Page 35 of Murder in Matrimony
“It’s not her,” Amelia said aloud. Simon came closer, and she flashed him the appointment book. “I am certain.”
“We still have Lord Applegate to investigate.” Simon nodded toward the door. “We should check his study while everyone is outside.”
She agreed and replaced the appointment book, shutting the drawer.
Simon opened the door and peeked around the corner. He signaled her to follow, and she hoped he knew where he was going. One wrong turn would cost them another ten minutes in the house, for it was a large property with lots of clutter—in other words, obstacles—for them to navigate. At one point, Amelia almost tripped over what she could only assume wasmeant to be a door stopper. It was a cast-iron cheetah as big as a log. It sent her sailing into Simon’s solid back, and they both shared a chuckle when they were safely inside the study.
At least Amelia hoped it was the study. Dark velvet curtains didn’t allow much light to enter through the double windows behind the desk. But it smelled of cigars and something else, a lighter floral fragrance that was less masculine. Probably a bouquet of flowers Lady Applegate had brought in from her garden. She could have sworn she detected the scent of lilies.
“So stealthy, Amelia,” Simon jested. “Luckily I caught you before the entire house was alerted to our location.”
She swatted his arm. “You did not see the size of that cheetah. It was as high as my knee.”
“One might think it bit you by your reaction.” A rustling noise came from behind the tufted couch, putting an end to their banter, and Simon slid her behind him. “Is someone there?”
Silence was his answer.
He turned around to Amelia, holding a finger to his lips.
She nodded, willing her heart to stop thudding. If they were found by a member of society, they would need to explain their presence, not to mention their solitariness. It wouldn’t take long for word to spread about their indiscretion at a party the size of the Applegates’.
Quickly, he strode to the couch and peered over it.
Even in the low light, Amelia could see his face transform into a thousand emotions: surprise, angst, then anger.
“You!” he spat.
“Good afternoon, brother.” Marielle stood and dusted off her dress, spotting Amelia. “Oh, Lady Amesbury.”
“Lady Marielle?” Amelia was so surprised that she could think of nothing else to say.
Simon pointed a finger at Lord Traber. “What in the hell are you doing in here alone with my sister?”
Lord Traber popped up from the floor, his cravat untied. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed, searching for something to say. “I … which is to say, we … were …” He looked to Marielle.
Marielle nodded encouragingly, but Lord Traber didn’t continue.
“Looking for that book, I imagine,” Amelia provided. “A field guide to birding in Surrey Hills.” She turned to Simon. “Lord Traber is traveling there in a few weeks, and Lord Applegate is a great enthusiast. They spoke of it earlier.”
“Oh yes!” Lord Traber quickly agreed. “I am going to Surrey Hills.”
“And Lord Applegate loves birds,” Marielle added.
Both statements were true. It was why Amelia put the two together off the top of her head. Lord Applegate’s narrow bookshelf was filled with several books. She just hoped one of them was on birding since he proclaimed to be an amateur ornithologist.
“Birds, hmm.” Simon’s voice was as sharp as the blade of a knife. “I don’t care if he writes for Baedekers! You are not to be alone with my sister—ever.”
“They are not alone,” tried Amelia. “After all, we are here.”
Simon pointed a finger at Lord Traber’s chest. “I imagine it’s rather hard to find a book behind the sofa, in the dark.”
“We hid, naturally, when we heard a sound,” Marielle explained. “I did not expect it to be you. Which reminds me—what are you doing in here?” She lowered her wide eyelids at Simon.
He matched the fierce glare. “Iam the one asking the questions.”
“Checking on you, of course.” Amelia ignored both of them, walking over to the heavy drape and yanking it open several inches. “There. Now we can see well enough to find that book.” But she wasn’t looking at the bookshelf; she was looking down at the desk, which was directly in front of the window. Unlike his wife’s desk, it was neat and clear of clutter. Perhaps this was his refuge from his wife’s ever-expanding menagerie.
Now that Amelia could see properly, she noted that the room was austere when compared with the rest of the house. A table, bookshelf, sofa, chair, and desk—simple. She tried the center drawer, but it was locked.
