Page 103 of The Mistletoe Countess
“But Brandon, you didn’t agree with his dismissal?” This from Grace. “What was it?”
“The young doctor wanted to investigate further.” Brandon shifted in his chair. “He felt something was amiss. But Lady Astley strictly opposed anything hinting toward a scandal. I deferred to her, of course, but I see now that I should have approached you, my lord.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Frederick sat in the chair opposite the older gentleman and leaned forward. “I could have sought clarification as well, and I didn’t.” His gaze met Grace’s. “I think we need to meet with this Dr. Ross before we make any other inquiries.”
Her smile slid from one rosy cheek to the other. “My dear Lord Astley, you are thinking like a sleuth.”
“With the house party in two days and Mr. Piper’s arrival in a few hours, I think we shouldn’t confront your mother until we return.” Grace stood near the window in their sitting room, watching her husband pace the floor, his clothes disheveled, his face drawn.
Oh how difficult all this information must be for him to consider.
“We need answers, Grace.”
“But we also need as much proof as we can obtain to take into our confrontation with her.” She caught his hand as he paced past her. “I have an idea.”
He sighed but gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I have my dress fitting in Edensbury tomorrow morning.”
He turned fully to face her. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten.” Silence shrouded them, binding them more tightly together. Her family lived across the sea. His family were possible criminals. They only had each other. “And what is this idea of yours?”
She tugged him down to the window seat beside her. “I don’t think your mother killed her son. Perhaps, she knew about it—”
“Why the flower, Grace?”
Grace sifted through her inventory of fictional options involving some sort of hideous corruption, perhaps from Poe or Gaboriau. “Blackmail?”
“And what sin could Celia hold over my mother to silence her from a deed this serious?”
“Something dark enough to shake the foundations of Havensbrooke, I’d guess.” His face paled. Oh dear, she should have worded that a little differently. “So I suggest after my dress fitting, we pay Dr. David Ross a visit. Perhaps he’s the one who can shed some evidence on our conjectures, and then we speak to your mother.”
Dinner with Andrew Piper proved a lighthearted affair. The man oozed quick wit and kindness, but when they retired to Frederick’s study, the conversation took a decidedly serious turn.
Frederick, Piper, and Grace poured over dozens of financial books, a personal journal or two, and added the recent ledgers recovered from Edward’s study.
“Your brother closed the glassworks two years ago,” Grace said. “But there’s no indication that the business wasn’t viable any longer.”
Piper blinked over at Grace and looked to Frederick, who couldn’t help the hint of pride pushing up at the corners of his mouth. True, most women didn’t usually speak of money and business affairs, but Grace was certainly unlike most women.
“But the gristmill became a point of contention years ago,” Piper said, “just before I was dismissed. Mr. Rupert Cooper and your father came to blows, and in a fit of passion, your father closed it all down.”
Rupert? Frederick’s mind paused on the name, but he wasn’t certain why.
“The gristmill closed by your father and the glassworks by your brother?” Grace shook her head. “No wonder the estate began to wane, and if Celia had taken over finances along with the natural expenses of covering the costs of such a large property…”
“She always seemed to get her way, if I recall correctly,” Piper added, examining the ledgers strewn across the billiard table. “When I met with Detective Miracle about some of the inconsistencies in the books, he mentioned that the former Lady Astley had been married before. Did you know?”
Celia? Frederick nearly spit the drink he’d just taken. “Married?”
“It appears that your detective did a little digging and uncovered that she’d been married to a businessman with new money, nearly three times her age.”
“What happened?” Grace’s palm flew to her chest. “Oh, oh, let me guess.”
Piper’s lips twitched beneath his finely trimmed moustache.
“The husband was found dead within the first year.”
Piper ran a palm over his mouth, studying Grace with a quizzically humored expression. “Very clever, Lady Astley.” The man’s blue gaze flipped to Frederick’s. “You have a budding detective on your hands, my lord.”
