When Gods Die

Taking a sip of his brandy, Sebastian glanced out the window overlooking the front street. A smart carriage drawn by a pair of beautifully matched dapple grays stood drawn up before the steps. He didn’t need to see the coronet on its panels to know its owner.

He could hear Morey’s polite, soothing tones, blending with a woman’s voice, louder and only too familiar.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said his sister, Amanda. “I know perfectly well Devlin is at home. I saw him climb the steps myself just moments ago. Now, you can either announce me, or I shall simply go looking for him. The choice is yours.”

Sebastian went to stand in the library’s doorway, the brandy glass held lightly in his unbandaged hand as he studied the tall, slim woman in heavy mourning who stood in the marble tiled entry. “Leave off harassing the poor man. He’s simply following orders.”

Amanda turned her head to look at him. “As I am only too aware.” Her eyes widened at the sight of him, her nostrils quivering at the stench of smoke and soot. “Merciful heavens. What have you been doing? Hiring yourself out as a chimney sweep?”

Sebastian laughed and stepped back to sketch her a flourishing bow. “Do come in, my lady.”

She swept past him, jerking off her gloves but making no attempt to remove her bonnet. “You realize, of course, that you have the entire Town talking about you. Again.”

“Oh, surely not as bad as the last time.”

She swung to face him, her blue eyes blazing. “Is it too much to ask that you have some consideration for your niece?” She waved one hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, not for my sake. But for Hendon’s. She is his granddaughter, after all.”

Sebastian frowned. “Stephanie? What has she to do with anything?”

“She is seventeen. In less than a year she will be making her come out. What do you think will be her chances of contracting a respectable alliance if her uncle is known to make it a hobby of consorting with murderers?”

Sebastian went to pour himself another drink. “Sherry?” he asked.

Amanda shook her head.

“I’m not consorting with Lady Anglessey’s murderer,” said Sebastian. “I’m simply trying to discover who he is.”

“Really, Sebastian. Like some common Bow Street Runner?”

“With rather more finesse than that, I like to think. And, of course, I’m not getting paid, so you needn’t worry there’s any hint of the stench of trade being attached to the practice.”

“I should rather think not.”

Sebastian gave her a hard smile. “Offends your delicate sensibilities, does it?”

“It would offend the sensibilities of anyone of breeding and culture.”

“Really? Well, murder offends mine.”

“You have no sensibilities.” She turned away, one hand coming up to shade her eyes before she suddenly moved to face him again. “Why are you doing this?”

Sebastian took a slow swallow of brandy. “I thought I just explained that.”

She shook her head. “No. Why you? Why this murder?”

Sebastian hesitated a moment, then said, “Do you remember the bluestone necklace Mother always used to wear? The one she said was given to her by some old crone in the mountains of Wales?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Did you know she was wearing it the day she was lost at sea?”

“No. What has the necklace to do with anything?”

“It was around the Marchioness of Anglessey’s neck when her body was found in the Pavilion.”

Amanda’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “You can’t be serious. How extraordinary. Wherever did she get it?”

“No one seems to know. But Jarvis recognized it and suggested I might have my own reasons for looking into the matter.”

Amanda searched his face. “Are you so certain the Prince did not kill her?”

Sebastian met her gaze. Whatever else one might say about Amanda, she was a levelheaded, intensely unimaginative woman. If even she had come to suspect Prinny of murder, then the Regent was in serious trouble.

Sebastian shook his head. “She was killed earlier that afternoon. Her body was simply moved to the Pavilion and arranged so that he would find her.”

She frowned. “How much earlier was she killed?”

“Some six hours or more.”

Amanda’s lips curled in a contemptuous smile. “Ah. There, you see? No great mystery. Why, I could have told you Prinny didn’t do it myself. He wasn’t even in Brighton earlier that day.”

Sebastian’s hand tightened around his brandy glass. “What?”

Amanda laughed. “Did you not know? He was here in London. I saw him myself. Coming out of Lady Benson’s.”

“Last Wednesday? You’re quite certain?”

“Last Wednesday was Lady Sefton’s breakfast. I wasn’t able to attend myself, of course. But I remember it distinctly.” She gave the skirts of her mourning dress an unconscious twitch. “I can quite understand why Prinny kept his visit to Town secret—a lady’s reputation and all that. Not that Alice Benson has any reputation left. If her father hadn’t tied up her portion the way he did, Benson would have divorced her years ago. As it is, I fear being without Alice’s fortune would be even more mortifying for Benson than being cuckolded by the Prince, now, wouldn’t it?”