She waved her hand as if murder charges were something any dimwit could deal with. “That will all be cleared up any day now. There is no need to avoid normal life.”
“Madam, I just indicated that dinner parties were not part of my normal life to begin with.”
“You worry too much, my dear. All will be fine.” She did that awful pat-on-the-head thing again.
“I wish I had your optimism,” he mumbled to his newspaper.
But alas, she was not going to permit him his morning indulgence. “I have the list here of guests, which I would like you to approve.”
“Me? Why would I need to approve? It appears you have everything in hand.”
Instead of answering him, she slid the guest list between him and his newspaper. He lowered the paper again. “Very well. Since I will have no peace until I do this, let me look it over.
“Mr. Colbert! Why is he invited? I have never socialized with the man.” When no answer was forthcoming, he continued to peruse the list: Mr. Charles Colbert, Miss Gertrude O’Neill, Miss Penelope O’Neill, Mr. George (how had she gotten his name?) Davidson, Mr. Christopher Rawlings, Lady Amy Lovell, Lady Margaret Lovell, Lord Franklin Winchester, Lord Michael Davenport.
“Some are book club members, along with all of Lady Amy’s family. What are you planning, Mother?”
She looked very innocent. “A dinner party. I just told you.”
Knowing his mother as he did, he would get no further information from her, but a sinking feeling in his stomach told him he had a good idea of what she was planning. Perhaps he should visit a jeweler in town before the dinner.
On the other hand, three of the intended guests were on their suspect list: Miss Gertrude, Mr. Davidson, and Mr. Christopher Rawlings, whom he had mentally added after witnessing the embrace in Davidson’s carriage the other night. It was apparent that Mr. Davidson and Mr. Rawlings were lovers, and since that was illegal and punishable by law, they would both want to keep Harding silenced.
“Do you care to see the menu?”
He shook his newspaper, which would have been a signal to anyone else that he was irritated with the constant interruptions. Mother had always been an exception to normal rules. “No. I am certain whatever you work out with Cook will be excellent.”
“We do want to make it special.”
He ignored that statement.
“Certain events require a special menu.”
When he remained silent, she said, “Don’t you agree, William?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he could wait until this afternoon and read the morning paper along with the evening paper.
“Yes. I agree, Mother. However, now I must leave for an appointment. I am sure whatever you plan will be wonderful. I await the festivities with great fervor.” He stood, placed his newspaper on the table next to his chair, gave her a slight bow, and left the room.
If Amy was surprised at his early arrival, she didn’t show it. Instead, she greeted him with a huge smile. “Good morning, my lord. I didn’t expect you so early, but I am happy to see you.”
“Things were a bit uncomfortable at home.”
She led him to a sofa in the drawing room. “Why is that?”
How much to tell Amy? Should he share his suspicions? She continued to stare at him.
“Mother is planning a dinner and wanted my advice on it, and you know how little I know about such things.”
“Yes, we all received invitations.”
He said, “She’s invited Mr. Colbert as well.”
“That is quite interesting. It appears they are becoming a couple.”
William grunted. “As long as his ideas of a couple don’t encompass anything untoward.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, William, you sound like an old shriveled-up spinster.”
He was gentleman enough not to mention that, given her age, she could herself be considered a spinster. Except Amy was much too lively, intelligent, and bold to hold that moniker.
“I was preparing to have luncheon soon. Papa, Michael, and Aunt Margaret will be joining me. I hope you will stay as well?”
A meal with another parent staring him down with that expression so evident in his mother’s eyes these days. “Yes. I would be honored. Then I think we should go as planned to Mrs. Whitney’s house and let her know her stepson has been ill but now seems to be on the road to recovery.”
“After all this time, she must be quite anxious.”
“I know. I feel bad about that. I would also like to visit with Patrick Whitney. I’m almost sure the police would have visited Mrs. Johnson’s house when her body was found, so he should already know about her death. But I do want to ask him a couple of questions about her and offer my condolences.”
“Wethington, good to see you.” Amy’s father strode across the room, his hand outstretched. William shook hands with him, and then Winchester slapped him on the back, almost sending him to the floor. “Joining us for luncheon, I hope?”
William straightened his jacket and smoothed back his hair. “Yes, sir. Lady Amy was gracious enough to invite me.”
Winchester rubbed his hands. “Good, good. How about a small drink?” He strode to the sideboard, poured two glasses, and brought one over. William rarely drank spirits before the sun set, but not wanting to seem ungracious—or possibly judgmental—he accepted the glass.
Amy’s father waved to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, son. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Both of them settled with their glasses of brandy.
Isn’t this cozy?
“Lady Amy tells me you’re still having some issues with the police.”
Issues with the police. That’s an interesting way to refer to two murder charges. The man must be taking lessons from my mother.
“Yes. Mr. Nelson-Graves is being most helpful. I hope to have them cleared up directly.”
“Good, good.”
“Company, how lovely.” Aunt Margaret sailed into the room. “And we’re drinking so early?” Her raised eyebrows were directed at Amy’s father.
“Would you care for a sherry, sister? Amy?”
Both refused.
“Are we having
