Page 64 of Murder at the Seven Dials
Her temper showed in the jut of her chin. She paused to collect what she was going to say, but Hugh already knew he wasn’t going to like it.
“Miss Lovejoy’s earbob. I found it the night you followed me into Jewell House.”
The reckless visit had infuriated him. It was there he’d learned the Duchess of Fournier would prove to be a thorn lodged just under his skin.
“What did the earbob show you?” he asked. Then again, if an object revealed memories of the one who possessed it…
The duchess’s flushed cheeks paled. “The murderer,” she said tremulously.
Hugh tightened his jaw. “You saw his face?”
“It was shadowed, and the image was blurred, panicked. But…yes.”
Had it been anyone other than a duchess of the realm seated across from him, telling him that they could see an object’s memories, he’d have stood up and walked out. However, he’d spent too much time in her presence not to know she was firm minded and anything but fanciful.
“So, if I could access something belonging to Lady Wimbly—”
“No,” Hugh barked. He checked his voice—eyes and heads turned in their direction.
“If you think this footman is involved, you’re not to go near him,” he finished in a near hiss. “I don’t like where this is going. There are too many connections to Wimbly.”
She frowned. “The marquess or the marchioness?”
“The heir as well,” he replied. Then, because it no longer felt as enormous a secret as the one the duchess had parted with, the one he was still struggling to understand, he explained. “Miss Lovejoy was also mistress to young Augustus.”
“Auggie?”
“Do you know him?”
She peered out the window, nibbling her lower lip again, as if thinking. “No, but the ladies were speaking of him today. He’s just out of university.”
“Porter said he attended many of Miss Lovejoy’s performances. Father and son shared a lover.” His gut twisted at the thought. “Though, I don’t believe either of them was aware of it.”
“I’m curious where Auggie was the night of the murder,” she said, her eyes still hinged on the window. She seemed to be musing to herself, her fingertips tapping rhythmically on the table. They drummed to a stop. Audrey looked to him. “You could question him.”
It couldn’t be done, no matter how much he did wish to question St. John. “On what grounds? The inquiry isn’t warranted—I’ve already arrested someone for the crime, and the grand jury is sending it to the House of Lords.”
If word spread that the arresting officer was now chasing down other leads, he’d be a laughingstock. It was damaging enough that there would be talk of his meeting with the duchess at the Brown Bear. He could say she was disgruntled; that she followed him inside, begging to see her husband. He could pretend to be vexed by her persistence—it wouldn’t entirely be false. But Hugh knew his honor wouldn’t allow it.
“Then I will speak to him,” she said. “I’m certain I could find out where he is—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please stop interrupting me.”
“Please stop suggesting ludicrous situations.”
She slanted a brow at him. “What is so ludicrous about a duchess speaking to the heir of a marquessate?”
“Your very situation does—His Grace stands accused of murdering the man’s lover,” Hugh replied.
She hinged her jaw shut and took in a breath, rather than make another comment. Hopefully, she could see the wisdom in what he’d pointed out.
“Young Augustus has a penchant for the theatre?” she finally asked after a momentary silence.
“Apparently so.” He could sense another plan forming in that crafty, belligerent mind of hers.
“I could finagle a chance encounter with him at the opera. If I happen to bump into him there, he could hardly snub me so publicly.”
