Page 1 of Death at Fournier Downs
ChapterOne
Fournier Downs, Hertfordshire
August 1819
The chirping of crickets was a demented symphony, unending and shrill. If Audrey listened to their song too intently, the sound would drive her to insanity. So, she made sure to keep up a one-sided conversation with Fortuna, her dappled gray mare, as she led her through the overgrown rye grassland. The fields were thick with wild carrot, red campion, and purple harebell, and the heat brought out a sweet, peppery scent from the soil. It made her think of vibrant sunrises, thunderstorms, and puffy white clouds trimmed by slate gray skies. Audrey breathed it in and sighed.
“I wish there were some way to bottle that smell and transport it to London,” she said to Fortuna as the mare nosed a clump of meadowsweet and tore up the roots. She snorted and shook her white mane.
“I know, I know, you don’t want to talk about the end of summer, do you?” Audrey brought the horse to a stop along the matted deer path and let her munch on another few sprigs of meadowsweet. “Neither do I.”
She and her husband Philip, the Duke of Fournier, had arrived at their country estate at the beginning of May and had been lazing about for the whole of the summer. At first, their respite had seemed doomed. Only a few weeks after their arrival, Philip had taken to his bed with a nasty malaise. Headaches, fever, coughing; he had been miserable for weeks. So much so that his younger sister, Cassandra, who had been with Philip’s brother Michael and his wife Genie at a house party in Kent, had decided to travel to Fournier House and help Audrey care for him.
Cassie was supposed to have had a summer filled with routs and house parties, and even a trip to Cumbria, all in preparation for her first season as a debutante—something Cassie had been excited about for as long as Audrey could remember.
However, she’d given it all up to stay at Fournier House with Philip. Audrey suspected it wasn’t just out of fear for his health either.
They had come so close to losing him in April, when he’d been accused of murdering an opera singer. Found at the scene, covered in the dead woman’s blood, the duke appeared to be guilty. Audrey, however, hadn’t believed it, and for good reason. Against the wishes of the Bow Street officer who had arrested Philip, she launched her own investigation. Using her irregular—if oftentimes convenient—ability to see the memories that clung to objects, she had tracked down answers in the case, item by item. From the opera singer’s earbob to an opium locket used to gain entry to a gambling hell to a pocket watch, and even a pair of Philip’s cuff links.
Principal Officer Hugh Marsden had eventually realized the truth and helped her to close in on the real killer. But while exoneration had saved Philip’s hide, his reputation had been badly damaged—as was Audrey’s. Decamping to Fournier Downs, the duke’s expansive estate in Hertfordshire, had been an easy decision to make.
It had not, however, lived up to expectations.
The Duchess of Fournier dismounted into the grasses and let Fortuna amble off to munch more flowers. She crouched to pick a few sprigs of red campion, with which she’d weave into the horse’s bridle. Maybe she would press some flowers to take with her to London. She might even attempt to arrange a vase back at the house and paint, though she’d never had much in the way of artistic talent. But it would at least keep her busy.
As much as she dreaded returning to London and seeing her old acquaintances, she also didn’t think she could take much more of this solitude in the countryside. The boredom of it was slowly driving her mad. Cassie was showing signs of distress too. Her usual bubbly and bright demeanor had faded over the last few weeks.
The young woman had lived with Philip’s great aunt Hestia in Scotland since their mother’s death. With two of her older brothers being newly married, and a third, Tobias, finishing up at Cambridge, Edinburgh had been the best place for her. But now, she was ready to begin looking for a husband of her own. Michael and Genie were to take her in for the Little Season in the fall, even with Genie about to enter confinement for her first child. Still, they had agreed it would be better for Cassie to be hosted by Michael, rather than Philip. All due to the murder scandal, of course.
A few months in the countryside would not be long enough to cure the taint of disgrace, even if to Audrey it felt as though they were suspended in time here, protected and absolved.
A dash of motion across the field caught her attention as she languidly braided the stems of the flowers she’d picked. She squinted against the sunlight. The sky was nearly cloudless, leaving the sun unimpeded. Heat beat down upon her shoulders, and a fine sweat had built up on her skin, under her linen riding habit. Ahead, the field sloped toward a stone wall bordered by tall alders and an open gate that led into a stretch of woodland. A woman in a white dress popped in and out of view as she ran through the trees. She passed the mouth of the stone wall, giving Audrey a better view. Her bright red hair was unmistakable—it was her friend Charlotte, the Countess of Bainbury.
