“He’s desperate for a wife and heir, isn’t he?” she snapped, leaning forward. Despite the stiff set of his jaw, she refused to hear both her suspects denounced in one night. “And he’s a duke. I imagine a woman denying his proposal would make him angry enough to kill.” She paused as a sudden connection leapt to mind, before she added, “All the more so if the woman in question happened to be carrying his child. If he is the father of Miss Smythe’s baby, and she fell in love with Mowbry…” Katherine trailed off, studying Wayland’s face. “In his shoes, what would you do?”
His expression stiffened. “I wouldn’t be moved to kill, if that’s what you’re implying.” He bit off his words.
Katherine squared her shoulders. “I’m asking if you see the motive in Somerset’s fit of rage. Will you admit it’s a possibility?”
He hesitated then nodded curtly. “My reports reflect that he was absent from the ballroom at the time of the first murder.”
Her breath caught. Could it be Somerset, after all? But after learning of Miss Smythe’s pregnancy, she’d been so certain the culprit was Mowbry… “Did he leave before or after the estimated time of the murder?”
“My information is secondhand—no, thirdhand. I cannot be certain,” he replied.
“And was Somerset present for the second murder?” She waited with bated breath for the answer.
Wayland scowled. “I don’t have access to your father’s notes. You tell me.”
Although she didn’t want to share a single crumb of information, Katherine felt as though she owed him the answer to that question. Reluctantly, she mumbled, “I carried some notes with me. Let me consult them. They’re in my room.”
Wayland followed her to her chambers, where she insisted he remain in the corridor with the door ajar, for propriety’s sake. He gave her a wolfish smile. “Are you worried about being found alone with me, Lady Katherine?”
She glared at him. Unfortunately, both her dog and her maid were currently missing, which she could only deduce to mean that Harriet had taken Emma for a walk. Katherine crossed to her trunk and rummaged through it for the pages she’d brought with her.
When she glanced up, Wayland had approached to stand over her shoulder, craning his neck as he tried to read the notes. She scowled at him. “You aren’t very good at following instructions.”
He smirked. “There’s a reason I became the commanding officer. I wouldn’t have lasted long under someone’s thumb.” He waved to the pages she now held shielded against her bodice. “Well? Did you find mention of Somerset’s whereabouts during the second murder?”
Katherine smiled and tucked away the pages and the diary. When she closed her trunk and straightened, she met Wayland’s eager gaze. “It seemed no one could confirm his presence in the ballroom that night.”
Wayland blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Then he might be the killer, after all.”
Chapter Fourteen
That night, Katherine tossed and turned as she mulled over the facts of the investigation thus far. When the sky lightened and Emma stirred, she took it upon herself to escort her dog out of doors and save Harriet the trouble.
After Emma did her business, Katherine took her to the kitchen for breakfast and fetched a cup of tea for herself while there. She took it into the garden, following one of the gravel walks until she found the grotto where Miss Young had so shamelessly thrown herself at Lord Northbrook. With the way she’d shrieked and bolted from the conservatory, had Northbrook seen past her lies, or did she still have her hooks in him?
As Katherine looped the leash around the leg of the bench so Emma couldn’t wander too far away, she vowed to think more on the matter later. Sweet Annie deserved to make her match far more than the scheming Miss Young. Where else would she find a man who shared her passion for insects?
For now, Katherine had other matters to attend to. She had only five days to solve a murder, and she suspected Miss Smythe’s diary would prove a vital clue in bringing her killer to justice.
The sun slipped behind a veil of clouds, leaving only a grayish-white daylight by which to read the journal. Katherine settled herself on the carved bench, sipping her tea as she flipped through the pages.
Although she had skimmed them once after the festivities ended last night, she wanted more time to read certain passages in depth. Aside from Lord M—, Miss Smythe hadn’t come close to naming any other person. Each of the people in her life was given a nickname, including Lord Mowbry, at first. He had been “Blue-Eyed Lord” or BEL, and Miss Smythe had made several references to how he was bellisimo, indeed.
