The Stanforth Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page B

he had once been as wild and impulsive as Stephen, time and the war had taught him a great deal.
    “Has the Dowager discovered anything?” he asked coolly.
    “No. She too rejects any idea that Chloe Stanforth might know of the message, but then the young lady is her granddaughter and they are close, I believe. She will welcome your arrival, Lord Stanforth.”
    Gathering that this disturbing interview was over, Justin rose. “Very well, Your Highness, My Lord.” He directed a bow to each in turn. “I don’t hold out much hope but I will do my best. There have been a number of deaths in this affair. I am concerned for the residents of the Hall.”
    He was struck by a sudden thought. “Do you think Stephen was murdered too?” he asked sharply. “And what about Uncle George?”
    “Don’t let your imagination run away with you, Stanforth,” said Lord Liverpool. “Cardew Holmes was with your cousin. It was simply a question of reckless driving. Poor Holmes took months to get his nerve back after that ride. Your uncle died of a seizure. He was nearing fifty and a tub of lard with a young wife. He was safe in his own home when it happened, with his old friend Humphrey Macy at his side, and all the Lady Stanforths nearby. Including,” he added with an edge, “the intelligent and trustworthy Chloe.”
    “I promise to restrain my imagination, Sir,” retorted Justin. “If I may be excused, Your Highness, My Lord, I find myself anxious to get up to Delamere as soon as possible.”
    “Of course, of course,” said the Duke of York casually. “Glad to see you keen on the job, Stanforth. Vitally important to the nation. Keep us posted, eh? We need those lists. Can’t let the Frogs have ’em back.”
    Justin made two more formal bows and escaped.
    If it hadn’t been for the presence of two of the most important men in the kingdom he would have dismissed the whole thing as a joke, or at least an insane alarm. There’d been enough examples of botched orders and incompetence in the army to teach a man to look at information many times over but . . .
    He made his way quickly to Brookes, where he was staying, and sent orders for his curricle to be ready early the next day. He’d drive himself up to Lancashire, traveling light and leaving his man and baggage to follow along more slowly. Justin was looking forward to savoring the fertile English countryside again, even if in the foggy damp. His return to Delamere, however, was not going to be quite as he had expected. Murder, espionage . . .
    He was sitting by the leaping fire in the lounge, sipping a glass of Madeira and turning over the strange situation in his mind, when a clear voice broke into his consciousness.
    “God save the nation! A damned Delamere’s turned up.”
    Justin turned to see a slender, beautiful young man with silky buttercup hair, mischievous clear blue eyes, and a wide smile.
    “Randal?”
    “Who else?” said Lord Randal Ashby, walking over to join his friend. “But what the hell? . . . Good God, I forgot,” he said suddenly sober. “My dear fellow. Accept my condolences. It was a damned shame for Stephen to go off like that so young.”
    Justin rose and took his friend’s offered hands. “I know and it hit me hard, but I’ve thought since he would have preferred it to old age. That could just be Peninsula thinking, though. We were always telling ourselves old age was an unpleasant prospect.”
    It occurred to him that was the sort of thing civilians didn’t like to hear, but there was nothing but sensitive sympathy on Lord Randal Ashby’s face. Both twenty-seven, they’d been at Eton and Oxford together, and Randal had taken part in many of the mad escapades they’d indulged in six years ago—he and Stephen, Randal and Verderan, Marlowe and Sterries—all of them supposedly studying at Oxford, but spending a good deal of their time elsewhere.
    Perhaps following the same train of thought, Lord Randal said, “Hal Marlowe avoided old