His tone had her glancing quickly his way.
He smiled. "I was on my way to discuss matters with your father. Perhaps you could take me to him?"
Sir Jasper was in his library. Lucifer was unsurprised when, after showing him in and then disappearing, Phyllida returned with a tray bearing glasses and a decanter.
"Well, so you're now a landowner in Devon, hen?"
"Shortly to be so, it seems." Lucifer accepted the glass of brandy Phyllida brought him. She handed a similar glass to her father, then retired to the sofa facing the chairs he and Sir Jasper occupied.
"Any thoughts on what you'll do with the property?" Sir Jasper regarded him from under shaggy brows. "You mentioned your family's estate is in Somerset…"
"I have an older brother-the family estate will go to him. In recent years, I've lived primarily in London, sharing my brother's house."
"So you have no other establishment demanding your attention?"
"No." That was something Horatio had known. His gaze on the brandy swirling in his glass, Lucifer added, "There's nothing to stop me from settling in Colyton."
"And will you?"
He looked up, into Phyllida's eyes. It was she who had, with her habitual directness, asked the simple question.
"Yes." Raising his glass, he sipped, his gaze never leaving her. "I've decided Colyton suits me."
"Excellent!" Sir Jasper beamed. "Could do with a little new blood around here." He went on at some length, extolling the benefits of the area; Lucifer let him ramble while he tried to understand the irritation in Phyllida's brown eyes. Her expression calm, she sat watching her father, but her eyes… and a downward quirk at one corner of her lovely lips…
Sir Jasper wound to a halt; Lucifer stirred and faced him. "One point I wanted to mention. I consider Horatio's bequest a gift, one I couldn't comfortably accept if I hadn't done everything I could to bring his murderer to justice."
Sir Jasper nodded. "Your feelings do you credit."
"Perhaps, but I'd never feel at ease in Horatio's house, owning his collection, unless I'd turned every stone."
Sir Jasper eyed him shrewdly. "Do I take it that's a warning you intend turning every stone?"
Lucifer held his gaze. "Every rock. Every last pebble."
Sir Jasper considered, then nodded. "I'll do whatever I can, but as you doubtless appreciate, it won't be easy to lay this murderer by the heels. The bare fact of the matter is no one saw him."
"There may be other proofs." Lucifer drained his glass.
Sir Jasper did the same. "We can hope so." As Phyllida collected the empty glasses, he added, "You may investigate as you wish, of course. If you need any formal support, I'll do all I can." He stood. "Horatio was one of us. I suspect you'll find you'll have any number of people willing to help you find his murderer."
"Indeed." Lucifer rose, his gaze resting on Phyllida. "I'm hoping that will be the case."
He wanted her help in catching Horatio's murderer. He'd all but asked for it.
She wanted to help him. Even if he hadn't asked, he would have received her assistance.
Unfortunately, the promise of the morning, when she'd hoped to be able to tell him all soon, had given way to the frustration of the afternoon, which was now to be crowned by the disaster of the evening. For some ungodly reason, and she used the term advisedly, her aunt had decided to host an informal dinner for a select few who had attended the funeral. A funeral dinner. Phyllida wasn't impressed.
She'd had a good mind to wear black, but compromised with her lavender silk. It was one of her most flattering gowns and she felt in need of the support.
She was the last to enter the drawing room. Lucifer was there, startlingly handsome in a midnight-blue coat the exact same shade as his eyes. His hair appeared black in the candlelight; his ivory cravat was an exercise in elegance. He stood with her father and Mr. Farthingale before the hearth; from the instant she'd stepped over the threshold, his gaze had remained fixed on her.
Regally inclining her head, she went to join the Misses Longdon, two spinsters of indeterminate age who shared a house along the lane to the forge.
They were sixteen at table. After checking with Gladys, Phyllida took her seat. Lucifer was at the table's other end, at her aunt's right and flanked by Regina Longdon. Regina Longdon was all but deaf, which left Lady Huddlesford with little competition. Mary Anne and Robert were both too far away to engage in conversation. Or persuasion. With nothing else to do, Phyllida applied herself to overseeing the meal.
