not Dell.
When the carriage pulled to a stop in front at the entrance, the butler opened the door. Dell climbed out and turned to Lorene. She clasped his hand, so warm and strong, as he helped her descend the carriage steps.
He walked her up the stone steps to the massive mahogany door where the butler waited.
‘Thank you, Dell,’ she murmured, not daring to look at him.
He stepped back and she crossed the threshold into the hall, where her husband stood leaning on his cane and shooting daggers from his eyes.
* * *
Dell watched Lorene disappear through the doorway. He hated to relinquish her to that old man who was her husband and who neglected or scolded her in turn. Life could be cruelly fleeting. One should cherish those nearest and dearest while one could.
Tinmore’s raspy voice rose as the door closed. ‘A visit with your sisters, eh? A tryst with your lover, more like! I’ll show you—!’
The door closed.
Dell froze.
Lover?
Ridiculous! She’d gone to see her sisters, nothing more, and Tinmore very well knew that.
Dell called to the coachman, ‘I’ll only be a moment.’
Without bothering to knock, he opened the door.
The butler jumped back and Tinmore’s eyes bugged in surprise. ‘How dare you, sir!’
Tinmore stood at the bottom of the grand staircase. Lorene was halfway to the first landing.
‘Lord Tinmore, you are mistaken—’ Dell began.
Lorene interrupted him. ‘There is no need to explain. Please, Dell.’ But her panicked voice did not reassure him.
Tinmore pounded his cane on the marble floor and waved her away. ‘Go to your room.’ He pointed his cane at Dell. ‘I will speak with you.’
Tinmore led him to a small drawing room, not the opulent one Dell had visited before when calling at the house to do his neighbourly duty to Tinmore, but one reserved for lesser callers and tradesmen.
‘Sir, you misunderstand.’ Dell started to speak as soon as he entered the room.
‘I completely comprehend, Penford. You have been carrying on with my wife since last Season and then you have the gall to invite her to your house—’ His words were slurred, as if he’d imbibed too many spirits.
‘So she could be with her sisters at Christmas,’ Dell broke in. ‘And the invitation included you.’
‘Hmmph!’ Tinmore lifted his nose. ‘That was merely a ruse. You knew I would not come.’
‘I knew no such thing.’ Although Dell had not been sorry Tinmore refused to come. The man put a pall on everything.
Tinmore’s hairy eyebrows rose. ‘Do not take me for a fool. You were constantly attending her in town, at every social event to which we were invited.’
Of course Dell had approached her. Was he not obligated as a gentleman of her acquaintance? Because of some distant ancestor, he’d inherited her father’s estate. Surely that was reason enough to do her a kindness. ‘You left her alone, sir.’
Tinmore’s face turned red and his voice rose to a shout. ‘You dare to criticise me when you are the one carrying on!’
Was Tinmore demented? Did he not know how difficult it had been for his wife at those balls and routs? The scandals of her parents and of her marriage to Tinmore caused most of society to shun her. Tinmore could have eased those times for her with the strength of his status.
If he’d have remained at her side.
‘There has been no carrying on!’ Dell’s voice rose above Tinmore’s. ‘Your wife has done nothing but visit with her sisters. As you would have seen had you come with her.’
‘Humph!’ Tinmore lifted his nose. ‘Her sisters are as scandalous as their parents. That is why I forbade her to go; that and to forbid her to be in your company.’
Dell met Tinmore’s glare. ‘You forbade her to go? I received an acceptance of the invitation with your signature.’
Tinmore’s gaze faltered. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘At the last minute.’ To be as cruel as possible, Dell suspected.
Tinmore knew Lorene was devoted to her sisters. She’d married Tinmore so her sisters and brother would have advantages denied them when their father left them penniless. Tinmore knew she would want to share Christmas Day with them.
God knew Dell would have done anything to share another Christmas with his family. Nothing would have kept him apart from them.
Nothing except death.
Tinmore sputtered. Dell had forgotten him for a moment.
‘You seek to evade the truth, Penford,’ Tinmore accused. ‘That you are making love to my wife behind my back!’
Dell leaned down to glare into Tinmore’s rheumy eyes. ‘This is nonsense, sir, and you well know it. I’ll hear no more.’
Dell turned away and strode to the door. He made it to the hall before hearing Tinmore’s cane tapping after him. ‘Do not walk away without my leave! I have more to say to you—’
Dell glanced to the stairway and saw Lorene still standing there. How much had she heard? He hurried on to the door which was opened by the butler.
‘Wait!’ shouted Tinmore, advancing on him.
Dell walked outside on to the stone steps. Tinmore still came after him.
‘You stay away from my wife!’ Tinmore swung his cane at Dell.
Dell caught it before it struck him in the head.
Tinmore released his grip on the cane and clapped his hands against his head. He uttered a high-pitched cry as he stumbled backwards. Dell reached out to catch him, but Tinmore slipped on the snow-slick surface and tumbled down the steps. He hit the cobbled ground, his head smacking against the stones.
And he was still.
Dell leapt down the steps to the stricken man.
‘My lord!’ The butler dashed out of house right behind him.
‘What happened?’ Lorene appeared in the doorway.
Dell turned to her. ‘He fell.’
‘Fell?’ the butler cried. ‘I think not! You pushed him.’
One of Dell’s coachmen jumped down from the carriage’s box. ‘Lord Penford did nothing! I saw the man fall.’
‘You’d lie if he told you to,’ the butler shot back.
Dell’s heart pounded as he pressed his fingers against Tinmore’s neck, but he already knew he’d feel no pulse. As a British army captain in the Peninsular War Dell had seen enough death to recognise it instantly. He opened one of Tinmore’s eyes. It was blank and dilated. There was nothing he could do.
He glanced up at Lorene. ‘He’s dead.’
She covered her mouth with her hand.
‘Dead?’ The butler kneeled at Tinmore’s side and took his hand. ‘Dead?’ He glared at Dell. ‘I am sending for the magistrate!’
This would not be easy. ‘Send for the coroner, too. And a physician. The coroner will want to know the physician’s opinion as to the cause of his death.’
‘There can be no dispute.’ The butler sounded