened in evident shock.
“But the engagement was broken. I don’t believe I was ever privy to the reason why.” She shook her head. “In truth, I doubt they ever made that knowledge public. It was simply ended.”
“And yet he never married,” Aunt Cait said. “And neither did Miss Campbell.”
A look passed between the two women, and Lady Bearsden nodded. “Just so.”
It was clear now why she had wanted to give Lord Barbreck the opportunity to explain. Whatever had happened to end his engagement to Miss Campbell had obviously been no small matter. Not if neither of them had ever married. Not if all these years later he couldn’t even say her name but still referred to her venomously as a pronoun.
I frowned. But why had he immediately thought of her when I mentioned the forgery? Why had he been so certain she was somehow involved that he set off for her home without saying a word to the rest of us about where he was going?
“Is this Miss Campbell an artist?” I asked.
Aunt Cait turned to look at me, almost as if she’d forgotten I was there. “Not that I’m aware. Why do you ask?”
“Because someone forged that Van Dyck. And given Lord Barbreck’s reaction, I thought perhaps he believed it was her.”
“Nay, but she undoubtedly hired whoever did,” Barbreck declared gruffly, astonishing us all as he strode through the door.
Aunt Cait exclaimed in relief, rising to her feet along with Morven and Charlotte to go to him. For my part, I remained where I was, still wary of the marquess and his fury. I looked up to find Lady Bearsden watching me, her gaze kind. My stiff demeanor made it plain how I felt.
Something Gage was attuned to as he and the other gentlemen joined us. He perched on the arm of the sofa beside me, rubbing a hand up and down my back as Aunt Cait attempted to convince Barbreck to let her call for a tray of food for him.
“I’ll eat when I’m good and ready, Caitriona,” he retorted, having had enough of all their fussing. “Noo, sit doon, the lot o’ ye.” He plopped down into the bergère chair nearest the crackling fire. “I’ve somethin’ to say, and I’d rather have it oot noo, and no’ have to repeat myself.” He exhaled heavily, reaching into the pocket of his coat for a handkerchief to swipe his brow with. “Is everyone here?”