‘Last night,’ she said in a rush, ‘I asked you if you were pretending with me and you did not answer. You
Cory smiled. ‘You should ask yourself why that matters so much to you, Rachel,’ he said. He sketched a bow and walked away.
Rachel watched him go, eyes narrowed. She was cross with herself for lowering her guard and asking a question that would have been better left unsaid. And yet…He had not answered her the previous night and now he had declined to do it again. He might merely be teasing her, but…She walked slowly towards the terrace, but in the back of her own mind the question still echoed:
And she knew that she should be asking herself the same thing.
‘Who would have thought it?’ Richard Kestrel said heavily. ‘One might almost imagine that they are all in on it!’
‘It is the most confounded piece of bad luck,’ Cory agreed. ‘I could scarce believe it.’
They were back in the drawing room at Kestrel Court and were capably demolishing the latest bottle of brandy that Justin had left behind on his return to London. They were also playing a desultory game of chess.
‘Lady Marney claimed to be uninjured,’ Richard said, with a smile. ‘And Miss Lang was genuinely sick according to her brother. I sent Bradshaw to find out more from the Langs’ housemaid. The girl said that Miss Lang had taken so much wine at Lady Marney’s dinner that she had to be put to bed, and had not stirred since.’
‘It could be an act,’ Cory pointed out. He moved a pawn and sat back to watch Richard’s strategy.
‘True-’ Richard sighed ‘-although I cannot see Miss Lang as a cool-headed traitor. Besides, we have more likely candidates. There was Lady Benedict and her apparent tumble down the stairs-’
‘And Lady Sally and her gardening injury-’
‘And Mrs Stratton, who was sporting a nasty slash on her hand that she claimed was from a bramble that caught her as she was out riding this morning,’ Richard finished. He grinned. ‘What about Miss Odell, Cory?’
‘Cut herself cleaning a pot her mother had dug out this morning,’ Cory confirmed gloomily. ‘I do not think that she is the one we are looking for. Acquit me of partiality,’ he added hastily, seeing the wry gleam in Richard’s eye, ‘and I shall do the same for you with Mrs Stratton!’
Richard laughed. ‘I can make no special case for Mrs Stratton other than to say that I do not think she is the guilty party.’
‘Instinct?’ Cory asked drily.
Richard shrugged. ‘My instincts towards Mrs Stratton are best not discussed,’ he said, with a sardonic smile. He sat forward and moved his castle to take the pawn.
‘Lady Sally Saltire is certainly cool enough to pull it off,’ Cory said.
‘And Lady Benedict likewise,’ Richard finished thoughtfully. ‘She left the dinner early last night, but could have waited to ambush you on the road.’ He frowned. ‘ You are more than usual preoccupied tonight, old chap. Swear you are throwing this game away.’
Cory shrugged. ‘I’ll admit to a certain distraction.’
‘Miss Odell?’
Cory groaned. ‘How does one make love to one’s oldest friend, Richard?’
Richard looked amused. ‘Thought I was your oldest friend, Cory. I’m not sure if I should be concerned or offended!’
Cory moved his knight directly into the path of Richard’s queen. Richard scooped the piece from the board.
‘You could try the direct approach,’ he suggested. ‘Tell her exactly how you feel about her-or show her!’
Cory grimaced. ‘That is a little too direct, much as it might accord with my own feelings. Rachel thinks that I am playing games if I try to kiss her. She has yet to accept the idea that we could be more than friends. I do not wish to frighten her by declaring my feelings and risk losing her before I have even started to court her properly.’
‘Then you need to be slow and subtle,’ Richard said. He grinned. ‘Think you can do that?’
Cory laughed. ‘It is hardly my
‘Absolutely,’ Richard said. ‘Checkmate.’
Cory sighed. ‘At least my chess might improve if I make some progress.’
‘I doubt it,’ Richard said. ‘The greater the physical frustration, the poorer one’s concentration and the more one’s game is shot to pieces.’ He passed the brandy bottle. ‘Oh, and the greater amount of brandy one consumes. Trust me. I should know.’
Cory filled his glass. ‘So where does that leave us?’ he asked.
‘No further on,’ Richard said. He raised his glass in ironic toast. ‘To the ladies of the Midwinter reading group! One way or another, they are running rings around us!’
Chapter Nine
‘How delightful this is,’ Deborah Stratton declared, sliding into a seat opposite to Rachel in the teashop in Angel Hill in Woodbridge, and placing a large quantity of brown paper parcels on the table. ‘You have no idea, Rachel, how I have longed for different company. Oh, Olivia is the best sister imaginable,’ she added hastily. ‘No one could be more fortunate than I in their relatives, but sometimes it is pleasant to extend one’s circle of friends.’
Rachel smiled. She moved Deborah’s tottering pile of purchases carefully to one side, where they would not get splashed from the teapot or fall on the floor, and poured her a cup of tea.
They had spent an enjoyable morning in the town. First they had watched the volunteers being drilled on the green, although the Suffolk Rifles were not amongst the regiments drawn up for inspection. The riflemen practised out on the marshes where there was less danger of them injuring any innocent spectators. Deb had grumbled that this was a pity since the riflemen in their green uniforms looked the most handsome of all the volunteers. Rachel had pointed out that their appearance was immaterial if they could not shoot straight. There was a febrile air in the town, with gossip and rumour of French invasion rife. It felt a little odd to be shopping for ribbons and books and ordinary things when all about them there was the suppressed nervousness engendered by war. Rachel had found it a little inhibiting and her pile of purchases could not rival Deborah’s, for Mrs Stratton seemed to spend money with the same profligate cheerfulness with which she dealt with the rest of her life. Rachel found her excellent company, even though they could not have been more dissimilar.
Deborah was watching the fashionable crowd milling on the street outside the teashop’s bow windows.
‘This is the place to come if you wish to witness the Woodbridge scandals,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Only look at that Captain of Dragoons parading in front of the ladies! That is George Brandon Smith, who is allegedly the most handsome man in the 21st Foot! He fought a duel with another officer over a lady recently and was almost cashiered as a result. Only his connection with the Devonshires saved him and caused the matter to be hushed up.’
‘Do you know him?’ Rachel enquired. ‘He looks a rather haughty man.’
‘Oh, he has a very inflated opinion of himself,’ Deborah said, smiling. ‘I know him a little, for he condescended to dance with me at the last Assembly. He told me that I was most fortunate, for he usually only deigns to dance with titled ladies!’
Rachel made a noise of disgust. ‘Of all the pretentious nonsense! I am glad, then, that my father is a mere baronet.’ She looked out of the teashop window. ‘How busy it is! I confess that I had forgotten what it was like to live near a town. It is a long time since we were settled anywhere like this. I am more accustomed to the depths of Wiltshire, or the Shetland Islands or even Italy.’
‘Your childhood must have been quite the opposite of mine,’ Deborah said. ‘What did you do with yourself whilst your parents excavated their antiquities?’
‘I learned to distil whisky illegally in Scotland, to poach pheasants in Wiltshire and to read Etruscan in Italy,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘None of them are the accomplishments of a young lady.’
‘Poaching and illegal whisky!’ Deborah said, with the greatest admiration. ‘How marvellous, Rachel. But what
