Page 47 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
Floyd lifted his chin. “Evening, Armitage.”
“Good evening,” Harry said, his cheery greeting in contrast to Floyd’s cool one. “I was just walking Cleo back after interrogating a suspect together.”
“She’s safe in here and she’s late for dinner, so…” Floyd glanced pointedly at the door.
“I’m not late.” I checked the time on my pocket watch to make sure. “I have an hour and a half to get ready.”
“Lady Elizabeth wants to retire early, so dinner will be at seven instead of eight. Harmony’s been waiting for you for an age. She won’t have enough time to do your hair now.”
“You know far too much about a ladies’ toilette routine, Floyd.” I turned to Harry. “Thank you again for your help this afternoon.”
“I didn’t do much. You did all the work.”
“Even so.” I smiled at him, picked up my skirts, and hurried toward the stairs. I didn’t have time to wait for the lift.
Floyd came up alongside me, puffing a little from the exertion. “If you don’t need Armitage’s help, stop going to him. It looks bad.”
“I don’t care how it looks to other people. We’re just friends.”
“I mean it looks bad tohim. You’re giving him the message you can’t do it without him. I know you, and I know you most certainly don’t need his help. Or anyone’s, for that matter.”
I took his hand and squeezed. “That is sweet of you to say. Thank you, Floyd.”
“So you’ll stop letting him think he has a chance?”
I released his hand. “Sometimes you do go on too long.”
“I’m serious, Cleo. Don’t encourage him when you know nothing can come of it. It’ll only hurt more in the long run when it has to end.”
There were a thousand things I could have said to Floyd in response, but I kept them all to myself, except one. “There is nothing going on between Harry and me. Nothing at all.”
“Is that how you want things to remain?”
I quickened my pace.
“I’m simply trying to protect you, Cleo. My reaction is nothing compared to what my father’s will be.”
I stopped and rounded on him. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid of your father. Anyway, the point is moot. Harry and I are colleagues, and I’m growing very tired of?—”
“Reminding me that you don’t want to marry anyone. Yes, yes, I know. All right, I’ll stop.” He took the stairs two at a time to keep pace with me as I hurried. “Thank God for your self-imposed ban on marriage,” he muttered.
I’d been about to tell him I was tired of him reminding me that Harry had once been a hotel employee, which made him an unsuitable suitor in Uncle Ronald’s eyes. Instead of telling him, I changed the topic.
“Did your father mention that he asked me to find the gamekeeper’s murderer?”
“That’s not what he wants you to do,” he said tartly. “He asked you to look for definitive evidence to convince everyone the poacher did it and the Wentworths are innocent.”
“That’s almost the same thing,” I said dismissively.
“It’s not.”
“Can I ask you to do something for me at dinner, Floyd?”
He sighed. “As long as I don’t have to flirt with Mrs. Browning.”
“Why?”
“I don’t mind flirting with her when her husband’s not around. But when he sees us enjoying one another’s company, he glares daggers at me. He seems like the sort of fellow who’d challenge me to a duel, then cheat so he could win. Believe me, the ice queen isn’t worth the trouble.”