Katherine couldn’t help but smile at some of the witticisms Miss Smythe had written. As an all-but-invisible young woman on the fringes of society, she had had unique insight into the ton. Had she still been alive, Katherine suspected she and Miss Smythe would get on smashingly. Such a tragedy to have someone so bright torn from the world too soon.
I will apprehend the person responsible. That, Katherine vowed.
Unfortunately, she had too many suspects. Lord Mowbry himself still seemed the most likely, despite the whirlwind romance that unfolded with every fresh page of the diary. The entries ended with Miss Smythe glowing from his proposal, which had occurred somewhat in secret.
Katherine’s heart pinched at the last entry, in which Miss Smythe had written of her excitement at making the announcement public, which she would do right after she told Mowbry of the pregnancy. She also planned to arrange to meet the father of her child privately to tell him the news before he heard it elsewhere. She’d been murdered before she could write another entry.
But who was the killer? Had Mowbry been so angered that he’d strangled her? Or was it the father of her child, who had been angry that she was throwing him over for Mowbry, who would then raise the child as his own?
She wondered who the mysterious lover was, too. His nickname—King of Smiles, or KOS—didn’t help Katherine to narrow her suspect list. He might be the Duke of Somerset. Perhaps the word "king" was used to indicate his status as a duke. Or he might no longer be with the party. Several of the initial group, including members of Mowbry’s family, had opted not to join the Earl of Northbrook on his estate.
Katherine had too many suspects. Mowbry, Somerset, and even Mrs. Burwick, who had motive, desperation, and a sour enough disposition to resort to killing off her daughter’s competition.
Perhaps the two women were killed because they stood in the way of something someone desperately wanted, like a husband for their daughter. She’d be remiss to rule out Mrs. Burwick, or Pru, for that matter. The girl had been acting strangely, and Katherine had an unsettling feeling that Pru had been watching her and perhaps even following her. But if it was Mrs. Burwick—or even Pru—how did that explain the man she’d seen running away in the garden the night Annie screamed?
Perhaps her scream didn’t scare the killer away in the way that Katherine had surmised. There was no evidence that the killer had been about to harm Annie, and if Katherine’s theory of the killer preferring blondes was true, then Annie wasn’t his type, because her hair was brown. It was entirely possible the man had simply run so as not to be discovered in a compromising position.
Katherine’s father’s advice about never jumping to conclusions came to mind. Just because Miss Smythe had been pregnant and possibly had various lovers didn’t mean one of them was the killer. Because if one of them killed her, then why kill Miss Rosehill? Was there a connection? Did Miss Rosehill have the same lovers? There could another reason entirely.
She thought it was entirely possible, especially given what she learned in her conversation with Lyle, that the murders were not personal, and that the killer simply killed for some deep-seated psychological reason. Katherine shuddered at the thought.
Perhaps if she puzzled out who the King of Smiles was, some things might make more sense. Polishing off her lukewarm tea, she set the delicate china cup in its saucer next to her hip. She found the first e
ntry for “KOS” and read through it again, trying to glean what hints she could as to the man’s identity.
As a man’s shadow fell across the page, Katherine jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. As she craned her neck back, her heart galloped. Mr. Greaves flashed her a smile.
“Lady Katherine, what fortunate happenstance meeting you here this early in the morning. I take it you ventured out here on your own to read?”
Shutting the book, Katherine clasped it against her lap. Seeing as he was Lord Mowbry’s closest friend, she couldn’t let him see it. Perhaps he would recognize it or, at the very least, judge whose it was from the text about his friend. Surely, he must have known about the engagement.
She smiled, but it felt forced. “Indeed. I needed a moment of privacy.” She stressed the last word, hoping to make a point.
Instead, he sat next to her without invitation. His fingers tapped nervously. Was he going to make an excuse for being caught exiting Mrs. Reardon’s chambers? He seemed nervous enough, as though something was on his mind.
Turning to her, Mr. Greaves said, “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. Safety in numbers, so I hear.”
Katherine frowned. Was he flirting with her?
