Page 45 of Fatal By Design
“But for now,” she went on, a glimmer of her energy returning. “I plan to reach my majority in less than two years and access my dowry.”
“And what will you do with it?” Audrey asked, truly curious. A woman making her own way in the world would be no easy feat. And if Michael did not approve of her plan, he could make it difficult for her to take control of her own fortune.
Cassie shrugged, this time believably. “I don’t know just yet. Perhaps I will travel the Continent. Become an artist.”
“You hate painting.”
Cassie laughed. “I do, don’t I? Well then, I’ll try sculpture.”
Now this sounded more like the Cassie that Audrey knew. Light and bubbly, full of life. Perhaps William Knowlton had not been the one to capture Cassie’s heart, but Audrey hoped that she would not close herself off to the possibility for love.
“You will think of something, and whatever it is, I hope it fulfills you,” she said, bringing her glass of ratafia to her lips. At the same time, she looked to the dock, where Lady Kettleridge, Mrs. Stewart, Mrs. Filmore, and Genie all gathered. A footman rowing George and his nursemaid had nearly reached the dock too.
Audrey lowered her glass. One of the boats the ladies had taken was now several yards into a return crossing to the opposite shore, and at the oars was Mr. Henley. Veronica sat opposite him, her mother’s parasol shielding her from the sun.
“Poor girl is feeling a bit faint from the race,” Lady Kettleridge exclaimed, her voice carrying as she and Mrs. Filmore ambled toward the awning.
Cassie snorted softly. “I can’t understand why. She only worked her jaw.”
Audrey kept her eyes on Mr. Henley’s back. He would have heard all there was to tell about the murders and Millie’s disappearance by now. Perhaps he was simply escorting a wilting young lady back to the main house. But Audrey’s instinct argued against it. She stood, setting down her glass. “Cassie, I think I’ll return to the house as well, to change out of this damp gown. Would you like to join me?”
“Gracious, yes. Before the squawking ladies descend. Hurry.”
Audrey and Cassie made their way to the dock, Sir falling in beside them, ready to assist. No doubt at Hugh’s instruction.
“Sir, how are your arms feeling?”
The boy frowned. “My arms?”
“I’m sorry to say mine have turned to aspic. Can you take us across the lake?”
“Sure thing, duchess. So long as I don’t dump myself in. Can’t swim.” His attention jumped to the boat bearing Mr. Henley and Veronica to shore. Mindful of Cassie’s presence, the boy said nothing, but he met Audrey’s eyes and arched a brow, jutting his chin toward the boat halfway across the lake. Audrey nodded, grateful for his intellect and candor.
Whatever Mr. Henley was up to, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight.
ChapterSixteen
There was something curiously lacking at Pyke-on-Wending. Though twice the size of Moorsly, as Hugh rode through the main roads, he noted the quiet of the streets and surrounding cottages. With signs naming taverns, a blacksmith and wheelwright, a haberdasher and grocer, and several other shops, he would have expected more people out and about, more activity and enterprise. He held his tongue, observing the sleepy surroundings as he, Thornton, and Fournier carried on north of the village, to where a large sawmill perched on the River Wending. Here as well there was little sign of industry.
“Montague is landowner here?” Hugh asked as Fournier peered at the mill. The moss-covered water wheel looked as if it had been still for some time.
“Yes. I had not realized the extent of its decline.”
“What have you heard?” Thornton asked.
Like Hugh and Fournier, he’d discarded his coat in the oppressive heat and folded it into his saddle bag. His medical satchel had been stored there as well, brought out of precaution.
“It’s been rumored the marquess’s parsimonious manner had started to have an impact,” the duke replied, gesturing to the mill as they passed it. “This place was once bustling, every cottage filled with workers, for the mill, the manor house, the shops.”
Landowners were charged with keeping up the villages that built up on their estates; that meant investing in repairs, in new industry, and in the laborers and families making it their home. If neglected, the villagers would move on and the village itself would decay.
“Either Montague doesn’t care to keep the place up, or he doesn’t have the funds to do so,” Hugh said, his mind turning again to the investment venture of Henley’s. Was it a way to bolster the family coffers? And why should Henley care, as he was not heir?
“Well we certainly can’t ask him, as the marquess is not in residence,” Fournier said. His attitude on their outing had been consistent: he thought it a waste of time.
The duke had not been eager to join them. So much so that he had suggested riding out after the regatta. But Hugh, despising the feeling of inertia, had argued against it, and Fournier had relented, though not without grumbling. For all of his differences from Philip, Michael was similarly unsmiling and stern.
Hugh still couldn’t quite grasp the enormous certitude Philip must have possessed to do what he had. To abandon his entire life in favor of something unknown and precarious took conviction. Anger still seethed within him when he thought of how selfish the duke had been to leave Audrey to continue with the farce and keep his secret, all on her own. At the same time, if Philip had not made that decision, Hugh and Audrey would still be where they’d been before. Unable to love anyone else, and yet unable to love each other. Another state of inertia he had grown frustrated with.
