A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery. Annie Burrows

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ And in this case, he could hardly blame her. He’d assumed that Miss Carmichael must have an income of her own. Assumed, without double-checking.

      He’d blundered there. Possibly rather badly.

      He should have gone to visit her, to make sure she was provided for, he could see that now. Only...she was of gentle birth. And a man with the reputation he’d cultivated could not simply call upon a single lady of gentle birth, not without raising eyebrows. Not even if her brother had been his closest colleague.

      Though what good would it have done, really? He could easily arrange a pension for a widow of a certain sort of man. But he couldn’t just offer to support a woman of Miss Carmichael’s status. If it ever came out that he was supporting her financially, it would be as good as ruining her.

      ‘You will, I hope, find it in your heart to forgive my daughter’s manners,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, sidestepping along the pew until she reached the aisle. ‘This week is terribly hard for her, considering the hopes we had...’ She left the rest unsaid. The shake of her head expressed her disappointment that the Duke of Theakstone had passed over her own daughter and chosen instead to make a mere Miss his new Duchess.

      ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said, giving her the smile he reserved for women of her age and station. ‘It does your daughter credit that she leaps to defend her friend with such...loyalty. And such vehemence.’

      The Dowager Marchioness narrowed her eyes to see if she could detect a hint of criticism in his statement. He kept his smile in place, looking directly into her eyes with as much innocence as he could muster. Which wasn’t all that hard. Because, actually, he did admire Lady Elizabeth’s loyalty. Not many people went against the prevailing current to voice an opinion that ran counter to it. And she had drawn his attention to a facet of the case he’d overlooked. He was grateful to her for jolting him out of his own personal malaise and reminding him that there was at least one other person who missed Herbert just as much as he did. For whatever reason.

      ‘That is so generous of you, Devizes,’ trilled his sister Mary. ‘To overlook such extraordinary behaviour. And I do not mean,’ she said, laying a languid hand on his sleeve, ‘that of Lady Elizabeth, of course.’ She shot an arch look at the Dowager, for everyone knew about her daughter’s shrewish nature. Nick had actually been a little surprised when his half-brother had, apparently, included her on his list of possibilities. And not at all surprised when he’d as quickly crossed her off it.

      ‘I was speaking of that strange little companion of hers,’ Mary continued. ‘Fancy storming off like that!’

      He could understand Miss Carmichael doing so, now, if she was experiencing financial hardship.

      Perhaps what she had wanted to say about Herbert related to the way he’d supported her. Perhaps she was finding it hard to make ends meet.

      He would ask her, when he returned her Bible to her.

      As well as finding out why she had a sketch of Janus in between the pages of her Bible. Had Herbert not been as discreet as he’d claimed? Had he been so close to his sister that he’d let slip some things which should have been kept secret?

      Or had she merely stumbled across the picture when she’d been going through his personal effects? He thought he’d cleared Herbert’s rooms thoroughly, but perhaps there had been some papers hidden in a place that only she knew about.

      Which changed everything. He’d been determined to carry on shielding her from the people who’d killed her brother, by persuading anyone who might care to see that he had no interest in her and, therefore, no connection to her whatsoever, now that Herbert was dead.

      But if Herbert had let something slip...

      He had to warn her that if anyone suspected she had information, of any sort, relevant to Herbert’s work, then she would be in danger. Dammit, somebody had killed her brother rather than let him pass on whatever it was he’d discovered that last night.

      And Herbert would never forgive him if Horatia became the next person on that assassin’s list.

      Dammit, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

       Chapter Three

      Horatia was a few yards beyond the paved area surrounding the chapel, which contained monuments to generations of deceased Norringtons, the family from which the current Duke had sprung, when she became aware of rapid footsteps crunching over the gravel behind her.

      She’d been walking so fast, driven by a volatile mixture of anger, humiliation and determination to just show them—whoever ‘them’ might be—that the person she could hear must be determined to catch up with her.

      She braced herself to deal with whatever accusations or recriminations she might have to face. And sighed with relief, after glancing over her shoulder, to see that it was Lady Elizabeth who was drawing up behind her.

      ‘Well,’ said Lady Elizabeth, slowing down to match her pace to Horatia’s, ‘you certainly know how to make an exit.’

      Since Horatia could hear a distinct thread of amusement in her friend’s tone, she knew she hadn’t mortally offended her. Still, she owed her friend an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for my...outburst,’ she said. ‘I swore that I would give you what little support I could in the days surrounding the Duke’s wedding. Instead, I’ve just given your mother even more reason to berate you.’

      ‘At least if she is complaining about your behaviour, she isn’t complaining about mine,’ pointed out Lady Elizabeth with a wry smile.

      ‘As if you made the Duke fall for Miss Underwood,’ scoffed Horatia. ‘It is obvious to anyone who sees them together that they have eyes for nobody else,’ she added, jerking her head in the direction of the couple who were strolling along arm in arm along another gravelled path which led in the direction of the house. Making Horatia aware she had not taken the most direct route.

      ‘Ah, but,’ said Lady Elizabeth, aping her mother’s frosty tones, ‘if I had only exerted myself more, I could have eclipsed her.’

      Horatia made a very unladylike noise, expressed partially through her nose, to demonstrate what she thought of that particular argument.

      ‘You cannot make a man fall for you, or even notice you, unless he chooses to do so,’ said Horatia morosely, coming to a standstill. Could she strike out across the lawn and join the path along which the Duke and his intended were walking? Or would that draw even more attention to herself and the fact that she’d shot out of the chapel in such a state of turmoil that she hadn’t even been able to steer her feet in the correct direction?

      ‘I...had wondered about your, um, fascination with Lord Devizes,’ said Lady Elizabeth, coming to a halt as well. ‘I did not like to say anything, but...’

      ‘You cannot think that I have a tendre for him?’ Horatia gaped at her. ‘Or that, if I did, I would fling myself at him, like one of the muslin company?’

      ‘No. Neither,’ said Lady Elizabeth staunchly. ‘Which is what makes your...’ She lowered her head and traced a swirl through the gravel with the tip of her parasol. ‘No, no, I shall not pry. I have enough of people telling me how to live my life to know how detestable СКАЧАТЬ