He reached out to the nearest flowering bush, a rosebush thick with white flowers, idly caressed one of the flowers, then jerked his hand back with a hiss when he encountered a thorn.
Served him right.
He thrust his hand into his pocket.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean to imply,” Katherine said.
“Don’t you know it’s dangerous these days for a woman to be alone? After what happened at the past two house parties, I’d think you’d take particular care.”
If her theory regarding the victims’ appearances was right, she was in no jeopardy. Nevertheless, she pointed to her dog. “That is why I brought along this ferocious creature. Emma will protect me.”
Upon hearing her name, the pug jerked her coiled tail in quick circles. She rolled on her back with all four paws stuck up in the air, the bow around her neck askew. When she wiggled, she looked as though she begged for Katherine to rub her belly. Katherine gave her a quick pat as she tucked Miss Smythe’s diary on her far side, out of her companion’s reach.
When Mr. Greaves half-turned toward her on the bench, his air growing serious, Emma rolled onto all fours. She didn’t rise, but her tail stopped wagging as she waited for him to notice her.
He did not. “I wouldn’t be so certain a small dog like that would be enough to fend off a grown, violent man.”
The hairs rose on the back of Katherine’s neck. What did he mean to imply? His expression was friendly but nervous. He leaned closer, as if he had something he wanted to say.
“Have you something to say, Mr. Greaves?” Katherine prompted.
Greaves studied her for a moment, then in a low voice, he confessed, “I haven’t wanted to malign a peer of the realm, but the night Miss Rosehill was killed, I witnessed the Duke of Somerset threaten her. I don’t know what the altercation concerned—and I’m ashamed to admit that by the time I stepped in to her rescue, he had already continued on his way, but given her fate…” He paused, staring at the groomed shrub opposite the bench.
Katherine narrowed her eyes. “What did Somerset say, precisely?”
“Why, he said that he could have strangled her!” Mr. Greaves looked appalled.
Was it an act? Mr. Greaves was the closest friend of Lord Mowbry. Perhaps he fingered Lord Somerset because he knew his friend was at fault.
“Why would Somerset say such a thing?” Although the duke was dreadfully bold when it came to his admiration of women and finding time alone with them, surely he wouldn’t debase himself so far as to threaten a woman. There was no excuse for that behavior.
A flash, like an errant tic, of annoyance crossed Mr. Greaves’s face. “As I said, I cannot pretend to know what the conversation concerned. I stepped in too late.”
Could he be telling the truth about Somerset? Perhaps she had been too hasty in dismissing him. The duke had been notably absent from the first ball, and his whereabouts could not be confirmed during the second ball. If he had indeed threatened Miss Rosehill with bodily harm, it was entirely possible that he was the murderer, after all. Perhaps she should have tried harder to measure his boots.
Mr. Greaves smiled and added, “I only mention it out of concern for your safety, being as you are here alone.”
Katherine fingered the edge of Miss Smythe’s diary. Had Mr. Greaves known that the woman his dear friend was set on marrying happened to be carrying another man’s child?
“Lady Katherine,” a woman called in a voice as sharp as the crunching gravel beneath her slippers.
Katherine glanced over her shoulder to meet Pru’s shrewd gaze. Why was she here?
The thin woman’s chin jutted out. Her smile was every bit as bladelike. “Please, forgive my tardiness. I know you meant to meet sooner. Mr. Greaves.” She dismissed the man summarily with a raise of her chin.
Her tone must have cut him, because he rose with alacrity. “Does it feel a bit chilly to you? Perhaps I’ll find my way to a hot pot of tea. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He slipped off the bench without another word and beat a hasty retreat.
Why would he make such a fuss over her presence in the garden alone, only to leave the moment another woman appeared? True, Pru was no dainty debutante, but had Katherine truly been in danger, she would have offered no protection. The tension in the air must have driven him away. Why had she treated him thus—did she know more about Mr. Greaves and his friend Mowbry than she let on?
