Page 19 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
Lord Crabb paused and cast her a disbelieving glance. As he looked at her, the winter sun caught his eyes, making them warm and bright. They were the same colour as the sea, Jane thought absently; though she could not say this for definite, having only ever seen the sea in paintings.
"I beg you, Miss Mifford," the viscount said, as a smile tugged the corners of his generous mouth, "Please tell me the truth; you do not need to be polite for fear of hurting my feelings."
"I was not being polite," Jane protested, but another look askance from Lord Crabb forced the truth from her, "Oh, alright, I was. Just a little bit. Not everyone thinks you murdered Lord Crabb, just..."
Jane trailed off, as she struggled with how she might word her next sentence.
"Not everyone thinks it, but most people do," she finished, rather lamely.
To her surprise, the viscount threw back his head and laughed; a deep, rich sound, which made one want to laugh along with him.
"Your honesty is refreshing, Miss Mifford," the viscount said, when he had finished chuckling at her remark, "And if I might be so bold as to ask, where do you stand on the matter?"
"Why, I think you innocent, of course," Jane's tone was certain and she met the viscount's gaze with a steady one of her own.
"Why?"
For a moment, irritation fluttered in Jane's belly; she was on his side, why was he questioning her? Had inheriting a title transformed the charming Mr Bonville she had met into a brittle lord so soon?
However, when Jane glanced at him to gauge his mood, she saw that Lord Crabb appeared rather nervous as he awaited her reply. He wanted her to reassure him that her claim was true, and not based on mere manners, she realised.
"I do not know you very well," Jane began, as she struggled to think how she could best explain her belief in him, when she could barely explain it to herself, "But having met you once, I suppose that some of my belief is based merely on the fact that you do not seem like a murderer."
Lord Crabb's face fell with disappointment—though he tried to conceal it—and Jane rushed to explain herself further.
"As well as that," she continued, "There are other reasons; you did not need to kill Lord Crabb for his wealth, for I am informed you have wealth enough of your own. You appear to be quite worldly, so I think that if you had wished to kill Lord Crabb, that you would have paid someone else to do it while you stayed in London. You being in Plumpton and under Lord Crabb's roof at the time of his death made you the obvious suspect. One would have to be terribly stupid to think that a good plan—and as I have mentioned, you do not give the appearance of a terribly stupid man."
"Thank you—" the viscount began to speak, but Jane had warmed to her theme.
"Not only that," Jane added, in a rush, "But nobody liked Lord Crabb. In fact, so many people disliked him that I managed in a day to compile a list of possible suspects—and I believe I have only scratched the surface."
"My goodness," Lord Crabb paused his step and looked at her warmly, "You really do believe in my innocence."
Jane flushed, glad that he had interjected, for she had been so carried away with speaking that she might have let slip her final reason; that she thought him too handsome to be wicked enough to kill.
"Yes," Jane averted her eyes from his, suddenly shy at having revealed how often she had thought of him over the past few days, "I do."
"Thank you, Miss Mifford," the viscount replied, most formally, "I cannot tell you how much that means to me. It warms me to know that there are now two people in Plumpton who do not think me a murderer. Unfortunately, as the second person is me, I fear that there is a lot of work to be done, if I am to clear my name."
"I can help you," Jane's reply was hasty, but she hoped not overly eager. "That is, if you wish to be helped?"
"I do," his lordship smiled, "Why don't we begin by comparing our thoughts on who might be guilty? I am afraid that, as a blow-in, I do not have the same insights as you might have to the villagers."
And so, as they walked, they began to share their suspicions. Jane was rather pleased to find that the viscount's list of suspects was similar to her own; a wronged staff member, a farmer vexed by the delay with the mill's expansion—Mr Bennett, the farmer whom Nora was sweet on was mentioned particularly— and Miss Hughes.
"I too suspected Prunella," Jane confided, "Though it makes no sense to do so. She would have gained a title and wealth, had she married Lord Crabb."
"Perhaps she did not wish to marry him at all?" Lord Crabb suggested, "Maybe her father forced her into the match?"
"No," Jane shook her head, "If anything, from what I have heard, Sir Charles is relieved that there will be no wedding. Miss Hughes devised to marry Lord Crabb all by herself, and her father allowed it because she said it was what she wanted."
"How peculiar," Lord Crabb said, thoughtfully, "I would not have believed that she had acted of her own volition, unless you had told me. How sad it is to think that a girl so young, thought that her most promising path in life."
"When a man has ambition, he can go out into the world and try to realise it," Jane replied, her tone rather snippy, "A woman can have no other ambition than to marry well. She cannot try to make anything more of herself than a wife, for fear of facing scorn and ridicule. Miss Hughes chose wisely; we must not judge her choice."
Jane exhaled as she finished speaking, surprised by the passion she felt. Was her vigour inspired by sympathy for Miss Hughes, she wondered, or did it reflect more on the pity she felt for her own station in life? She was a single lady, perilously close to verging on spinsterhood; choices were few and far between. A lifetime with an as-yet-unknown man, or a lifetime with her mother—no wonder Jane was feeling prickly.
"May I ask what your ambitions for life are, Miss Mifford?"
