Page 104 of The Mistletoe Countess
Frederick wasn’t certain whether to smile or not.
“It’s a repeated plot in many fiction books.” She nodded, sending Frederick a wrinkle-nosed grin for her cleverness.
Frederick resigned his concern and turned back to Piper. “And how did Celia’s first husband die?”
“It was listed as”—Piper nailed Frederick with a look—“a heart condition.”
Deafening silence followed Piper’s declaration.
“But what proof do we have?” Frederick gestured toward the papers on the table. “Nothing. It’s too late to exhume bodies to test for poisoning, and what would Celia have to gain from it all? I was still alive.”
“Money.” Piper tapped the ledgers in his hands. “Or it seems as though someone is. There are large and consistent funds missing from each of your brother’s former accounts, and the notes for the fund trans-fers are not in his handwriting. It’s a close attempt but not exact.”
Frederick walked to Piper’s side and peered over him to review the notes. “Celia, you think?”
“She signed as your brother?” Grace came to his side.
“It seems most of the accounts for the last few months of your brother’s life were managed by the lady in question. He’d given her sovereignty.”
“Or she’d taken it,” Grace added.
“But one would think Mother would have recognized what was happening.”
“Unless someone held something over her.” Grace reminded.
A fire fueled beneath Frederick’s skin, pulse pumping for justice. “Can you trace these funds?”
“Miracle was able to locate that information, actually.” Piper sorted through a few more of the ledgers, comparing information, and then raised his direct gaze to Frederick. “An account held by Mr. Mason Parks of London.”
Frederick braced his hand against the table. The web was much worse and more prevalent than he’d imagined.
And increasingly more dangerous.
Dr. David Ross was nothing like Grace imagined a country doctor to be.
“Lord Astley.” The young doctor offered his hand, his smile at the ready. He turned to Grace. “Lady Astley. To what do I own this unexpected visit.”
“I’ve come on a private matter, Doctor, as it concerns my brother whom you were kind enough to see to earlier this year.”
The man’s emerald gaze settled on Frederick and then switched to Grace. “I see. Please, sit down.” Dr. Ross gestured toward two chairs in his private office. “And how may I help you?”
“I’ve heard good things about you, Doctor. And well—” Frederick stiffened in his chair. “I don’t care to shilly-shally around the point. Time is essential. I’m sorry you were dismissed from Havensbrooke in so hasty and, as I understand it, impolite a manner after my brother’s death. If I’d been more present of mind, I’d have come to you sooner to discuss your findings on that day.”
“It was my understanding you’d only arrived back in the country. To discover your brother’s unexpected death along with inheriting the responsibility of his title? I can imagine how overcome you must have been.”
“Thank you.” Frederick bowed his head in appreciation, and Grace ignored the urge to take his hand in front of the good doctor. “But since then, certain concerns have come to light that have brought me to your door. Do you recall that day?”
“Indeed I do.” Dr. Ross sighed and stood, walking to a shelf nearby and sifting through some papers, finally withdrawing one from the pile. “I’m afraid you’ll not like my findings.”
“I don’t think they’ll surprise us, Doctor,” Grace added.
Dr. Ross took his seat and leaned forward, offering Frederick the papers. “I have all of my observations detailed here. Your brother had symptoms consistent with poisoning, and not just any poisoning, but a quite common one which most doctors would note upon a cursory examination, especially after the butler answered a few questions for me.”
“Hemlock.”
Dr. Ross examined Grace’s face. “Yes.”
Silence stained the moment with a sudden dread Grace felt to her toes. This wasn’t from a story or a fantasy. Without any doubt, Edward had been murdered.
