I smiled gently, recognizing the true source of his frustration. “I doubt she wished for such an outcome.”
“I know.” He heaved a sigh and then scowled. “Listen to me. I’m as bad as my father.”
“No, you aren’t.” I brushed my hands over the silk of his silver blue waistcoat and up over his collarbone. “You have a legitimate reason for being irritated. I don’t relish the interruption of our wedding trip any more than you do.” I quirked a single eyebrow. “Your father, on the other hand, is simply being a jackass.”
This startled a smile out of him, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Yes, well, jackass or no, what do we do?” His fingers lifted to toy with the strands of my hair near my neck that had fallen from my upswept chignon and now rested against the blanket. “The truth of the matter is, I don’t think my father would have requested our assistance if he wasn’t desperately in need of it, loathe as he would be to admit that.”
“I had the same impression,” I confessed, trying to remain focused on what he was saying and not the brush of his fingers against my skin. His father’s low opinion of me and my investigating abilities had been made abundantly clear.
“So he and Wellington must truly be in a pickle.” He scowled. “Which puts us in a pickle.”
His too-long hair flopped over his eyes as he hovered over me, and I reached up to push it aside. “What will happen if we don’t go?” I ventured to ask for the sake of thoroughness.
He didn’t reply at first, but from the tightness around his eyes I could tell he was working through the implications himself.
“Your father won’t go, will he?”
“Not if he can avoid it. And if he does, the inquiry will be rushed. Some Irish peasant will be charged with the crime. Or perhaps worse, a Catholic politician who would be expedient for the government to be rid of.”
“Your father won’t be impartial?” I asked in surprise.
He looked away. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
His uncertainty was unsettling. I knew what it was to be charged with a crime I hadn’t committed, to be tried and condemned in the eyes of the public if not the law. It was not something I could idly sit by and allow to happen to someone else.
I also knew, no matter the truth, if we declined to go, Lord Gage would blame me. He would consider his son’s refusal yet another example of my unfortunate influence on him, and one more reason to disapprove of our marriage. Little as I cared for Lord Gage or his opinion of me, I cared greatly how they affected Gage, and anything I could do to smooth matters between them was for the better. There was also an element of challenge to Lord Gage including me in his request, almost as if he’d thrown down a gauntlet, daring me to prove him wrong about me. I had to admit, I wanted to meet and exceed it, and then throw my success in his face.
I pushed Gage away from me, so that I could sit up. The beautiful scenery surrounding us was unchanged. The colors were still brilliant, the sky scattered with down-soft clouds, the breeze lazy and alluring, and yet nothing was the same. Our idyll was over.
I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for my reaction, perhaps for my blessing. I knew he didn’t want to make this decision alone, to dictate where we needed to go, as his father so often tried to do to him. His willingness to not only listen to, but oftentimes heed my opinion meant much. In fact, it was one of the reasons I had agreed to marry again, despite the unhappy memories of my first marriage.
I picked up a blade of grass that had fallen on the skirts of my russet brown walking dress and tossed it aside. “I suppose Lord and Lady Keswick will be returning from London soon anyway. The season usually draws to a conclusion before the heat of July arrives.”
“True.” His hand captured mine where it rested on the blanket between us. “Does that mean you think we should go to Ireland?”
I allowed myself one more moment of indecision before nodding my head. “Yes. If not us, then who? Besides, we’ll still be together.”
“Yes.” He drew me closer, wrapping his arm around my back. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to let you out of my sight, wife.”
I smiled at his playful protectiveness. “I must admit, I’m also somewhat intrigued by the whole thing. Who murders a nun? And why? Aren’t they normally sequestered away in some dank abbey? Singing and praying, and absorbed in silent contemplation of God and his holy word.”
“I suspect they still fall prey to the same sinful thoughts and emotions we do, just to a lesser degree. They may have cloistered themselves away from the world, but they are still of this world, no matter their vows.”
I tipped my head, resting it in the crook of his neck with a small sigh. “I’m sure you’re right. Either way, we shall find out soon enough.”
Gage held me closer, as if realizing our time was suddenly slipping away just as acutely as I. It left a bittersweet ache in my chest recalling how much I had enjoyed my time here, and yet knowing tomorrow it would be over. I supposed it wasn’t uncommon for people to experience this after a particularly lovely holiday, but I was unfamiliar with the emotion. It was almost akin to loss, which I had experienced plenty of. The similarities rattled me.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Gage I’d changed my mind. That I didn’t want to go to Ireland. But the moment passed, like a cloud’s shadow scuttling across the landscape. There was nothing to fear. Whether we went to Ireland or not, we would have to leave the Lake District soon anyway. It might as well be on an adventure, doing what we did best.
If only I’d recognized then exactly what that chilling sense of dread had meant, perhaps I wouldn’t have dismissed it so readily. Perhaps the distress that followed might have been mitigated.
Anna Lee Huber is the RITA and Daphne award–nominated author of the Lady Darby Mysteries, including A Study in Death, A Grave Matter, Mortal Arts, and The Anatomist’s Wife. She is a summa cum laude graduate of Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she majored in music and minored in psychology. She currently resides in Indiana with her family and is hard at work on the next Lady Darby novel. Visit her online at annaleehuber.com.
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A Pressing Engagement (A Lady Darby Mystery) Page 10