What in the world was she doing all the way out here, on Fournier Downs parkland?
“Charlotte!” Audrey shouted, but the countess gave no indication of hearing her. She kept running, past the gate and into the woodland.
Audrey lifted the hem of her voluminous skirts and called to Fortuna. The mare, of course, was all too happy to ignore her, favoring instead a patch of meadowsweet across the field. Grinding her teeth in annoyance, she stalked across the field, all the while wondering what had brought Charlotte out here. And why should she be running?
Lord Bainbury’s estate, Bainbury Park, was several miles away. It did not even border the Fournier Downs parkland. Rather, it lay beyond their neighboring estate, Haverfield—Audrey’s own childhood country estate.
Multiple walking paths and riding trails crisscrossed throughout all the countryside here, so she supposed it would be possible to reach Fournier Downs on foot. But it was a great distance, with miles upon miles of meandering paths. And Charlotte had never been overly fond of exhausting herself in nature.
Audrey clicked her tongue to Fortuna and grasped her traces at last. Mounting her horse, she then led her toward the gate. Something about her friend’s running did not sit well. To be all the way out here, alone, and seemingly in a panic… Audrey gave Fortuna’s ribs a gentle press with her heels and increased her pace.
It felt good to have a destination for once. With nothing to do and hardly anyone to see, the days at Fournier House had passed in timeless ease. Audrey woke each morning wondering how she might be able to fill the day that lay ahead. Philip spent most of his time in his study, poring over estate ledgers and plans, while Cassie played the pianoforte or painted—withtrueartistic aptitude—and Audrey either read or took Fortuna out onto the downs for hours on end. Bringing a footman with her would have been more proper, but Audrey liked to be alone. She’d find a good spot to spread a blanket in the grass and either nap or read while Fortuna grazed nearby, her tail whipping at persistent flies. Sometimes Cassie joined her, but even though they liked each other immensely, she and Audrey didn’t have much to converse about beyond the one thing they had in common: Philip. Cassie’s conversation had grown thin the last few weeks, and Audrey supposed hers had as well. The imminent return to London seemed to be weighing down on the three of them like the building pressure of a wicked summer storm.
She reached the gate and turned left, in the direction Charlotte had taken. The light coming through the boughs of the trees fell in dappled sweeps of gold and slate shadow, and the cooler air was an instant relief. There was no sign of Charlotte, though she had been moving quite quickly and several minutes had passed by the time Audrey finally mounted Fortuna and started to follow. The countess could also be obscured by the thick stands of trees filling this part of the forest.
“Charlotte!” Her voice carried, and a few birds in the limbs above scattered. Fortuna huffed impatiently as Audrey held the horse still and listened. Waiting. But again, there was no response from her friend.
She and Charlotte had been acquaintances when they were younger. Charlotte, the only daughter of the Viscount and Viscountess Prescott, had spent her summers here in Hertfordshire at Greely Park, the viscount’s country home near Low Heath. Though they would often see each other at gatherings and social outings, it wasn’t until after Audrey broke her own betrothal to Lord Bainbury in order to marry Philip, and Charlotte agreed to marry the older earl instead, that they became closer friends. At first, the news that Charlotte would wed Bainbury had astonished Audrey. There were at least twenty years between them, and the earl had already lost two wives. The first to a wasting disease, and the second to a tragic suicide. Her maid found her dead in bed one morning, a muff pistol in her hand.
But then, Audrey had begun to understand Charlotte’s position. She’d felt sorry for her, knowing she’d likely had little say in whether she married the earl or not. Audrey herself had been forced into the betrothal, which had been arranged by her mother and her father’s successor—her uncle, Lord Edgerton. However, upon seeing Charlotte for the first time after the wedding, her friend had seemed content.
“We don’t have a love match like you and Philip have,” she’d admitted to Audrey once. “But I am quite satisfied with my situation.”
For some reason, Audrey always felt guilty when people spoke of her “love match” with Philip. He’d whisked in at the eleventh hour, stealing Audrey from Bainbury with all the flare of a man in love. But it hadn’t been love between her and Philip; it had been a safe agreement between longtime friends.
