Free The Earl's Revenge by Allison Lane Page A

and sundry, so they will know to turn the runners away.”
    Anne laughed. “It might have been servants, of course. But you must recall that Mrs. Hedges corresponds regularly with a cousin who lives in London. The woman writes every bit of scandal she hears. And Mrs. Hedges claims that the tale was all over Bodmin yesterday – including the detail that the earl was on his way to Cornwall.”
    “Who is he supposed to have killed?”
    “It seems his lordship was conducting an affair with the newly married Lady Wainright. Her husband discovered the arrangement and challenged Bridgeport to a duel. Desirous of winning the fair beauty and her substantial fortune for himself, he cunningly tipped his sword in a slow poison acquired from a friend who recently returned from South America. When he pinked Wainright in the arm, the poison entered his body, killing him in less than a week.”
    Elaine doubled over with laughter. It took some time to regain her breath. “I will credit the liaison, for he has never hidden the fact that he is a rake. I might even credit the duel. But a South American poison? How can people be so credulous?”
    “There is more,” said Anne grimly. “His parents died three years ago in a carriage accident. But the circumstances were so odd that many suspect that it was not accidental. He had always been at odds with them and came into a considerable fortune on their deaths.”
    “I know that he was flirting with poverty when I knew him, for his allowance was not large, and his gaming was legendary. But this is the first I have heard that their deaths might not be natural. And you know I always read the London papers. What happened?”
    “Again, I know only what Mrs. Hedges claims. They were returning home from a dinner party when an oak tree fell, crushing the coach. It happened on the estate grounds, just inside the gates. All were killed, including two of the horses.”
    “Trees do occasionally come down,” pointed out Elaine.
    “True, but this was a clear night with no wind. There had been no rain for some time, and the groundskeeper was amazed that the tree would fall for there was no evidence of rot.”
    “I suppose people believe that it was deliberately tampered with.”
    “That is the story currently making the rounds.”
    “But why was it not rumored earlier? Such a delicious tale would certainly have made the gossip columns, especially considering the new Bridgeport’s notoriety.”
    “Without evidence, who would dare hint at so dastardly a deed?” asked Anne. “But with this latest death, many lips appear to have become unsealed.”
    “Lack of evidence has never killed any rumor, which leaves me curious about why it should surface now – and in Cornwall, of all places. But whatever the truth, it cannot touch us.”
    “I suppose you are right,” conceded Anne. “But I cannot forget your arrival, my dear – so frightened and forlorn. Your peace is too hard-won to give it up without a fight.”
    “What fustian! I was exhausted from a four-day journey on the common stage and terrified that my father would pursue me. Bridgeport – or Staynes as he was styled then – had nothing to do with it.”
    “Perhaps I misunderstood. After all, I do not really know what happened. I was so down-pin at the time that I could rouse little curiosity, and I never asked afterward, fearing a discussion would distress you.”
    “Not at all. I already told you I barely knew the man. The real problem was my father. You well know how he is.”
    Anne shuddered. “Had he not mellowed at all then?”
    “Quite the reverse. Each year his beliefs grew more rigid, and he became more judgmental. I rarely saw him after you left, for he sent me to live with his sister, but his demeanor upon my return told me that nothing had changed. Aunt Fanny accompanied me home, of course. We were not even into the house before he berated her for allowing me to expose myself like a Paphian – my traveling gown came to