“Of course it was, my dear.” Ivy nodded. “Tell us what you heard before I empty the teapot over your head.”
Rose grinned. “Well…apparently the fiancé, Sir Timothy, had a bit of a contretemps with someone at a gaming parlour. Accused the man of cheating and there was a fight. So Miss Ringwood is attending events solo for a little while until the evidence of the disagreement fades.”
“Got himself a black eye, I’ll be bound,” opined Lydia.
“I heard a few things about him as well,” said Prudence quietly. “Only in passing, but it would seem he’s not held in high esteem. Rather quick tempered. Unpredictable.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “I believe the expression was ‘likely to go off like a Whinyates rocket’.
“Oh dear.” Judith frowned. “I dislike the sound of that. I trust Miss Ringwood knows what she’s about, getting herself engaged to him.”
Lydia shot her friend a raised eyebrow. “Darling, Miss Ringwood was all about one thing and one thing only. Getting engaged. I’m not sure it mattered who to.”
“To whom,” absently commented Rose.
“If you say so,” responded Lydia. “No matter the phrasing, it sounds like he is not a person one would want to pass the time with. So in that regard, I’m glad he’s out of circulation for a bit. But we have yet to make any kind of connection to the Maidenbrooke business.”
The entrance of the tea tray diverted their attention for a little while and the friends chatted companionably about more mundane matters, then the always-exciting thought that one of their number was enceinte.
“No I’m not sick,” smiled Judith. “For which I am devoutly thankful. And although I find myself fancying peaches more than usual, I wouldn’t say I’m craving them either.” Her hand fell naturally to the barely visible bump beneath her delicate dimity gown. “It’s the tiredness more than anything.” She looked irritated. “I nap. I’ve never napped. But now, I find that later in the afternoon, when ordinarily I’d be starting to dress for dinner or the evening…well, I need at least a half hour of sleep.”
“Perfectly normal,” said Rose. “I’ve heard many women say the same. And you’re actually lucky to be spared the unpleasant bits.”
“I know,” Judith sighed. “And Ragnor’s beside himself with a mixture of pride, excitement, and worry.”
All the women exchanged looks. After all, he was a man, and thus expected to act in a ridiculous fashion while his wife was carrying what might be his heir.
A tap on the door distracted them, and the sight of the Duke’s face peering around brought them all to their feet.
“Colly…really…”
“Your Grace…”
“Good heavens…”
“Should you be here?”
“Uncle Colly!” Prudence’s shocked voice won out over the exclamations. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?”
He stepped into the room, dressed comfortably in appropriate day clothes but lacking a stiff cravat. “I was bored and I heard voices.”
Ivy walked to his side, shaking her head. “I should scold you, but honestly I can sympathise.” She took his hand and led him to a large chair by the hearth. “Sit.”
“Yes, your Grace.” He grinned at her.
The others were stunned by the display of humour from one such as the Duke of Maidenbrooke, a gentleman they’d not considered much given to jests.
“Well then,” Rose sat back down into her chair. “Since you’re here, your Grace, and obviously well enough to converse, let’s start with the all-important question that’s on the top of all our minds.” She took a breath. “Have you recalled the name of that person you thought might be a link to your troubles?”
The room fell silent as five pairs of eyes swivelled to the only man in the room.
He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “I think…I believe his name was Barrett.” He stretched out his legs. “I kept thinking Bartlett, but somehow it wasn’t quite right. When I spoke the word Barrett aloud…that was it. I knew it was right. But for the life of me, I cannot recall meeting a Mr Barrett.”
“That’s a nuisance,” muttered Lydia. “I was hoping we could point our fingers at someone we know and say, fie upon you, villain. And then have him clapped in irons or drawn and quartered.”
“Lovely sentiment, Lydia. Bloodthirsty but poetic.” Rose grinned at her friend.
“Barrett?” Judith blinked. “Now isn’t that an interesting coincidence?”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
“If memory serves me, our Miss Beatrice Ringwood’s fiancé is Sir Timothy Barrett.”
*~~*~~*
His Grace was caught by surprise as much as anyone else in the room, but after a moment or two he nodded. “It makes perfect sense. Now it’s clear to see where Miss Ringwood obtained her rumours. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Timothy put her up to it.”
“I agree,” Lydia said firmly. “Well then. That’s a big step toward solving our mystery, except…”
“Except we have no idea of his motive,” finished Ivy.
“Perhaps we should learn more of Sir Timothy,” suggested Prudence. “Ivy, where did you find our Debrett’s? We might as well start there.”
“Good idea, Prudence,” approved her uncle. “It should still be in my study.”
“That’s where I left it,” Ivy said. “On the second shelf of the large bookcase next to the window.”
Prudence hurried out, while everyone else looked at each other with a certain amount of confusion.
Rose spoke what most of them were thinking. “None of this makes any sense at all, does it?”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
“It inspires me to wonder what could drive one man to take another’s life?” Lydia looked unusually sombre. “I could understand desperation. Some of the most passionate emotions that stir people to do the extraordinary, either for good or evil.” She paused. “But this, stabbing someone in the back with every intention of killing him—as far as we know—what could