Her father never dallied long over the port; he led the gentlemen back into the drawing room a bare fifteen minutes after the ladies had settled themselves. Those fifteen minutes had been spent listening to Mary Anne play the pianoforte. As soon as the gentlemen appeared, Mary Anne closed the instrument and came forward to join the conversing groups. Phyllida closed in on her.
Mary Anne saw her coming; agitation instantly filled her blue eyes. "No!" she hissed, before Phyllida could say a word. "You must see it's impossible. You have to find the letters-you promised!"
"I would have thought that by now you'd see-"
"It's you who don't see! Once you find the letters and give them back to me, then you can tell him, if you're so sure you must." Mary Anne literally wrung her hands, then her gaze flicked past Phyllida. "Oh, heavens! There's Robert-I must rescue him before Papa comers him."
With that, she all but fled across the room.
Phyllida watched her go, not entirely able to hide her frown. She'd never seen Mary Anne so overset. "What on earth is in those letters?"
Swinging to face the room, she scanned the guests to see if any needed her hostessly attention, only to discover Lucifer crossing the room toward her, the look in his eye signaling that he required precisely that. She waited; he halted beside her, and joined her in considering the room.
"Your bosom-bow, Miss Farthingale-what's the situation between her and Collins?"
"Situation?"
He glanced at her. "Farthingale looked ready to have an apoplectic fit when Collins arrived with Crabbs. Mrs. Farthingale looked thoroughly taken aback, and then grimly, tight-lippedly, resigned. I've been following your father's lead in stepping in with distractions all evening-it would be helpful to know what game we're all playing."
Phyllida met his eyes. "Star-crossed lovers, but we're hoping this version will end without tragedy." She looked across the room to where Robert Collins was speaking with Henrietta Longdon, who happened to be sitting beside Mary Anne on the chaise. "Mary Anne and Robert have been sweethearts since they first met. That was six years ago. They'd be perfect for each other but for one thing."
"Collins has no fortune."
"Precisely. Mr. Farthingale forbade the connection, but despite Robert living in Exeter, meetings always seem to occur, and Mary Anne has remained absolutely adamant."
"For six years? Most parents would have yielded by now."
"Mr. Farthingale is very stubborn. So is Mary Anne."
"So who'll win?"
"Mary Anne. Luckily, quite soon. Robert will shortly complete the requirements for registration. Crabbs has already offered him a place. Once Robert is practicing, he'll be able to support a wife, and then Mr. Farthingale will capitulate because he won't have any choice."
"So Farthingale's apoplexy is all for show?"
"In a way. It's expected, but it's not as if Robert isn't presentable." He might be too meek, too conservative, too nonassertive, but his birth was acceptable. "That said, the Farthingales wouldn't have expected Robert to be here this evening. Everyone hereabouts knows the situation; we all avoid doing anything to exacerbate it."
"What happened tonight?"
Phyllida looked at Lady Huddlesford, holding court by the hearth. "I'm not sure. It's possible my aunt, who spends two or three months here every year, forgot and innocently invited Robert along with Crabbs."
"But…?"
Phyllida's lips twitched. "Under that careworn exterior, she's rather
a romantic. I suspect she imagines she's easing the star-crossed lovers' path."
"Ah."
The syllable was heavy with worldly cynicism. Phyllida glanced up-and saw Percy bearing down on them.
He nodded to Lucifer, his gaze fixed on her. "I wonder, cuz, whether I could have a private word with you?"
About what? Phyllida swallowed the ungracious reply. "Of course."
Percy smiled at Lucifer. "Family business, don't y'know."
Lucifer bowed.
Inclining her head in reply, Phyllida put her hand on Percy's sleeve and let him escort her through the open French doors and onto the terrace. Withdrawing her hand from his arm, she walked to the balustrade.
"Not there." Percy gestured along the terrace. "They can see."
