The Duke's Christmas Mystery: A Regency Romance Christmas Mystery Read online

  The Duke’s Christmas Mystery

  By

  Kate Carteret

  Copyright : Kate Carteret 2018

  Published by : Dashing Dandies Publishing

  Cover Design: Melody Simmons

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  http://www.facebook.com/DashingDandies

  Chapter One

  Lady Esme Waterson sat in the ballroom of Beresford Hall and silently wondered if Christmas Eve would ever end. It wasn’t that she disliked Christmas in any way, or even its customary festivities. In fact, she had enjoyed the entire festive season and all the society events so far.

  What she was not enjoying, however, was being forced to attend a most tedious night in her father’s stead. Her father could be very persuasive, however, and so there she was in Beresford Hall awaiting the moment when the velvet curtain would be drawn back to reveal a makeshift stage set up at the far end of the ballroom.

  Lady Esme stifled a yawn, her face elongating as she artfully kept her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Esme! Stop pulling faces!” Her elder sister said in an authoritative hiss.

  “It was a yawn, Katherine,” Esme objected. “I tried to hide it.”

  “Not very successfully.”

  “I would not yawn at all if were I not so bored.” Esme huffed.

  “Ladies, can a man get no peace? The play has not even started yet.” Lord Tarleton, Katherine’s husband, was always so amused by the good-natured bickering of the sisters.

  “We shall all be bored, Esme, but we shall survive it. At least with the Duke of Burnham here, Lord Beresford will not lavish too much attention on us.” Katherine said, and Esme nodded; finally, they were in agreement.

  When their parents, the Earl and Countess of Grayling, had first received the invitation from Lord Beresford, a wealthy baron with a voice as big and booming as his opinion of himself, they had been very quick to respond favorably to another invitation for an engagement to be held on the same night.

  And so it was that Lord Grayling had been able to truthfully reply to Lord Beresford that he regretted he would not be able to attend, but that he would be honored to send his daughters and Lord Tarleton in his stead.

  Esme had tried everything possible to free herself from the engagement, claiming that she should go with her parents for surely Lord and Lady Tarleton would be enough of an entourage to send to Beresford Hall. But her sister had complained volubly; if she was to suffer, then so was Esme.

  “That is a blessing at least. Lord Beresford has been tripping over himself all evening to keep the Duke to himself. No doubt he wants him to add his daughter, Jane, to the list of suitable brides.” Esme was barely whispering now, just mouthing the words.

  “No doubt,” Katherine whispered back. “But I have heard that poor dear Jane is in love with Sheridan Winchester.”

  “Sheridan Winchester?” Esme said in hushed disbelief. “That dreadful man!”

  “Dreadful, yes. And the leading man of tonight’s theatrical, no less.” Katherine raised her eyebrows.

  “Well I never. I knew he had a part, but I had never imagined he would take the lead role.” Esme said, her interest becoming piqued in the light of new information.

  “Will the two of you stop gossiping!” Lord Tarleton said in a voice which suggested he was enjoying every minute.

  “Peregrine, darling, it might be the only interest we glean from this evening. Would you deny us such a small pleasure on Christmas Eve?” Katherine turned to her husband and smiled.

  “Of course not.” He smiled back, and Esme took the opportunity to peer around the room at the other guests.

  In her experience, loving looks between her sister and brother-in-law could go on for some minutes. They were one of the few married couples in their part of Hertfordshire who truly loved one another, and Esme secretly hoped that she would find such happiness for herself one day.

  But she was certain there would be little chance of finding romance at Lord Beresford’s Christmas Theatrical. Much better she content herself with a little nosiness and some sisterly gossip. Anything to make the evening move along a bit faster.

  So, Esme surreptitiously studied the packed ballroom, with guests making their way into seats and others content to stand about in little groups talking with each other whilst they waited for the curtain to rise.

  The people gathering in the vicinity of the Duke of Burnham were the densest concentration of bodies, all holding clever little conversations which they doubtless hoped the Duke would be keen to join.

  But the man himself sat with his sister, Lady Helena, and maintained what looked to Esme to be a steady and very determined conversation with her.

  Esme smiled to herself; that was exactly what she would have done in his shoes. She had been to a gathering or two herself where she was among the most titled present, and it was not as welcome as others might think. Or at least it never had been for Esme, and she was beginning to suspect the Duke to be of a similar mind on the subject.

  Esme had been introduced to the Duke the year before and had been at many of the same events since. She was acquainted with him, she supposed, although she had hardly spent enough time in his company to claim any knowledge of his character.

  Most of what she really knew had come, as did most things, from gossip. The main talking points concerning the man himself was that he was more than thirty and seemed unable to settle upon a bride. Esme wrinkled her nose; imagine that being the sum-total of conversational points others could find when secretly discussing you.

  Still, he should count himself lucky. If he were a woman, the rough figure for a dowry would be the talking point. Two sides of the same coin, she had no doubt, and neither of them pleasant.

