Despite the voice in her head telling her not to bother, she took a quick look in the mirror over her dressing table. She glanced at her ink-stained fingers and shrugged. With all the writing she did, her fingers were never completely clean.
Mr. Harris rose when she entered the drawing room. She nodded at his bow and took the seat across from him, back straight, hands folded demurely in her lap. “Why are you here, Mr. Harris? If memory serves, we did not part in a pleasant manner at our last encounter at the Assembly Rooms.”
He managed to look sheepish. “Yes, Lady Amy. I have come to offer my deepest apologies for the way I spoke to you that evening.”
“If you are expecting me to say I am sorry for the punch I threw at you, it will be a long wait.”
He shook his head. “No. No. I don’t expect you to apologize. It was all my fault. While I don’t consider this an excuse, I had a bit too much to drink that night and oftentimes have a problem controlling my tongue.”
“Very well, Mr. Harris. I accept your apology.” She stood, and he jumped up.
“I thought perhaps we might visit for a while.” He held out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”
Force of habit and years of good breeding had her reaching out and taking the flowers from his hand. “Thank you.” She laid them on the small cherrywood table next to the settee. As much as she wanted the man out of her house, if they chatted for a while, she might gather more information. She settled back on the settee. “Would you care for a brandy?”
His eyes lit up at what she supposed was his glee at her acquiescing to his request. He had just admitted to being a bit loose-tongued with drink, so a brandy or two might be to her benefit. She nodded in the direction of the sideboard along the wall. “You may help yourself.”
With more confidence than he’d shown since she entered the room, he strode across the space and poured a brandy. “May I fetch something for you, Lady Amy?”
She needed to keep a clear head; it would not pay for her to be chatty. “No, thank you.”
Once he settled back into his seat, he leaned back and rested his foot on his knee. A bit improper in the presence of a lady.
Feeling a bit uncomfortable as he studied her, she said, “I understand you only recently returned to Bath. I assume you lived here before your travels?”
“Yes. I lived here for the years of my youth, then attended school in London. I only returned on occasion to spend time with my uncle.” He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward. “We were not very close, you know.”
Since Amy had been engaged to his uncle and had never heard Mr. Harris’s name pass his lips, she had no doubt this was the case. She wanted to ask him about the will, but it would be much better if Mr. Harris brought it up himself. Had they held the reading? Harris seemed much too cheerful to be aware of the financial state in which Mr. St. Vincent had left him.
“Are you planning on making Bath your home, then?”
He swirled the liquid in his glass and studied it for a few minutes. Then he looked up at her. “That depends.”
It was time for a nudge. “Will you be running Mr. St. Vincent’s shipping company now?”
He shook his head and let out a huge sigh. “That also depends on several things.”
Goodness, she was tired of this cat-and-mouse game they were playing. He was much cleverer than she’d thought him to be. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Harris, I have accepted your apology, and since I see no other reason for you to visit with me, I will ask you right out why you are here. I doubt it is to deliver flowers, since the shops do that quite expediently.”
He downed the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table in front of him. “You are right. The time has come.”
To her absolute horror, he crossed the distance between them and got down on one knee. Before she could gain her thoughts, he took her hand and said, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me, Lady Amy?”
CHAPTER 15
Amy’s jaw dropped as she stared at Mr. Harris in complete astonishment. He smiled up at her as if he’d just offered her the world.
“Excuse me, Mr. Harris, although I am many years from my dotage, it appears my hearing has left me. Did you just ask me to marry you?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t even know you. Why would I marry you?”
She hoped his explanation would be a lengthy one so she could reengage her brain. She’d been so stunned by his request, it seemed everything in her body had shut down. Staring stupidly at her, he shifted on his knees, squeezed her hand, and smiled.
His hand was sweaty.
“You are not getting any younger, Lady Amy. I imagine my uncle’s proposal was your last opportunity to secure a husband. Since I am his heir, I feel it is my duty to step into his place.”
Dear God in heaven, the man was mad. However, the anger that flowed through her veins was enough to wake her body up. To be certain it was not all a dream, she flicked the inside of her wrist with her fingertip. This man, this horrid cretin, had just insulted her while trying to get her to marry him.
No one had ever accused Amy of being stupid. Should she marry him, her money would be there to prop up the bankrupt business. Also, a wife could not be compelled to testify against her husband. This was all the more reason to keep Mr. Harris on their list of suspects.
The question arose, however, whether she should be a lady and thank him for his offer and then refuse, or do what she really wanted and push her foot against his chest, knock him on his arse, and leave the room.
Manners won out. “I am sorry, Mr. Harris, but while your offer is … interesting, I am afraid I must refuse.”
He sat back on his heels, actually looking surprised. “I think you are making a mistake. As I said, there won’t be many more offers coming your way at your age.”
Unable to hear much more without resorting to violence, she wrenched her hand free from his and stood. “That might very well be, Mr. Harris, but since marriage is not something I pine for, I will have to take my chances and pass on your offer. Should I change my mind, perhaps some elderly gentleman looking for a nurse would be willing to take me on to save me from the horrors of spinsterhood.”
He stood and brushed off his pants. “What can I say to change your mind?”
“Nothing. Now, if you will excuse me, I must give my dog a bath.” She pulled her skirts close and swept past him. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “Lacey will see you out.”
She raced up the stairs to her room, closed the door, and leaned against it.
And burst out laughing.
