Page 17 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Freddie stilled; he had been so fixated on believing Mr Fitzgibbons to be guilty, that he had not considered that someone else might have had reason to kill Lady Hardthistle. A foolish assumption, for she had been a truly terrible woman when she lived.
"My sisters have some experience with solving mysterious murders," Miss Mifford continued, oblivious to Freddie's surprise, "And they always say that there are only ever two reasons for murder; money or lust."
"We can safely rule out the latter," Freddie snorted, forgetting for a moment that he was in the presence of a lady.
"If that is the case," Miss Mifford flushed again, delighting Freddie once more, "Then we can say that Sir Cadogan is our prime suspect. He had the motive; we just need to discover if he had the means. I will try to subtly question the other guests who attended Lady Albermay's ball, to see if they can recall seeing him around the time she was murdered."
"And I shall question the man himself," Freddie added, "Once I return from Faversham; Lady Hardthistle is to be buried tomorrow and her will read, and my presence is required for both."
"Then we shall exchange notes upon your return," Miss Mifford decided, and Freddie found himself faintly thrilled that he and Miss Mifford now had a shared interest. Granted, it was usually customary for courting couples to find commonality in their enjoyment of literature or the arts, but Freddie would take whatever olive-branch Miss Mifford offered.
For hewascourting her, he realised with a slight start. His interest in helping her had not sprung from a well of altruistic intentions, but rather self-interest. Freddie found Miss Mifford charmingly beautiful, irritatingly immune to his charms, and utterly beguiling. As the only other person to have ever beguiled him so completely was himself, Freddie knew that he was on to a winner--or a wife.
He just needed to convince Miss Mifford to view him in a similarly flattering light.
The music came to an end, and the usual scramble to trade places with those on the dancefloor ensued. Freddie took Miss Mifford's hand and led her to the centre of the floor--where they could best be viewed and admired--and they were then joined by three other couples for a French cotillion. The dance was a lively one, with much skipping, hopping, and changing of partners, and Freddie could not help but resent each gentleman he was forced to hand Miss Mifford off to.
Freddie's attention was so taken by Miss Mifford, that he did not realise their dancing had attracted so much notice until the music came to an end.
"Look how many people are staring," Miss Mifford whispered, a little breathlessly, as she took Freddie's proffered arm, "Thank you, my lord; no one can doubt your support now."
"Er, ye," Freddie replied stupidly, still a little dazed by her.
The whole room was indeed staring at them, and as Freddie led Miss Mifford back to her clan, he felt dozens of pairs of eyes follow them. He puffed out his chest, for both the audience and Miss Mifford's benefit, and handed her back to her family with a flourishing bow.
"Your servant, Miss Mifford," Freddie said, and as he rose to a stand and impulsive impishness came over him, and he took her hand and kissed the back of it.
It was Miss Mifford's turn to look a bit dazed, and her blue eyes met Freddie's in a flash of confusion and--what Freddie hoped to be--desire.
"Until we meet again," Freddie said, and with a nod to the duke, duchess, and Lord and Lady Crabb, he took his leave.
He could still feel the eyes of the crowd upon him as he crossed the room, and several fellows tried to catch his attention, but Freddie paid them no heed. He could not remain in the room without being near Miss Mifford, and as his presence--in his state of almost-mourning--was already somewhat questionable, he did not wish to bring further censure on her by behaving in a scandalous manner.
There would be other balls, though, he consoled himself. Other balls in which Freddie might dance attendance on Miss Mifford, claim her hand for the waltz, and peacock about her so that every young-blood within a three-mile radius might know to keep away lest they wished to earn his ire.
But, first, he had a murder to solve.
Following the death of her husband, Lady Hardthistle had taken up residence on a small estate in Faversham, called Nettlebank. The house itself was not much to look at--an old, rambling cottage from the Tudor period--but the grounds surrounding it housed the finest of stables, which, in turn, housed some of England's most pedigree bloodstock.
The worth of Lady Hardthistle's stable was difficult for even Freddie--a keen horseman--to quantify, though one might be able to judge its value by the number of distant relatives who had slithered out of the woodwork for the funeral.
"Really going to miss the old girl," Mr Lorcan Bubarry commented, as the group of men who had attended the burial made their way from the small village church back to Nettlebank.
"Were you close?" Freddie raised a brow, as he struggled to hide his surprise.
"Not physically," Bubarry cleared his throat, "Or even emotionally, but spiritually we shared a love of the flat that I am certain her ladyship appreciated, in her own way."
Mr Bubarry was obviously hoping that Lady Hardthistle's appreciation of their shared love of the flat, might be reflected in her will.
"Not to speak ill of the dead," Lord Hardthistle, the nephew who had inherited the title when the former baron had passed and Freddie's maternal cousin, interrupted, "But I for one won't miss the old bag. She funnelled most of the estate's funds into creating these stables, so when it came time for me to inherit, I received little more than the title and Hardthistle House."
"Outrageous," Mr Bubarry breathed, though Freddie himself could not see the outrage in a woman securing her financial future by making certain the stables she had built were not entailed for another's benefit.
A few souls populated the drawing room of Nettlebank Cottage when they returned, including a woman with such similar bearing to Lady Hardthistle, that Freddie did a double take.
"Lord Chambers," the stout, sour-faced woman called him over, when she spotted him glancing her way, and Freddie was forced to join her.
"Mrs Canards," the woman offered both her name and hand to Freddie.
