Page 110 of The Texan Duke
She made her way to the kitchen for a restorative cup of tea before going to the roof.
“Has Lara developed an affinity for biscuits?” she asked Addy.
“Biscuits? No, she’s not been eating much, poor thing. She’s not had an appetite at all for nearly a month now.”
Elsbeth nodded. Someone might say that the uncertainty about the future had caused Lara’s appetite to dwindle. Others might suggest that it was because she was with child. Three maids had come down with the same symptoms in the past year, all of them becoming mothers.
She sat stirring her tea, thinking about everything that had happened since Connor’s arrival.
Someone had shot at him. Not poachers. Someone had tried to cosh him with a statue. Had the statue falling the night he arrived been an early attempt? If so, it had been poorly timed. Perhaps the accident had only given someone an idea, one that had been executed today.
But who had done it?
She didn’t believe that she was the object of the attempts. No, someone had tried to harm Connor.
Felix was an obnoxious sort, always attempting to puff himself up in the eyes of his wife’s family. No doubt because he owed his living to them. Nearly everything he owned was because of the McCraights.
Was Lara with child? Had learning he was about to be a father made Felix murderous?
The ball to welcome Connor to the clan was to be held tomorrow. Was Felix planning something even more hideous then?
Or was she completely wrong?
She took a sip of her cooling tea and watched Addy bustling about the kitchen, expertly directing maids and footmen like a general going into battle. Addy was the sweetest woman and, next to Mrs. Ferguson, her closest friend at Bealadair. Yet she couldn’t tell either woman what she suspected. It wasn’t fair to lay such a burden on them when they believed that both incidents were simply accidents.
No, the only person she could go to was the one person she should avoid: Connor.
She nodded in parting to Addy and went back to the library. It was empty. So was Connor’s suite, the information brought to her by a breathless maid.
“He’s not there, Miss Elsbeth. Would you like me to take him a note?”
“No, Bettany, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I’ll see him later. Thank you.”
She dismissed the maid, grabbed her cloak from the foyer, and mounted the steps to the upper floor and the entrance to the roof.
Connor’s conversation had gone just as he’d wanted. He’d ended the meeting with a handshake and a taste of Scottish whiskey. He made a mental note to take a few crates of the stuff back to Texas before going in search for Elsbeth.
It was Nancy who told him where Elsbeth had last been seen. When he asked the girl if she would direct him, she smiled a gap-toothed smile at him, bobbed a curtsy, and nearly raced up the steps. She looked back only once, then stopped and waited for him.
“You’ve just been injured and here I am forgetting. And that statue, Your Grace! It’s like God himself is trying to harm you.”
“I doubt I’m that despicable, Nancy,” he said, “that God himself wants to erase me.”
Her blush deepened even further. “Oh, Your Grace, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that He wanted you dead, Your Grace. I meant that sometimes God tries to get our attention, don’t you think? At least that’s what the minister says. It’s us who doesn’t pay attention. Not God.”
He just wanted to go find Elsbeth and apologize, hopefully without a lecture about God and whether God was paying attention at the moment. He sincerely hoped that God hadn’t been watching when they were in the library together. The Almighty wouldn’t be happy with him.
Nancy bobbed her third curtsy and led him to a narrow door left half-open.
“Here’s where I saw her last, Your Grace, but Miss Elsbeth could be in the kitchen by now.”
“Where does this go?” he asked, pulling the door all the way open.
“To the roof, Your Grace. There’s a terrace there where we serve summer meals. It’s too cold now, of course, but it’s quite pleasant in the warmer months.”
To the roof. He had an uncomfortable thought, wanted to banish it, but it reappeared. Yes, she was that foolish. Or brave.
“Is it locked?”
