Page 23 of Marriage and Murder
The butler bowed. “I will inquire of his lordship, but please, Miss Huntingdon, do come inside.”
Madeline stepped across the threshold, expecting a dark and gloomy interior. Instead, the high-ceilinged front hall was well-lit by windows in the tower above, giving the space a surprisingly airy quality.
“Your coat and bonnet, miss?”
“Oh yes.” Madeline unbuttoned and shrugged out of her fashionable redingote and unpinned and handed the butler her bonnet.
He took both and set them on the coatrack, then led her to an open door that gave onto a comfortable and—given its size—remarkably cozy drawing room. “If you will take a seat, ma’am, I will let his lordship know you’ve called.”
With an acquiescent dip of her head, Madeline moved into the room and heard the door quietly shut behind her. Curious, she looked around. Her first impression was one of quiet gentility, the sort that sees no need to prove itself to anyone. The room was long and furnished with well-padded armchairs and sofas. She walked to the far end, where a large hearth toppedby a massive stone mantelpiece played host to a good-sized fire. A sofa set perpendicular to the flames seemed the most appropriate perch, and she sank onto the satin-covered cushion and arranged her skirts, then clasped her hands in her lap and prepared to wait for however long his lordship decreed with some semblance of patience.
Almost a penance.She glanced at the large ormolu clock squatting at the center of the mantelpiece and saw the time was nearing five-thirty.
The click of the doorlatch had her looking toward the door, expecting to see the butler returning.
Instead, Henry, Lord Glossup, stepped tentatively into the room, his gaze fixing on her rather trepidatiously.
Oh! He doesn’t know if I’m here to rail at him or…
Madeline rose and blurted, “Thank you for seeing me, especially at this odd hour. I simply had to come and apologize for my unconscionable, ill-considered, and utterly wrongheaded outburst on Sunday. I shouldn’t have listened to those silly rumors, and I’m most dreadfully sorry for any wounds I might have unthinkingly caused.”
She immediately felt better for having got the words out. They hadn’t been any part of her stuffy rehearsed apology, but she felt the uncensored words had expressed her feelings more accurately.
His lordship’s relief was evident in his expression. The tight lines relaxed, and as he came forward with greater confidence, with a firm stride and upright posture, Madeline got the distinct impression of a kindly man, but not a weak one—the quiet sort that people often referred to as the backbone of the counties.
He halted two yards away and half bowed. “Miss Huntingdon. In the circumstances, I’m delighted to welcome you to Glossup Hall.” He smiled as he straightened, andthe gesture warmed his brown eyes. “Perhaps we might start afresh.”
She eyed him, then said, “I need to know that you accept my apology. I very much needed to make it, and my only excuse for my deplorable words was that I was laboring under considerable and entirely unexpected grief, and to be truthful, I was so very angry at whoever had so cruelly taken Viola from this world that I allowed those emotions to temporarily overcome my better judgment. I pray you’ll forgive?—”
He waved his hand as if sweeping the air between them clear. “I quite understand, and your apology is gratefully accepted. And while I admit I found the incident regrettable, I sincerely hope we can put it behind us. In that vein”—he waved her to the sofa—“please allow me to offer you some refreshment. If you walked all this way from the village, you can surely do with a small glass of sherry.”
The latter was a question, and sinking onto the satin sofa, Madeline discovered she was, indeed, parched. “Thank you. That would be most welcome.”
As she watched him walk to the tantalus against one wall, she realized that while she’d rehearsed her apology, she hadn’t thought of what would come after.
He returned with two glasses of golden liquid and handed one to her. She took it and wondered why she didn’t find the situation impossibly awkward; she would have predicted she would.
As his lordship moved to claim the armchair opposite, she sipped the unsurprisingly excellent amontillado and hoped its rich smoothness was a portent for how the rest of her visit would go.
After settling in the armchair, he fixed his gaze on her and said, “You must remember that I, of all people, fully comprehend the…shall we say confusion that strikes one when someoneclose is shockingly murdered. One doesn’t see it coming—not at all—and so is entirely unprepared for all the conflicting and often violent and irrational emotions that arise. Such as”—his lips quirked wryly—“that our nearest-and-dearest victim should have known better and somehow avoided their fate.”
Madeline lowered her glass and stared at him. All she could manage was a whispered “Yes.”
“And the next thought,” he went on, “that grows to an obsession is whether there was anything one might have done, or done differently, that would have changed the outcome.”
“Exactly,” Madeline breathed. He was patently sincere, and clearly, he was speaking from his own experience. And he’d put his finger squarely on the thoughts that had initially crowded her mind.
Henry sipped and studied his unexpected guest and was aware of an impulse—almost a compulsion—to prolong her visit. “I understand you live in London, yet I’m sure I’ve glimpsed you here, at the church and around the village, on several occasions before.”
She nodded. “I visit—visited—Viola several times each year.” She paused, then admitted, “It seems so strange that she won’t be here next time I come down.”
“You’ll keep the cottage?” Henry almost blushed and hurried to say, “Forgive me if I’ve presumed, but I assume there are no other close relatives, and you will inherit?”
“Yes, that’s correct. And honestly, I’m rather torn.” She paused, sipped, then continued, “Although in recent years—well, the past five—I’ve made my home in London, my roots are, if not in this village, then in this area.”
“You were born and raised here?”
She nodded. “In Salisbury.”
