Page 102 of The Mistletoe Countess
“It’s all right, Brandon. You can speak plainly.” Frederick held her gaze. “Lady Astley and I are attempting to sort things out together.”
“I’ve read Poe.” She placed her hand on the back of a chair near Brandon. “I can handle any dastardly details you must narrate.”
Brandon’s lips tipped ever so slightly as he lowered his head. The man’s posture withered for only a second before he raised his head to them. “Lord Edward hadn’t been himself for weeks. Quieter. More reserved.”
“And his health?”
He lifted his gaze to Frederick. “Apart from appearing more anxious, I didn’t notice a difference, sir.”
“And estate business?”
“I cannot say, sir. It seemed his wife had a hand in a great number of decisions.” Brandon looked between Frederick and Grace, his expression lost. “Their arguments had become less reserved.”
“But their arguments weren’t so unusual, were they?” Frederick asked, remembering the extensive rows he’d overheard at times.
“It seemed they attempted to keep their disagreements behind closed doors at first, sir. But in the last six months of the elder Lord Astley’s life…” Brandon searched for the word. “Well, it didn’t seem to matter.”
“And these disagreements, were they about the estate?” At Brandon’s hesitation, Frederick continued. “It’s all right, Brandon, I know you’d never wish to be improper, but this is important.”
The butler looked down. “As far as I recall, sir, the conversations were about the estate and funds, and at times”—Brandon paused and swallowed audibly—“his wife’s…friendships with other men.”
Frederick took the couch across from Brandon. “Any names associated with these friendships?”
“I only recall that one was the man she’s been most recently affiliated with.”
Ah, so they’d been friendly before Edward’s death.
“And the last time you saw her was the morning of Lord Edward’s…er, the elder Lord Astley’s death?” Grace asked, joining Frederick on the couch. So many titles to sort out within this family.
“Yes, a quite memorable exit hours before Lord Astley arrived.” He nodded toward Frederick. “Or Lord Edward was discovered.”
“Memorable, I’d say, so no one could dispute her exit.”
Frederick glanced over at Grace, whose eyes twinkled with interest. “Did you note anything about Lord Edward that morning, Brandon? Lethargy? Nervousness?”
“Actually, madam, he complained of rheumatism in his legs.” Brandon sat up straighter, his face paling by slow degrees. “And his hands were trembling with his tea, so he retired to his study to recline.”
“Did he regularly take any medicine in the mornings, Brandon?”
“Yes, milady. His cordial draught. For his stomach.”
Grace’s gaze locked with Frederick’s. It was all coming together.
Frederick turned to the butler. “Were you the only one who knew of this, Brandon?”
“I mentioned it to the young doctor who came right after we found the body. We couldn’t locate Dr. Ingle, so Elliott contacted the new doctor in Edensbury. He seemed highly interested in your brother’s situation, but the dowager countess sent him away when Dr. Ingle arrived.”
So that she could cover up foul play?
His attention flitted back to his wife, and her wide-eyed look let him know he’d guessed her thoughts too. A sweet warmth branched out through his chest at the wordless understanding, although it was perhaps a little unsettling that he was beginning to think like a fiction-loving amateur detective.
Then came the painful realization of his mother’s real involvement.
A murky picture of longstanding deceit was beginning to come together. Deceit with two possible offenders.
Frederick thought back through the events surrounding his arrival at Havensbrooke. “This young doctor, who was he? Dr. Ingle had traveled to a neighboring town for supplies, wasn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir,” Brandon answered, hesitant. “Dr. David Ross was his name, if I recall.”