  But since her sister was so enraptured with her own husband and the Duke so intent on his conversation with his sister, Esme risked a little further study. After all, nobody was paying her any heed and she was sure she would get away with it for just a little while.

  James Davenport had been the Duke of Burnham since his father had passed away five years before. The entire five years had passed in a flurry of talk, hopeful young ladies, and even more hopeful mothers. But the man seemed to have no preference at all, smiling and polite, but rather aloof. Just as a Duke ought to be, she supposed.

  Still only nineteen herself, Esme had been just a girl when speculation as to whom the Duke would choose first became a sensation. And it was a sensation that had barely lost momentum over the years, even if Esme herself had long since grown tired of it as a talking point. She often wished the man would make up his mind so that points of idle conversation could be aimed elsewhere for a while.

  She smiled to herself as she wondered what he would say should she suggest such a thing to him.

  Of course, she never would; Esme’s misbehavior almost always took place within the confines of her own mind.

  But she had to admit, as she peered through her dark ringlets, that he was a handsome man. With his fair hair and blue eyes, she had been struck dumb on their first introduction. But Esme had a low boredom threshold, and the Duke of Burnham was old news. Or at least she thought he was.

  Was it just the tedium of the night, or did the Duke seem really rather handsome to her again?

  Esme had no time to consider it, for the Duke finally looked over, so sharply in fact that Esme could not look away in time. Instead, her mouth opened a little and she blushed as he barely inclined his head in her direction.

  She wanted to silently declare herself not to have been spying by looking away, but it was cl
ear he had seen her, and she would expose herself to further embarrassment if she did so.

  And so, in Esme’s very own style, she openly, if silently, owned up to her indiscreet surveillance by smiling broadly as she returned his nod.

  “For goodness sake, turn around!” Katherine whispered, and Esme slowly faced front again.

  Chapter Two

  Lady Esme was a most unusual sort of a woman, and tonight looked as if it was going to be no different.

  James Davenport chuckled under his breath as she turned around, clearly instructed to behave herself by her older sister, Lady Katherine.

  There was something mischievous about Esme Waterson, something he’d seen hiding in her eyes when they had first been introduced. Something he’d seen time and time again ever since, but never been able to get close to.

  Lady Esme was always polite in company, although it was true to say they had hardly spent much time together. But when they had been a party to the same conversations, there was something about Lady Esme that always seemed ready to run off, as if some great adventure lay just around the corner and to stay would be to miss it.

  She was like a bird; fragile and beautiful, and always a sense that she would take flight and be gone at any moment. And tonight certainly looked to be one of those times, leaving the Duke wondering if she was as bored as he was.

  Still, at least she had not been forced to suffer the endless and somewhat booming attentions of their host.

  “Should be starting any minute, Your Grace!” Lord Beresford appeared like a devil at his elbow, seemingly summoned by nothing more than thought alone.

  His voice was overbearingly loud and had such a jarring quality that the Duke visibly started in his seat before turning to look at the dreadful fellow with a practiced smile of many years in the making.

  “I am sure the theatrical is greatly anticipated by all, Beresford. I know that I can hardly wait for it to begin.” James continued to smile, all the while wishing that Lord Beresford had something urgent to attend to elsewhere. “Will your players not be waiting for you to have the curtain raised?”

  “Quite so!” Lord Beresford bellowed, a light sheen of perspiration covering his face and balding head.

  Was it really so warm in the ballroom? Noting the end of his own nose to be a little cold, he thought not.

  “But they will wait for me!” He boomed again, as the Duke thought the actors in this home theatrical to have little choice in the matter. “First things first! Guest of honor to attend to and all that!”

  “Please, you must not worry.” James said, assuming himself to be the guest of honor and rather wishing he wasn’t.

  “Well, if you are in agreement, I will get things started.”

  “By all means.” James wished the man would just get on with it so that the night could be over.

  Lord Beresford bowed low before darting away, the overly long tails of his pale green coat flying out behind him.

  “Oh, James, he is the most tedious man.” Helena whispered into his ear. “And so loud.”

  “That is just with his guests. He positively bellows when he addresses his servants.” James whispered back.

  “Yes, he is quite awful. So full of self-importance until he meets a man of better title, then he is all obsequious performances.” His sister made him laugh with her disdain. “Oh, finally.” She turned her eyes to the front. “Lord Beresford is standing in front of the stage curtain.”

  James, seated away from the very front by his own request, squinted down to where Lord Beresford stood as puffed up as a peacock in front of the stage. He seemed, at first, to be waiting patiently for the large crowd to notice him there and fall to silence.

  But he was soon flapping with all the grace of an agitated goose and clearing his throat so determinedly that it must surely have hurt.

  “My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen!” He boomed when he had sufficient attention. “And of course, His Grace, The Duke of Burnham.” He added in a way which made James want to evaporate. “A warm welcome to you all this evening, one I hope will be a very fine affair indeed.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” James heard his sister say under her breath.

