Page 50 of Murder in Matrimony
Winifred’s dimple showed. “If they are as good as Madge, I know it will be a fine wedding.”
Amelia pretended to clean out her ears. “Madge good? Are you certain we’re speaking about the same person?”
Winifred laughed. “Sheisgood, very good to me.” A little furrow crept up on her brow. “I am surprised she’s getting married, though. She seemed to enjoy managing the stables at the Feathered Nest too much to ever leave it.”
Amelia was taken aback by the comment. “She enjoyed it very much, but I suppose love changes people, in a way.”
“Even Madge?” Winifred shrugged. “If you say so.”
The point bothered Amelia more than she cared to admit. At one time, Amelia would have completely agreed with Winifred, but that was a time before Captain Fitz. Now that they were engaged, Amelia understood her desires had changed. The same change had occurred in Amelia when Simon had entered her life. Her love did not lessen; it grew. Madge didn’t love her life in Somerset any less; she loved Captain Fitz more. At least she hoped that was the case.
“Speaking of the wedding, I am going to the church to make final arrangements. The Hamsteds will be here any minute.”
Winifred stood up. “Is Mrs. Hamsted arranging the flowers? If so, I’d like tiny pink roses for the braid at my crown.”
“Tiny pink roses it will be then.” Amelia tried to muss Winifred’s hair, but the girl was too quick.
“Don’t forget,” Winifred instructed as they parted at the steps.
“Never.” The promise was easily kept as Kitty’s driver approached the next moment and Amelia entered the carriage. After greeting Oliver and Simon, Amelia told Kitty of Winifred’s wishes, and she promptly agreed, adding that Winifred looked best in pink.
“I, myself, am wearing yellow, but that is only because it is my last chance to don my chiffon before the change in seasons.”
Oliver grasped her gloved hand. “I love your yellow chiffon.”
“I know you do,” Kitty answered with a quiet giggle.
Simon looked at Amelia and rolled his eyes. She would have done the same if she didn’t find their admiration for each other a little bit adorable.
“What are you wearing?” Kitty asked Amelia.
“Madge prefers light blue, and all her bridesmaid sisters will be wearing it. I confess I’ve been too preoccupied to think much of her selection.”
“Really, Amelia.” Kitty censured her with a look. “Fashion waits for no one—even murderers. The day will come, and you will be unprepared.”
“I assure you it will be fine.” Amelia enjoyed a nice dress as much as any woman, but it was hardly the time to discussfashion. All Saints on Margaret Street was in view, and she dropped the subject. “Now, remember the plan. Lord Bainbridge and I will keep Penroy busy. Kitty will keep watch on the curate in the nave. And you will slip into the vicarage and examine the contents of the fireplace. Are we all agreed?”
Three heads nodded back at her.
“If I am in danger of detection, please give a whistle.” Seeing their surprised looks, Oliver continued, “Any tune is fine to alert me. I do not require more than a few notes.”
“What of a cough?” asked Simon.
Oliver shook his head. “Anyone might cough accidentally.”
“I am not an excellent whistler.” Simon sniffed.
The footman opened the door, and Amelia whispered, “For heaven’s sake, I’ll whistle for Lord Bainbridge. If you are in danger, Mr. Hamsted, you will know it. I’ll make certain.”
Amelia took the footman’s hand and descended the newly placed steps. The church was quiet, a respite amid the bustling streets. Morning service was finished, and only a few stray beams of sunlight hung in the church. It was hard to imagine a murder had been committed so near this place of peace. Yet it had and against one of its foremost members. She still couldn’t reconcile herself to it.
Mr. Penroy was talking to the curate but immediately dropped the conversation when he saw the group enter. Although he smiled briefly, his brown eyes remained as dull as dust on hard-to-reach furniture, and the effect was one of judgment and pride. “Lady Amesbury, I must owe the pleasure of such a visit to the nuptials of your sister.”
“Good day, Mr. Penroy. Indeed, you do.” Amelia motioned to her friends. “This is Lord Bainbridge, and he and I are principal bridesmaid and groomsman, and Mrs. Hamsted is assisting with the flowers. We thought to all come at once so as not to disrupt you more than necessary.”
“Come any time.” The words were welcoming, but Mr. Penroy’s stance was not. He hadn’t made a move in their direction, and they were forced to approach him. “Mr. Dougal would be pleased to assist you.”
Mr. Dougal appeared to have enough to keep him busy, fordespite it being early afternoon, his forehead was wet with perspiration, and his shirt collar clung to his thick neck. Yet he nodded cheerfully, his fair complexion, which was prone to flush, giving him an air of willingness. “Certainly, I would.”
