Page 8 of Death at the Dower House
Grimsby had been lying beside the sundial, so that’s where my eye went first. It took me a few seconds more to spy Crispin, sitting on a bench side by side with the lovely Johanna.
Or more accurately, I noticed him when he shot to his feet at the sight of us. The movement out of the corner of my eye was what caused me to turn in that direction, in time to take in the flush on his cheeks and the way his collar was just a centimeter or so out of alignment.
I looked at it for a second too long, quite deliberately, before I arched my brows. “Petting party, St George?”
The flush deepened, while Constance gave a sort of horrified titter behind me. Johanna didn’t say anything, but her lips curved in a very self-satisfied way.
“Don’t be crude, Darling,” Crispin managed, but it was without most of his usual insouciance, and completely without vitriol.
I waved him off, pseudo-magnanimously. “No, no. Don’t let me stop you. We’re just here to view the scene of the crime. Although I have to say, St George, you could have found a more romantic setting for your tryst. There was a dead body here just over a week ago. I know you remember. We both stood here and looked at it, didn’t we? And hadn’t you told me, just a few minutes before that, that you weren’t the type to bed anyone on the grass in the garden maze?”
Constance choked on another horrified laugh, and by this point, Crispin’s cheeks were so red they must have been hurting him. “Good God, Darling,” he choked, “don’t you ever shut up?”
I smiled sweetly, the equivalent of a condescending pat on the head. “Of course, St George. We’ll be out of your way in a jiffy. Come on, Constance. The body was over there, by the sundial, although we should probably come back another time. We don’t want to get in the way of St George bagging yet another conquest. He must be up to an even dozen for the year by now, and it’s hardly even May yet.”
I ushered Constance back into the maze, while behind me, Crispin’s voice rose in a cry. “Damn you, Darling! When I get my hands on you—”
“In your dreams, St George,” I told him over my shoulder, while beside me, Constance was practically convulsing with silent laughter. “The only way you’ll get your hands on me, is in your dreams.”
We disappeared out of sight between the yew hedges. I smiled grimly while Constance battled little hiccoughing bouts of horrified laughter as we made our way through the maze and out, at a much faster clip than we’d gone in. It wasn’t that I really expected Crispin to abandon Johanna in the middle of the maze to come running after me to strangle me, but on the other hand, it didn’t seem entirely out of the realm of possibility that I’d pushed him far enough that he’d try, either.
Three
“I’m sorry,”Constance told me when we were back in the open again. She was still battling occasional bursts of mirth, but she did her best to sound sober and serious. “I don’t know what came over me. He just looked so alarmed being caught that way, practically with his hand in the biscuit jar…”
My mind supplied a picture of Johanna as the biscuit jar and Crispin’s hands going somewhere they had no business to go, and I fought back a combination snort-wince of mingled amusement and revulsion. Once I had myself under control again, I told her, “When your family arrived, I got the impression that your brother was staking his claim on Johanna.”
“Oh, no.” Constance tucked her hand through my arm as we made our way back toward the front of the house. “Mother would never allow that. Johanna is a foreigner with no title and no money. Gilbert is supposed to find himself an heiress with a title and fortune of her own.”
“So between you, Gilbert, and Johanna, she’s expecting three advantageous marriages where you all come out better than you went in?”
Constance nodded. “I’m expected to find an heir, preferably with a title but certainly with a fortune. Your cousin St George would be ideal—”
“He’s not my cousin,” I said. “He’s Christopher’s cousin, and there’s nothing about him that’s ideal.”
“—although your cousin Christopher would be acceptable.”
“You can’t have Christopher, and I would recommend that you stay away from Crispin, as well.”
While he had both title and fortune, he was not a good risk for marriage, if you asked me.
“Yes, Pippa,” Constance said demurely. “You made that abundantly clear back there.”
“Back…?”
“In the maze,” Constance said. “Perhaps I ought to have picked up on it sooner, but you could have just explained that you and Lord St George have some sort of understanding, Pippa.”
My jaw dropped. “Me and… we… you think Crispin and I…?”
“It certainly sounded that way,” Constance said brightly.
I began shaking my head, and ended up shaking it faster and faster. It was imperative that I convey the impossibility of this suggestion. “Oh, no. No, no, no. No, definitely not. Not in a thousand years. Not possibly. No.”
Constance smirked. “Those are a lot of Nos.”
“I can’t possibly object to Crispin strongly enough,” I explained. “It takes a lot of Nos to do it justice.”
“He’s handsome. Wealthy. Titled.”