  “For your pleasure on this cold and wintery Christmas Eve, we have a play to surprise and delight you all. A mystery, no less, which I trust will have you fixed to your seats.” He paused for dramatic effect, only resuming once the crowd murmured as one in a positive fashion. “Without further ado, allow me to introduce A Murder at Christmas, performed by the Beresford Players.” The crowd gave an amused titter at the eponymous group title and a round of applause as Lord Beresford bullied two footmen as they slid back the velvet curtains.

  “Let us hope it is short.” The Duke whispered into his sister’s ear.

  Chapter Three

  The play, in the event, was not as bad as it could have been. There were certainly more than a few wince-worthy lines but, all in all, the drama was diverting enough.

  “Jane Beresford is very believable.” Katherine whispered into Esme’s ear.

  “Yes, but if what you say is true, perhaps the poor thing is not acting.”

  Esme allowed her attention to drift. The Christmas mystery was standard fare, a tale of unrequited love which she was sure was going to be the very thing to lead to murder when the play got that far.

  But if her sister’s light-hearted gossip about Jane Beresford being in love with Sheridan Winchester was true, the play must surely be making for a hard night for the Baron’s daughter.

  Especially since Sheridan’s fiancée, Caroline Ponsonby, swept dramatically onto the stage with the air of the leading lady at every opportunity, despite having a lesser part to Jane.

  Caroline, tall, elegant, her head always held so high it was almost tilted back, had appeared suddenly into society in their part of Hertfordshire, her engagement to the one of the wealthiest men in the area catapulting her into the center of so many events lately.

  “But I love you, how can you leave me?” Jane Beresford cried with feeling up on stage now that she and Sheridan were alone in the drawing-room scene.

  “You must give this up. You know I am betrothed to another.” Sheridan Winchester said, without a moment’s believable feeling.

  “But you do not love her, I know it.” Jane went on, and Esme felt suddenly emotional, knowing that the young woman meant every word of it; her performance heartfelt in contrast to that of her shallow leading man.

  “My dear woman, of course, I love her. I love her as I could never have loved you.” Sheridan spoke his lines with some meaning, at last, seeming to sneer at Jane in a way which made Esme wince.

  Had she not known of the attachment Jane Beresford felt for Sheridan Winchester, she would likely have seen nothing more than a reasonably diverting play.

  And all in all, she really had enjoyed it. The players, probably with the help of double their number in servants, had put together a very good display indeed. The costumes were very fine, and the rooms which changed scene to scene were fitted out with the appropriate furniture, all of which could be easily moved in a moment or two with the velvet curtains drawn across the stage. A lot of effort had been put in and Esme silently and somewhat begrudgingly congratulated Lord Beresford for the success.

  “How could you?” Jane wailed, drawing Esme’s attention to the stage once more. “How could you say something so cruel when I have wasted so many years loving you?” And with that, Jane’s character drew a dagger from the sleeve of her gown and held it aloft for just long enough for the audience to see it and draw in their breath before she plunged it in deep into the heart of Sheridan Winchester’s character.

  Sheridan cried out, a deep and guttural noise which made Esme shiver. Trust that dreadful braggart to be at his most believable in so dramatic and blood-thirsty a scene.

  But then, as Jane pulled the dagger away, she screamed also. The crowd murmured in shock, an excited hub-bub of conversation breaking out, as all and sundry gave their appr
eciation for so realistic a scene. No doubt Lord Beresford would be thrilled with it all.

  “Something is not right.” Esme said, surprising herself with the declaration.

  “What?” Katherine gave her an exasperated look. “Just be quiet.”

  But as Sheridan crumpled forward onto the stage and Jane continued to scream, Esme realized exactly what had happened. Sheridan was convulsing hideously before coming to a rigid stop, his body posed in a garish manner. No man as vain as Sheridan Wallace would arrange himself so for all the world to see. No, his character would have died gallantly, heroically, without a strand of hair out of place.

  And as Esme squinted harder at the stage and the crowd began to fidget uncertainly in their seats, she was certain that she could see blood on the dagger and the stage.

  She stood up suddenly, much to Katherine’s deep embarrassment, and wended her way through the seats, quietly apologizing every time she felt the toes of another underfoot.

  Her blood was pumping, and she knew that something terrible had happened. Why could nobody else see it?

  Breaking free from the seating, at last, Esme held the fabric of her midnight blue gown up off the floor just a little as she ran at speed towards the front of the stage. Seeing no way to climb up, she darted behind the curtain and around the side, tearing up the makeshift steps so fast she almost lost her footing.

  It was then that she was aware of footsteps behind her, footsteps which sounded heavy and held that same urgency as her own. By the time she was up on the stage, she identified her chaser as the Duke of Burnham.

  But Esme was carried on by her own spirit and flew to where Sheridan Winchester lay. She could see blood forming in a great thick pond around him and she knew with a sickening jolt that this was not a prop. As good as the Beresford Players’ staging had been, it had not run to this much realism.

  “Dear Lord.” The Duke uttered when he reached her side.

  “He is dead.” Esme said with certainty, looking into the pale and lifeless eyes of the man she had found so distasteful just minutes before.