“It’s never made sense to me,” I said, looking up from the letter—already six pages long—that I was writing to Margaret. “We’re allowed to foxhunt. I suppose directly killing a bird is unladylike, but pursuing a fox and leaving him to be torn to bits by dogs is not.”
“Have you abandoned Aristophanes?” the count asked.
“So far as performance goes, yes,” I replied. “I don’t think any of us is in the mood for theatrical entertainment.”
“I am!” Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bainbridge, who’d been a dear friend since we were children and now as resplendent as a man could be in tweeds, strolled into the drawing room.
“Jeremy!” I leapt up to greet him. “What a surprise! Where have you come from?”
“Highwater, not five miles from here. I headed for Beaumont Towers the moment I heard you were here.”
“Yes, Margaret warned me to look out for you.”
“She’s a terrible girl. Tell me this party’s not as tedious as the one I’ve escaped.”
“Tedious is perhaps not the right word,” I said.
“Pleasantly soporific?” he suggested.
I smiled. “Mildly diverting.”
“We didn’t have it even that good. Langston, our host, wouldn’t let all of us shoot at once—insisted that we go out in small groups, which meant hours of sitting around doing nothing. But I suppose you ladies are used to that, and I now feel your pain keenly. Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was the most amusing person at Highwater, and she was in such a dreadful mood I was afraid to speak to her.”
“Really?” I asked. “I’m surprised she’s not here.”
“As am I,” he said, lowering his voice. “What a relief to be able to gossip with you.”
“I’m equally delighted to see you,” I said.
His voice returned to normal. “I’ve come to ask you to walk with me,” he said. “If your friends can do without your company?”
“Lady Ashton will be missed, but we shall bear it as best we can.” The count’s smile was rather more familiar than I would have liked. I took Jeremy’s arm and escaped with him as soon as I’d put on a coat and hat.
“I’m more pleased to see you than you can imagine,” I said as we walked, glad to turn my back on Beaumont Towers’ multitudinous turrets and chimneys. The weather was far from fine; the air was chill, and the wind bit through my coat, but it was a relief to be cold outside, where one expected it, rather than in the house.
“You’ve no idea how it affects me to hear you say that.” His smile was as winning as it had been when, as a little boy, he’d begged my forgiveness for any number of juvenile offenses, most of which involved frogs or snakes. “I don’t suppose you’ve decided to throw over Hargreaves.”
“Really, Jeremy. You’re awful.”
“Always. But a chap can hope, right?”
“Who am I to deny you amusement? Particularly as we’ve no unattached ladies at this party with whom you can flirt.”
“I’ve always preferred attached ones. They’re much less demanding.”
“Oh, Jeremy, it is good to see you. I can always count on you to make me laugh.”
“If only you knew how serious I am. I’ve every intention of making a bid for your affections the moment you’re married.”
“And I look forward to spurning your every advance.”
“Where’s Ivy? I thought she’s the one who dragged you here for this miserable gathering.”
“She’s preparing to go home.”
I had just started to explain to him what had transpired between Robert and Lord Fortescue when Flora, no coat covering her dress, tears staining her face, came running out of the house.
“Emily, I must speak to you at once!” Her voice sounded torn as she screamed. “Something dreadful has happened!”
Chapter 6
“What is it?” I asked, running towards her.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” Jeremy said, shrugging off his topcoat and putting it around Flora’s shaking shoulders.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m most obliged, but I think it’s best that we speak out here.” The contrast between her formal mode of speech and her ragged voice was frightening. She clung to my arm, and I wondered if the gesture was meant to steel her or me. “There’s been a terrible accident.”
“Tell us!” I said. “Is someone hurt?”
She took three deep breaths. “Lord Fortescue is dead.”
I was stunned. “Dead?” As I watched Flora’s shoulders tremble, I remembered it was probable that she was one of the dead man’s mistresses. If she cared for him, she must be crushed, but would not be able to grieve openly, and for this, I felt sorry for her. “How?”
“I don’t know.” Her tears would not stop. “He must have been shot.”
“Bird shot isn’t going to kill a man,” Jeremy said, handing her a handkerchief and placing a strong arm around her.
“I don’t know what else it could have been.”
“Did he fall ill?” I asked. “Collapse?” “No. The police are coming,” she said. “Was anyone else hurt?” I asked. “No.” The handkerchief was already soaked. “I don’t think so.”
“Does Lady Fortescue know?” Jeremy asked.
“No. That’s why I came to find you. The Groom of the Chambers told me the news and asked me to inform her, but I don’t think I can bear to tell her. Will you, Lady Ashton?”
“I’m happy to assist in any way possible,” Jeremy said, “but I imagine it would be best for her to hear such grim news from another lady.”
“Of course I’ll tell her.” The words flew from my mouth. I couldn’t imagine a more dreadful situation than having to tell your lover’s wife that her husband was dead. “Don’t worry. Do you know where can I find her?”
“She was in the drawing room with us,” Flora said. “Embroidering a cushion.”
“I hadn’t noticed her. She has a remarkable ability to fade away.”
“I’ll go to her at once,” I said. “And while I do, you let Jeremy take care of you.” Her tears had slowed somewhat, and she’d rested her head on his shoulder. She was in control enough to return to the house. As for me, I felt shocked, confused, and surprisingly sad.
Back inside, Flora and Jeremy discreetly gathered up the count and countess while I searched out Lady Fortescue, who had abandoned her embroidery for a stroll in the conservatory. I looked at her for a moment before I started to speak, knowing that her life would forever be divided between the time before and after the conversation that was to come. I can’t recall what I said, but in situations where irrevocable news changes everything in an instant, the words used to deliver it are irrelevant. She stared straight ahead, her body absolutely still. I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, blinked, and then all at once her eyes filled with tears, and she began to sob. I stayed next to her, considering the possibility that a man, no matter how dreadful he seems to others, may be something quite different to those close to him.
An artificial silence enshrouded us as the news spread through the house. Both Lady Fortescue and Flora had taken to their rooms, and the rest of us were speaking in whispers, as if our words could be carried along lengthy hallways and disturb the mourners’ grief. Jeremy had sent a servant to collect his things from Highwater, not wanting to leave in the midst of the confusion. Not that leaving would have been allowed.
Lord Fortescue’s death had been no accident; he had been shot, a single bullet through the head. No bird shot and hunting rifles; the weapon in question was a dueling pistol, and had been found beneath a tree some yards from where the guns had stood, shooting for sport. The police had arrived shortly thereafter, and questioned each of us, including Robert and Ivy, whose departure had been postponed.
