Page 35 of Fatal By Design
“This is different,” he replied. Then, holding Thornton’s stare in the mirror’s reflection, he added, “There will be no one else from now on.”
The boyish humor vanished from the physician’s expression, replaced by a genuine smile, still boyish but in no way mischievous. “It’s about damn time. I am happy for you, truly.” Thornton’s bright smile grew fainter for a moment before he cleared his throat and got to his feet.
“I will leave you to your pining and see you at dinner,” he said, pretending that he had not just been thinking about his dead wife. “Not to worry, I know better than to say anything to anyone, especially since the lady in question is in mourning.”
“Decent of you,” Hugh said, absorbing a strike of contrition. Though he told his friend nearly everything, he could not reveal the truth about Philip. Sharing the burden with Audrey didn’t bother him, though. They were in this together.
* * *
With the deluge of rain and wind, the dining room windows were only open a mere inch to avoid blustery wet gales from whipping inside. In turn, the air in the large room grew stuffy and humid almost immediately after everyone took their seats. To make matters worse, Hugh had been placed next to Lady Veronica on his left, and her mother, Lady Kettleridge, on his right.
There were a dozen people seated at the long table. He’d been introduced to the other guests before dinner, when gathering in the drawing room, but most of them Hugh did not know, nor did he care to. The only person he was interested in was not an official guest at all.
“My sister-in-law, the dowager duchess, will be joining our party for the time being,” Genie had said, welcoming Audrey as she entered the drawing room in her simple, unadorned widow’s black.
No one had breathed a word of the events involving the two killings and Lady Redding, though every guest had learned of it by now. For Lady Kettleridge, though, the circumstances weren’t extraordinary enough to convince her of Audrey’s need to remain.
“Sir Ridley and His Grace have everything in hand. As do you, Lord Neatham, to be sure,” the woman fawned in between dainty bites of her salmon pate. “I simply don’t understand what the dowager can hope to accomplish by staying at Greenbriar. It’s quite out of the ordinary for a woman in mourning to be socializing like this.”
They were seated far from Audrey, and with any hope, the murmurs of conversation concealed Lady Kettleridge’s voice. Then again, the woman’s pitch could likely be heard by servants in the kitchens.
“I would hardly describe her as socializing,” Veronica replied to her mother. Hugh had a moment of appreciation for her. It quickly wilted. “She is dejected, can’t you see? Her yellow, sickly pallor is evidence of it. She would have been better served having a tray sent to her room. I can barely touch a morsel myself, she is so miserable. Do you not agree, Lord Neatham?”
Hugh pinned his lips against a laugh. Audrey’s widow’s black certainly stood out among the colorful gowns worn by the other ladies. An even mix of ages and society ranks, he noted. But as she turned an ear toward Mr. Filmore, a prosperous merchant with connections to Henley and his silver venture, Hugh did not think she looked miserable.
“On the contrary, she appears to be enduring a difficult situation with admirable grace,” he replied, lifting his glass of wine.
“Your charitable words do you credit, my lord,” Lady Kettleridge said, leaning toward his arm. He resisted the urge to sit back.
“Indeed,” Veronica murmured.
Her glossy chestnut hair, heart-shaped face, and dark brown eyes fringed with thick lashes secured her beauty, but it was her mouth that Hugh imagined men would find the most tempting. Wide and generous, her lips curved into a perfect cupid’s bow. She employed those lips to their fullest effect right then, aware that they were a prime asset.
“Her Grace is fortunate to have your expertise in the matter. She has endured so much lately. This tragedy direct on the heels of the one that stole away her husband. It is terribly unfair. And to not have any children to take comfort in,” she said with a sad shake of her head. Then, as if rallying, “But that is not her fault, is it? It is nature’s way, and who are we to judge?”
Lady Kettleridge made a nod of agreement, and Hugh attempted to let the comment pass. Veronica, along with the rest of society, was under the impression that Audrey was barren. With no heir after the nearly four years her marriage had lasted, it was the obvious deduction.
He glanced down the table and caught Audrey looking at him. She averted her eyes quickly. He’d also caught her assessing Veronica during the soup course, and then again during the salad and cheese course. Rumors of his interest in the debutante had brought out an unexpected envy in her, but surely now she could trust his devotion to her was firm?
“I know you did not wish to say earlier in the drawing room when everyone hounded you with questions, but as we have grown so close, my lord, do tell us—have you narrowed in on a suspect in the case of the murders and disappearance?” Lady Kettleridge asked with the same fervor the other guests had shown before dinner. He had stayed close-lipped then and didn’t plan to divulge anything now either.
“We are making strides,” he replied vaguely.
“We?” Veronica said. “You do not refer to the dowager duchess, I hope?”
He took another bracing gulp of wine and after swallowing answered, “That is who I refer to, yes. Her Grace has proved to have a keen mind when it comes to matters like these.”
This left the two ladies speechless for a moment. Then, Lady Kettleridge twittered and tapped him on the forearm. “Oh! How you make me laugh, my lord!”
Veronica, however, did not follow her mother’s exuberant reaction. “How curious that Her Grace has had the misfortune to be involved in quite a few predicaments requiring your assistance.” The young lady’s eyes shifted smoothly to view the other end of the table, where the topic of their conversation sat, politely listening to Mr. Filmore. Veronica’s veiled accusation—that Audrey was somehow fabricating trouble simply to find a reason to be at his side—was as tedious as it was ludicrous.
He found he couldn’t formulate a reply that would not bite as severely as Veronica just had while glaring at Audrey. He hadn’t seen it before while dining with the lady and her family at Sir Gabriel’s, but he did now: Lord Kettleridge’s intent to betroth his daughter to Hugh was clearly not justKettleridge’sobjective.
He sighed. He would need to speak plainly to the man.
“I do hope this rain clears,” Lady Kettleridge said a few moments later after an awkward pause. “Your Grace,” she called to their hostess, at the head of the table. “You will still hold the regatta tomorrow if the rain dries, I hope?”
“Yes, of course,” Genie replied with a cautious glance toward Audrey and Fournier. “We must continue on for now, I think. It would be good sport.”
