Page 19 of The Mistletoe Countess
Well, no one did, Mr. Grumpy Goose.But Grace kept the response inside, all the more determined to prove her point. “One only needs to look a little closer.” She knelt by the saddle and examined the strap. Aha, exactly as she’d thought it would look from the evidence in one of her mystery books. Slit and then ripped.
“I appreciate Miss Ferguson’s youthful and inventive mind, but you can’t really suppose she’d—”
“Lord Astley.” She broke into his doubt with a glare. “If you will note, the saddle strap was not sliced all the way through. Only part of the way.” She turned the strap around for the men to view. “The smooth section suggests the work of the knife, but this more ragged, stretched part?”
“The cut working its way out as Freddie rode the horse.”
“Yes.” She nodded to Blake. “It’s exactly how the Duke of Darber was murdered to make it appear like an accident.”
“Who on earth?” Mr. Whitlock scratched his head. “Is he someone you knew from across the pond, Frederick?”
“Fiction.” Lord Astley added, holding Grace’s gaze. “The Duke’s Dissent.”
All annoyance for the dashing earl dissipated into utter appreciation. Any man who spoke in fiction was certainly worth forgiving. “Exactly.” She rewarded his excellent deduction with a smile and turned her attention back to Mr. Whitlock. “And it’s perfect because the actual crime can happen hours before the results, so the perpetrator has plenty of time to disappear from the scene, which is likely what happened here and will cause a nuisance in uncovering the truth.”
“I should be concerned about the workings of that mind of yours, Miss Grace, if I didn’t know you had such a sweet heart.” Mr. Whitlock shook his head. “But you’re right. I see it now.”
“That does narrow down the possible suspects, don’t you think?” She stood and pushed back her hair, her fingers pricking on a few pieces of hay. “It would have to be someone who knew Lord Astley’s morning routineandhad ready access to the stables without causing suspicion.”
“Cooks, come with me. We’ll start a list and give notice for certain servants to keep watch.” Mr. Whitlock turned to Lord Astley. “You need to see to your ankle.”
“I’ll take a ride about,” Blake offered. “Though, if Miss Ferguson’s conjectures hold true, our suspect has had plenty of time to disappear.”
It felt rather nice to be taken somewhat seriously now and again. “Not to add concern, but perhaps someone should subtly interview the guests.”
“The guests?” Mr. Whitlock’s bushy brows took flight.
“She’s right.” Blake sent her a nod. “They would have access, but it’s going to take subtle investigating. Might I offer my skills in that instance?”
“Blake is rather proficient at getting information from people without them even knowing,” Lord Astley added.
“Very well. I’d be grateful for any help in the matter,” came Mr. Whitlock’s reply.
Grace sent a curtsy to the group and stepped back toward the stable doors, locking eyes with the earl. “Well now, as Lord Astley has so kindly reminded me, I must return to the house before I’m missed.”
She veered to leave.
“Miss Ferguson.”
Grace paused and pivoted back to Lord Astley. “Yes, my lord?”
“I would appreciate you keeping this bit of information to yourself.” His dark eyes narrowed, intense. “We wouldn’t wish to cause any undue concern without proof.”
“You have nothing to worry about, my lord. Lillias isn’t fond of mysteries.” She pinched her hands together with purpose. “And I have every intention of keeping your wedding on schedule and your bride happy. Surely nothing worse could happen than a possible murder attempt.”
Grace scanned the bookshelves, glancing through her favorite titles. What would he like? Oh! Jules Verne’sMichael Strogoff,but it was in French. She tilted her head and examined the binding. Well, of course an earl would know French.
She moved down the row of bookshelves. Aha!The Riddle of the Sandsby Erskine Childers. Espionage. Perfect. And perhaps it would encourage his own solution to his current mysterious plot. She placed the second book on top of the first and quickly slipped up the winding staircase to the library balcony in search of the Arthur Conan Doyle selections. WasThe Earl of Nothamin Mr. Whitlock’s collection? Several people attempted to kill that particular earl, and he outsmarted them all. Definitely a good choice for Lord Astley’s self-preservation.
“The hall is clear,” a harsh whisper—female—slit the ominous silence from the direction of the secret stair.
Grace’s body stilled. Was that Lillias’s voice?
“Hurry. You can’t be seen.”
Grace slipped closer, listening into the darkness of the stairway entry.
“Come tonight, Lillias.” A male voice emerged next, urgent.