At any rate, Katherine was glad to be rid of him, because now she had the perfect chance to discover just what, exactly, Pru was up to. She shifted to the side, making room on the bench next to her.
“Pru, please, sit.”
To her surprise, the young woman sat. She delicately arranged her skirts so as not to disturb the journal or teacup next to it. Katherine leaned down to pet Emma, who flopped at her feet and wagged her tail, relaxed once more.
“You aren’t the type to be sneaking into a man’s room. You must have had good reason to be there,” Pru said.
Katherine jumped. She hadn’t expected such a direct address. Had she seen Katherine exit Lord Mowbry’s chambers?
No. How ludicrous. They’d been confined together in Lord Northbrook’s dressing chamber, and that must be the room to which Pru referred. When Katherine returned her attention to the young woman, she countered, “I told you precisely my reason for being there.”
“You must have had more motive than to retrieve a note.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes. “You mean like you did?”
Pru flinched. She released a sharp breath. Her eyes flitted from spot to spot, as if she was desperately trying to concoct another excuse.
Before she found one, Katherine pressed harder. “You seem apt to wander into odd places.”
Pru glared. “The same might be said of you,” she quipped, her words clipped. She leaned closer and added, “Why don’t we come to an agreement? If you don’t mention my presence in Lord Northbrook’s chambers, then I’ll have no reason to mention your presence in Northbrook’s—and other men’s—chambers. Do we understand each other?”
Katherine sucked in a breath. Perhaps Pru had seen her in Mowbry’s room. After all, she had seen her in the hallway with Wayland, but had she been there longer than she let on? The girl certainly was devious. The last thing Katherine needed was Prudence telling everyone she’d been snooping in rooms or inviting Wayland into hers. “We do.”
She hadn’t wanted to expose Pru’s goings-on, only to learn more about what her purpose was. Katherine’s investigative instincts screamed that Pru’s presence had something to do with the mystery. The young woman didn’t seem at all interested in marrying Lord Northbrook, so what was she up to?
With a curt nod, Pru turned away. “Then I’ll leave you be. Good day.”
Katherine frowned, staring after her as she marched away with her head held high and her arms folded in front of her. What had that been about?
As Katherine returned to the task she’d set for herself, to learn the identity of the child’s father through Miss Smythe’s notes, she found her journal missing. The only thing next to her was an empty teacup on its saucer.
“That sarding cheat!”
Balling her fists, she stared at the empty path where Pru had disappeared. That wily young woman had stolen Miss Smythe’s diary from beneath Katherine’s very nose. But why?
Did Prudence have something to do with the murders? Maybe it wasn’t Mrs. Burwick who wanted the husband badly enough to eliminate the competition. Maybe it was her daughter.
Katherine squeezed her eyes shut. Had there been something in the dairy that would incriminate Pru? Try as she might, she could think of nothing. But Pru hadn’t read the diary, so she might not know that.
Then Katherine remembered the new piece of evidence Lyle had uncovered, the ivory chip found at the second crime scene. Could it have belonged to Pru’s fan?
If the young woman thought this would be the last they’d see of each other in private, she was wrong. Katherine would not rest until she learned the truth.
Prudence Burwick had to be involved in the murders in some way. Perhaps once Katherine got a look at her fan, she would know for certain.
Chapter Fifteen
Katherine needed someone’s help to sort out the snarl of suspects this investigation revealed at every turn. Thankfully, the day soon drew to a close, and she was able to slip out of the parlor without being noticed.
Everyone seemed much too engrossed with Annie’s pantomime performance, wherein she puckered her lips and fluttered her hands like some sort of insect. Knowing her, she wouldn’t accept less than the species and genus as a correct answer.
Meanwhile, Katherine hurried to the oak tree, where Lyle had promised to wait. Although the night was dark, with the moon not quite a quarter full yet and often hidden behind clouds, Lyle stood next to a shuttered lantern. A sliver of light illuminated his silhouette as he paced beneath the tree while she drew near. She hesitated outside the golden halo, still drenched in shadow. “Lyle?”
An Invitation To Murder Page 13
