Page 32 of Fatal By Design
“This is strange indeed,” he muttered, pressing down a brow again. Audrey sighed.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “There is no point denying it—I know when something is bothering you.”
He began to pace. “The first, is the fact that there has been no ransom note. No letter of demand at all, as what is usual in a kidnapping situation. Now, after hearing about Cartwright, however, I begin to feel less guilty about an earlier theory.”
“What theory is that?” Audrey asked, growing alarmed. Because she thought she knew exactly where Michael’s mind was heading.
“That she has left of her own accord. Perhaps something went awry, and her driver and maid were caught in some violence. But if Lady Redding was trying to escape Lord Cartwright—”
“She had no reason to escape him! All she had to do was reject him if she didn’t wish to marry him,” Audrey argued. “Besides, he said they had agreed to marry and to tell Lord Edgerton and my mother.”
“We have no evidence of Millie’s responses to Cartwright,” Hugh reminded her. She sealed her lips and seared him with a glare.
“Except the obvious fact that she read his letters so much she wore the paper thin with her fingers,” she pointed out.
Hugh held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying I don’t believe Cartwright. But your sister did hide his letters and lied to her staff that she was on her way to Haverfield when she came in this direction instead. She was keeping a secret.”
A secret her maid, Celine, had betrayed, according to the vision Audrey had while holding the cross pendant.
“But beyond that theory, which I admit is thin,” Michael went on, severing Audrey’s glare at Hugh, “a second concern revolves around a Montague connection. It could be nothing, but after the two of you left for Reddingate, Kettleridge arrived. He and Westbrook began discussing a speculation. Silver mining in Brazil.”
Hugh groaned. “Speculation. Yet another way to gamble away a fortune.”
This time, Michael didn’t refute Hugh’s skepticism. “I’ve no appetite for it myself, but Kettleridge and Westbrook are certainly game. They’re hoping to find more investors in the coming weeks. I’ve told all my guests to be on their guard,” he added with a none-too-serious grin.
Wealthy men were often invited to pour their money into one venture or another, on the hope that their returns would far surpass their investment. The other day, as Audrey was about to leave Greenbriar, Genie said that there would be much talk of business among the men for the next fortnight.
“Are you concerned about this speculation?” she asked Michael.
He shook his head. “Not that. It’s a comment Westbrook made. That perhaps they should invite wealthy widows to buy shares.”
“Did he mention Lady Redding?” Hugh asked.
“Not by name, but Kettleridge has let on that Westbrook is less than flush since a bad investment last year. An import of Indian silk, I think it was. The ship sunk and the cargo was lost.”
Connecting threads strummed through Audrey. Cartwright had been in India until recently.
“An East India ship?” Hugh asked, clearly making the same connection.
“Not that I’m aware. Westbrook didn’t like the idea of inviting widows to partake in Henley’s speculation, but it’s common knowledge that Lady Redding was left a significant fortune. And that she has yet to remarry.”
Another thread pulled taut in Audrey mind. “Henley, did you say?”
“Yes, this whole thing is Mr. Henley’s venture.”
“And Mr. Robert Henley is Montague’s other grandson.” Audrey recalled the man’s name from their conversation with Lord Cartwright the day before, when speaking at her family plot.
Hugh came back from the window, his interest sharpened. “Is Mr. Henley one of your guests?”
“No, he gave his regrets,” he replied as he started toward the study door. “But it is a strange coincidence, is it not, that Cartwright should turn up after all these years just as Henley is putting together this venture.”
Without saying it outright, Michael was suggesting Lord Cartwright had only come back to Millie now because of her fortune, and her potential investing power. However, Lord Cartwright had said he’d made his own fortune in India. Again, that was just his claim. Whether it was true or not remained unknown.
“I never trust coincidences,” Hugh said darkly.
Michael only crinkled his brow, as if in agreement. “I will see you at dinner,” he said, then departed.
The mantel clock showed the hour nearing toward seven. Audrey did need to bathe before joining the others, and she also needed some time to pick apart and then piece together everything Michael had imparted. One piece, however, finally began to make sense.
