“We all feel the same way, my Lady. Thank you.” Judith rose, as did Maud, and the two hugged each other, both knowing that they were family, regardless of birth or heritage.
“Ah, here you are.” Miles peeked around the door. “Hobson betrayed you, my Lady.” He came in and took Maud’s hand, elegantly kissing her knuckles.
“We had just finished our chat, Sir Miles. Your timing is impeccable.”
He preened. “As it always is…”
“Oh dear.” Judith sighed. “Don’t get him started. I will have to endure it for the rest of the morning.”
Maud laughed. “Run along. And good hunting.”
“My Lady,” Miles bowed, and then followed Judith from the room.
*~~*~~*
It was a short trip from Sydenham House to the outskirts of London, where Lord Rolfe and his lovely wife now resided.
“I am rather looking forward to this visit,” confessed Judith as the carriage drove along quiet streets. “I’m not sure anyone’s seen hide nor hair of the Rolfes since their marriage.”
“Rolfe is no fool,” answered Miles. “He caused a bit of a scandal, but since then the couple has been a very model of propriety.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Not a whisper. It’s most annoying.”
He chuckled. “You can find out why. We’re here.”
Judith found herself stepping down from the carriage in front of a sparkling new residence, a large home set back a little from the street and delightfully fronted with neat shrubbery and even a few flowers. It wasn’t quite a country manor, but certainly nicer than those located closer to the centre of London.
“Well. A lovely prospect to greet guests,” she said, straightening her skirts and accompanying Miles as he walked along the path to the steps and the front door.
It opened before he could raise the shining brass door knocker.
“Good afternoon.” A tall, thin butler bowed with grace. “May I be of assistance?”
“Lord Miles Linfield and Lady Withersby to see Lord and Lady Rolfe.” Miles uttered the formalities with a smile. “Hello Throgmorton. So Gadsby took pity on you and found you a position, did he?”
“Indeed he did, sir. Most kind of him.”
“I’m sure you miss the tables though,” said Miles sympathetically as he turned to Judith. “Throgmorton here is one of the luckiest men I’ve ever seen. He won every hand, every throw of the dice, every possible game one could play…he’s won it.”
“Good heavens,” Judith eyed the man with interest. “Do you play piquet, Mr Throgmorton?”
“He does, Lady Withersby. And sad to say, he’d beat even you quite handily.” Lord Rolfe appeared behind the butler who was blushing a bit at all the praise.
“Hallo Linfield.”
“Rolfe.”
The gentlemen exchanged brief nods.
“Let them in, please?” A woman’s voice echoed through the hall, and Lady Fiona Rolfe hurried in, looking—to Judith’s eyes—even more beautiful than the last time they’d met.
“Fiona,” she said. “Oh goodness. Marriage agrees with you.”
The two young women hugged, then paused and looked at each other.
“You too?” Fiona started to giggle.
“Yes,” nodded Judith. “January, we think. How about you?”
“Before the end of the year.”
Miles thumped Lord Rolfe on the shoulder. “Well done, lad.”
Rolfe rolled his eyes. “Since I’m older than you, calling me lad is absurd, but not without its charm, so I won’t call you out.” He led them into the house. “How’s your wife?”
“Very well, thank you. She’d have come with us, but Judith here won the toss.”
“Well don’t get me wrong, but I’m glad,” grinned Rolfe. “I have her to thank for my happiness. You are always a welcome visitor, Lady Withersby. With or without that oaf you wed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ragnor sends his regards.”
“We’ll be making one or two visits soon, just as a formality and before I get too uncomfortable.” Fiona ushered them into a lovely parlour where the sunshine flooded the room with light, bouncing off walls of the palest green and around richly carved furnishings. It was elegant, yet comfortable, and Judith eagerly took one of the deep green chairs. “But honestly, neither of us is in any hurry to re-enter the chaos and gossip-ridden mess of London society.”
“Can’t say as I blame you,” said Miles. “And, to be truthful, we’re here today not only to offer you our best wishes but also to ask you a few questions concerning a recent rumour I’m sure you’ve heard about.”
“Maidenbrooke?” Rolfe’s tone was shrewd.
“Indeed,” confirmed Miles.
“How can we help?”
“Fiona,” said Judith, leaning toward her. “We are somewhat concerned that a recent attack on the Duke might lie at the door of your half-brother, Sir Timothy Barrett.”
“Good grief. I’d heard his Grace was unwell, but he was attacked? Is he badly hurt?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks paled at the thought.
“Yes, he was stabbed while away on a trip north. Fortunately he is recovering, but it’s a nasty business all around.”
Throgmorton appeared at that moment, accompanied by a maid with a tea tray, so the conversation turned to matters of a less controversial nature until they were alone once more with the door firmly closed.
“How is Miss Ivy taking all this? Or—forgive me—her Grace?” Lord Rolfe’s voice was level, but Judith could see a flash of anger lighting his eyes at the thought of what she was experiencing.
“She’s handling it far better than I would,” admitted Judith. “But as you can imagine, we’re all eager to flush out the villain and settle the matter. The problem being that his Grace cannot recall the incident. He was stabbed from behind after being thrown from his horse.”
“God, that’s…that’s revolting,” grunted Rolfe. “And, forgive me darling, it’s just the sort of thing Barrett would do.” His lip curled in disgust.
Judith blinked. “Oh. So…you’re
