His mother wagged a finger at him. “Douglas, this will not do. This will not do at all. If you brother were alive, he’d know what to do.”
Oh, quite. If his bloody saint of a brother were alive, Astrid Allen would be sitting on her adorable fundament, waiting placidly to bear Herbert his precious heir while Herbert finished bankrupting the family with his horses and his whores.
Which sentiment was not permitted to disturb the look of patient concern Douglas had affixed to his countenance.
“The best thing you could do, Mother, is write Astrid a cordial note congratulating her on her nuptials and asking when you might call on her to offer your felicitations. I will journey out to Enfield when she and Greymoor are in residence there, and you can be sure I will make pointed inquiries as to Greymoor’s fitness to raise this child.”
“Raise this child?” Lady Amery’s voice approached a shriek. “But the child is Herbert’s heir. Of course the child won’t be raised by Greymoor. We’re the child’s family, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are,” Henry assured her, taking her arm and leading her toward the door of the sitting room. “You must do as Douglas says, Mother, and write Lady Greymoor the most sincere, warmhearted congratulatory note you can. We’ll have a pot of tea sent up to settle your nerves.”
Henry held the door for her, then stepped back and let it swing solidly shut as his mother asked, “Lady Greymoor? Who on earth…?”
Henry nearly sprinted to the decanter. “I do not envy you, Douglas. Not one bit, not one iota. And you are going to join me in a drink.”
“I suppose I will at that.” Fortunately, they were in the house Astrid had recently vacated. The decent spirits were still on display.
“So what didn’t you tell our good mother?” Henry asked as he found a seat in a cushioned chair, drink in hand. “This marriage is more than a sudden affection between family members.”
Douglas took a seat in the chair opposite Henry’s before speaking, choosing his words and resenting the burden of even that effort.
“Our dear Astrid ingested poison some time this morning after Mother left for her calls and the housekeeper went to do the marketing. Greymoor happened along, just why or when we do not know, and found her in distress. Greymoor had the presence of mind to summon Dr. DuPont, who has assured me that without intervention, the situation could have been fatal to mother and child both.”
Henry flicked a bit of hay off his sleeve onto the carpet. “Good God. Somebody is trying to kill us off one by one. Let’s not tell Mother, shall we?”
“I must conclude, Henry, that Herbert’s accident and this accident are just that—accidents,” Douglas said as he poured himself a small measure of brandy. “Guns misfire, ladies occasionally tumble down steps, and food can go bad in any household. Viscount Fairly, however, paid a call on me this afternoon to ensure I understand that he, Heathgate, and Greymoor do not share my opinion on the matter.”
For once, Henry was not tossing back his drink as if they could afford an endless supply. “Douglas, what do you mean?”
“Whether they are simply being prudent, or whether Astrid has embellished an hysterical tale, her Alexander and Worthington relations suspect I am trying to murder her, and, of course, the child who will bear the title in my stead.”
Douglas tried to keep the indignation from his tone, but really, that all three of Astrid’s titled relations should leap to such a conclusion so quickly was… disappointing.
“Of all the nerve,” Henry spat, getting up to pace. “As if you ever had designs on the title! Perhaps Greymoor poisoned her, and now she’s gone and married him. God above, what would Herbert say if he could see this mess?”
Herbert would have rung for more brandy, or gone to visit his mistress, and whiled away the rest of the day visiting with the lads at Tatt’s. If in the grip of a rare bout of perspicacity, he might then have caught a packet for Calais.
“There’s more, Henry,” Douglas said. “Our dear brother was dipping heavily into the part of Astrid’s dowry that had been set aside for her widow’s portion. He all but obliterated it, and while I myself made Astrid aware of the situation, Fairly has learned of it too.”
Which meant Heathgate knew, as did Greymoor. What a cheerful state of affairs.
Henry did take a gulp of his drink before setting the glass down with a decisive thump. “The little snitch told him, of course. Why should she protect the dignity of the Allens, after all? She was only my brother’s choice of bride, and that couldn’t have meant much to her, given today’s developments.”