Phyllida heaved a mental sigh and obliged, hoping Percy would cut line, tell her what he wanted, and let her return to the drawing room. If she got Robert alone, she might be able to salvage something from today. Robert might be meek, but he was also stultifyingly conservative, and as an almost solicitor, he should be law-abiding. Perhaps she could convince him-
"The thing is…" Percy halted outside the darkened library windows. Tugging down his waistcoat, he faced her.
"I've been watching you and thinking. You're what? Twenty-four?"
Leaning back against the balustrade, she stared at him. "Yes," she admitted. "Twenty-four. What of it?"
"What of it? Why, you should be married, of course! Ask m'mother-she'll tell you. You're all but on the shelf at twenty-four."
"Indeed?" Phyllida considered explaining that she was quite happy on her shelf. "Why should that concern you?"
"Of course it concerns me! I'm the head of the family-well, once your father shuffles off, I will be."
"I have a brother, remember?"
"Jonas." With a wave, Percy dismissed Jonas. "Thing is, you're here, unmarried, and there's no sense to it, not when there's an alternative."
Phyllida debated. Humoring Percy was probably the fastest way to bring this scene to an end. Folding her arms, she settled against the balustrade. "What alternative?"
Percy drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "You can marry me."
Shock held her speechless.
"I know it's a surprise-hadn't thought of it myself until I came down here and saw how it was. But now I can see it's the perfect solution." Percy started to pace. "Family duty and all that-offering for you is what I should do."
Phyllida straightened. "Percy, I'm perfectly comfortable here-"
"Precisely. That's the beauty of it. We can be married and you can stay down here in the country-daresay your father would prefer it. He wouldn't want to have to run the Grange without you. On the other hand, / don't need a hostess. I've never had one." He nodded. "I'll be perfectly happy rattling 'round London on my own."
"I can quite see that. Let's see if I fully understand your proposal." Her terse accents had Percy tensing. "Are you, by any chance, currently at point-non-plus?"
Stony-faced, Percy glared at her.
Phyllida waited.
"I might, at present, have outrun the constable a trifle, but it's merely a temporary setback. Nothing serious."
"Nevertheless. Now, let's see… you came into your inheritance from your father some years ago and you have no further expectation from our side of the family."
"Not with Grandmother making you her beneficiary and Aunt Esmeralda leaving her blunt to you and Jonas."
"Quite. And, of course, when Huddlesford dies, his estate will pass to Frederick." Phyllida fixed her gaze on Percy's now petulant face. "Which means that beyond any inheritance from your mother, who everyone knows enjoys the best of health, there's no pot of gold waiting just over your horizon." She paused. "Am I right?"
"You know you're right, damn you."
"And am I also right in thinking that the cent-per-cents will no longer advance you funds-not unless you can show them some evidence of further expectations-like a wife with various inheritances attached?"
Percy glowered. "That's all very well, but you're straying from the point."
"Oh, no! The point is you've run aground, and you're looking to me to tug you out of the mire."
"And so you should!" Face mottled, fists clenched, Percy stepped close. "If I'm prepared to marry you out of family duty, you should be pleased to marry me and resurrect my fortunes."
Phyllida shut her lips on an unladylike utterance. She gave Percy back stare for glare. "I will not marry you-there's absolutely no reason that I should."
"Reason?" Percy's features contorted. "Reason? I'll give you reason."
He grabbed her, clearly intending to kiss her. Phyllida jerked back and wrestled half out of his hold. She'd never been afraid of Percy; he was three years older, but she'd run rings around him from her earliest years-she'd grown accustomed to treating him with contempt.
To her shock, he was much stronger than she'd realized. She struggled, but couldn't break his hold. With a growl, he hauled her back into his arms, cruelly pressing her back into the balustrade, trying to force her face to his-
Suddenly he was gone, literally plucked off her.
Phyllida collapsed against the balustrade, dragging in air, one hand at her heaving breast. She stared at Percy, dangling, choking, at the end of one long, blue-suited arm.
"Is there a pond or lake closer than the duck pond? I believe your cousin needs to cool off."
Tracking along his arm, Phyllida located Lucifer's face in the dimness. Then she looked back at Percy, feet still swinging helplessly four inches clear of the flagstones. His face was turning purple. "Umm-no."
