Scoundrel by Elizabeth Elliott

her head on her father’s knee. She made a beautiful, sad picture there, one Remmington knew he would remember for a long time. He saw the tracks of tears wet the earl’s face, and everyone waited while he sipped his brandy, a visible struggle to retain his control.
    “Seemed like hours later when I heard Lily’s screams.” Crofford gazed intently at his daughter, the lines of his face etched into the agonized expression of a father who could do nothing to protect his child from danger. His voice dropped to a bare whisper. “The screams seemed to go on and on, but it was even worse when they stopped. I thought… I thought he…”
    Crofford covered his face with his hands. A soundless sob racked his shoulders. Lily lifted her head and gently pulled her father’s hands from his face to force him to stare into her eyes. “I’m… fine, Papa.”
    The words sounded forced. The earl grimaced and reached out to trail his fingers along the ruffled neckline of her nightgown. “Fine?” He brushed his thumb with infinite care over a dark bruise that showed on her throat. His voice turned harsh with shock and sorrow. “He nearly killed my baby! He could have—”
    The earl’s expression grew hard with resolve. He held his daughter’s face between his weathered hands, his voice quiet with determination. “Did he hurt you anywhere else, Lily?”
    She shook her head. “No!”
    A discreet knock at the library door interrupted the awkward moment. Harry opened it only a crack, then just a bit wider to allow Digsby into the room.
    “Tell us what you found in the rest of the house.” Remmington poured another brandy for himself. He welcomed the distraction of Digsby’s presence. The earl’s worry brought to mind an ugly picture, one he hadn’t fully considered before now. The way Lily blushed and looked away from her father could mean she was simply embarrassed by the questions. Or, it might mean that she meant to spare her father the truth. He stared down at his clenched hand and decided it would be best to set the fragile glass of brandy aside for the moment.
    Digsby bowed then began to recite his report. “We attended to the earl’s household staff and they seem recovered. No one inside the house sustained serious injury. Unfortunately, we found a rather unpleasant surprise in the stables. According to the cook, the gentleman we found there is one John Larson, the earl’s driver.” Digsby’s eyes shifted to Lily, who was still seated on the floor. He lowered his voice to a tone only Remmington could hear. “It appears that someone strangled him, Your Grace.”
    “John is dead?” Crofford asked anxiously.
    Digsby waited for Remmington’s silent approval, then nodded his answer. “We haven’t summoned the undertaker, my lord. I thought you might wish to take those matters into your own hands.”
    “Did you find the earl’s carriage?” Remmington asked. With the driver dead, the servants were cleared of suspicion. The town servants, he amended, thinking the size of the earl’s staffs at his country estates would be considerable. There was a reason the man had worn a mask. If he hadn’t, Remmington felt certain the earl or Lily would have recognized him.
    “No, Your Grace,” Digsby answered. “The stables contained two barbs and a phaeton, but no carriage.”
    “What about Lady Lillian’s room?”
    “Signs of a struggle, Your Grace. I found a rather weighty candlestick with traces of blood on the base. There were a few spots on the carpet and marks on the hallway wall along the stairwell. It appears the injured person put a hand to the wound before he made his way down the steps. A hand along the wall to support himself would account for the stains found there. The cook says they heard their mistress flee the house and he felt certain he heard the culprit exit the premises a short time later.”
    “Was there anything else of interest in the house?”
    “Not in the house, Your Grace, but in the side