Lucifer's lip curled. He shook Percy, then flung him away-he landed with an "Ooof!" and a clatter of limbs. He lay wheezing on the flags, shaking his head weakly, not daring to look up.
Reluctantly accepting that that was the worst he could do, Lucifer slammed a door on the chaos of emotions whirling inside him and looked at Phyllida. She was still breathing rapidly, but her color, as far as he could judge in the poor light, was acceptable. Her gown and hair were still neat-he'd been in time to spare her that much of the ordeal. He resettled his coat and cuffs, then offered her his arm. "I suggest we return before anyone else misses you."
Looking up at him, she swallowed, then nodded. "Thank you." Placing her hand on his arm, she straightened, stiffening her spine and lifting her head. Her mask of calm composure slid into place, hiding her shock-the sudden comprehension of her physical vulnerability-that had, until that moment, sat naked on her face.
It was not a look he had ever liked seeing on any woman's face. He would have given a great deal to have saved her from the realization entirely. She shouldn't need to know that men could physically harm her. Her physical safety, here in her home, in and around the village, was something she'd taken for granted all her life. Percy had violated the "comfort" she had alluded to-the sense of security she enjoyed in this place.
As for Percy's so elegant proposal, just the thought of it made Lucifer see red. Grimly clinging to his own mask of calm indifference, he steered Phyllida along the terrace. They reached the French doors and she stepped into the light. He let his gaze slide over her, from her pale, hauntingly lovely face, over the slender frame and feminine curves concealed beneath lavender silk, down to the tips of her satin slippers. Other than her breathing, still too shallow, there was no overt evidence of any distress.
Chest tightening, he looked into her eyes. They were shuttered, all emotions locked away.
As he handed her over the threshold, then followed, Lucifer wondered if it was too late to slip out again and thrash Percy to within an inch of his life.
Chapter 6
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The emotions stirred by the incident on the terrace did not rapidly subside. Later that night, with the moon riding the sky, Lucifer paced before his bedchamber window.
Tomorrow, he'd remove to the Manor. Tomorrow, he'd start investigating Horatio's murder with a great deal mo
re intensity than he'd yet employed. Horatio had been killed on Sunday morning. Tomorrow would be Wednesday. The first rush of shock and speculation would have died; people would have had time to think and, he hoped, remember.
Pausing before the window, he glanced out. The moon broke free of the wispy clouds and shone down; the night was a cauldron of shifting shadows stirred by the pale light.
A figure left the house, striding purposefully across the back lawn. Lucifer stared. A low cap hid the man's head-or was it a youth? The stride was swinging, graceful, and easy, long legs encased in breeches and boots. A hacking jacket hung to hip length. Jonas?
The figure neared the entrance to the shrubbery; the graceful stride faltered, slowed.
That instant of hesitation ripped the veils from Lucifer's eyes. "What the devil…?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His quarry was into the wood before he had drawn close enough to be sure of not losing her. He trailed her; he wanted to see where she was going.
And then he would want to know why.
He would have wagered a great deal that her goal would be the Manor-she knew he would be taking up residence there tomorrow. Instead, she turned left off the main path onto a narrower one heading into the village.
He followed, closing the gap so he could keep her in sight; the path twisted through the trees-it would be easy to lose her. Head down, she tramped along, apparently absorbed in her thoughts.
The path became an alley running between two cottages to join the lane. Without pause, Phyllida crossed the lane and continued up the common. Lucifer hung back in the alley, letting the distance between them increase. The common was open ground, and there was little doubt now of her destination. She was making for the church.
Her peculiar conversation with the curate replayed in his mind. What in all Hades was going on?
On reaching the graveyard, he saw faint light spilling from the church's side door. Using gravestones for cover, he crept closer, exercising greater caution than before.
Phyllida was no longer alone.
A tall gravestone stood by the path leading from the side door; concealed in its shadow, Lucifer watched Phyllida standing beside Filing in the narrow porch before the open door. Both had ledgers in their hands; heads down, they were making notes, occasionally comparing entries.
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