* * *
It was Thursday, and the book club was to meet at Amy’s house, as there was some sort of event at Atkinson & Tucker. Rather than cancel their meeting, Amy had offered the use of her house.
“How long does the meeting with your cohorts in crime last?” Aunt Margaret entered the drawing room, her hat clutched in her hand. “I want to be certain to stay away long enough not to walk into a discussion of dead bodies and gruesome murders.”
“We are generally finished by ten o’clock.” Amy moved a vase of flowers from a rectangular table near the window to the top of the piano. They would use the table for tea and small sandwiches and tarts that Cook had prepared and Lacey was in the process of laying out. “Where are you off to this evening?”
Aunt Margaret walked to the mirror in the entrance way and adjusted her hat. “Mr. Darling is hosting a card party.”
Amy joined her aunt as she shrugged into her coat. “Tell me, Aunt Margaret. You know how men often call each other by their last name?”
“Yes?” Aunt’s attention returned to the mirror as she smoothed back the few strands of hair that had loosened from her chignon.
Amy grinned. “Do the men in your circle of friends call Mr. Darling by his last name?”
Aunt Margaret frowned at her. “What?” Then she began to laugh. “Oh, yes. I see what you mean. You know, I have never noticed. Now if someo
ne calls him that I will be forced to swallow my laughter.” She patted Amy on the cheek. “Thank you for that, dear niece.”
With a sweep of her skirt and the light scent of lavender, Aunt Margaret left the house.
No sooner had the Winchester carriage carrying Aunt Margaret pulled into the traffic than William strode up the steps, followed by a very out-of-breath Eloise. “Good evening, Amy.” William offered his bow.
“Eloise, you are looking so much better.” Amy gave her a warm hug.
“Yes, much, much better.” Eloise rolled her eyes. “I thought I would never be allowed out of bed. Mama is very overprotective, as you know.”
Eloise had a younger sister who had developed influenza a few years back, and despite healers, physicians, and numerous prayers, she had succumbed to the illness after six days with a fever. Mrs. Spencer had never gotten over losing her child and had been overly cautious with Eloise since.
Amy had not seen either Eloise or William since Mr. Harris’s proposal a few days before. She linked her arms with them both and started walking. “I am so glad you arrived before the others. I have a very interesting and funny story to tell you.”
“How very intriguing,” William said as they all walked together to the drawing room, where they took seats across from each other.
“I had a visit Monday evening from Mr. Harris.”
“Who is Mr. Harris?” Eloise asked.
Amy took a few minutes to bring Eloise up-to-date with what had been happening with the murder investigation.
“I still cannot believe you broke into someone’s flat.” Her eyes danced with amusement as she glanced back and forth between Amy and William.
“Yes,” Amy smirked. “I cannot believe it myself.”
William straightened in his seat. “Whatever did Harris come here for?”
She grinned, anticipating this reaction. “To ask me to marry him.”
Eloise’s mouth dropped open, and William shouted, “What?” He jumped from his seat, then sat back down again. “Why the devil would he ask you to marry him when the last time you saw him you planted him a facer?” He grinned. “Is he the sort who enjoys a woman who …” He flushed a bright red, which made Amy wonder what he had been about to say.
“What sort of a woman?” Eloise and Amy asked at the same time.
“Nothing. I misspoke. Tell me about his proposal.”
Amy tried to talk, but her laughter was making it difficult. Every time she thought about Mr. Harris’s extremely awkward and unromantic proposal, she broke into giggles again. She finally composed herself and took a deep breath. “His reason—as stated—was that I was not getting any younger, and Mr. St. Vincent’s offer to marry me was most likely my last chance at marital bliss, so he was willing to step into his uncle’s place.”
William sat slack-jawed and stared at her. “He didn’t really say that?”
“He did.”
“The man is addlepated. What sort of way is that to encourage a young lady—excuse me—a lady of years, to accept an offer of marriage?” He grinned and shook his head. “Someone needs to take the man in hand. He is truly a danger to society.” William leaned back in the chair. “So, when’s the wedding?”
“Very funny, my lord. I thanked him for his offer and refused.”
“Of course.”
“Would you believe he actually looked surprised that I turned him down?”
“You? Why, you are a prize on the marriage mart.” William stood and ticked off on his fingers. “You are beautiful, smart, witty, kind, talented …” Suddenly he seemed to realize what he was saying. His face turned a bright red again, and he sat back down.
Eloise and Amy exchanges amused glances. “Do continue, my lord,” Eloise said.
He waved his hand in the air. “You understand what I mean.”
“Yes. I believe we do.” Amy smoothed out her skirt and tried to dismiss William’s words. Surely they meant nothing.
“I’m assuming the reason he offered marriage was because Mr. St. Vincent’s will has been read.”
“Most likely. I thought he appeared a bit too cheerful when he arrived for the will to have already been read, but I’m assuming he counted on the fact that a pitiful example of womanhood such as I would fall at his feet in appreciation of his proposal. But that is not the only reason, I suspect.”
William regarded her with raised eyebrows. Eloise leaned forward. “What?”
“A wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband.”
“Ah. Very clever, Amy.” William studied her for a minute. “So if you were married to Mr. Harris, and in your investigation you uncovered proof of his involvement in his uncle’s murder, you could not be forced to testify.”
“Precisely. That is another reason to keep him on our list.”
The sound of the door knocker drew their attention. “It appears our club members are beginning to arrive.”
The both stood as Mr. Miles, Mrs. Miles, and Miss Sterling entered the room. Within minutes, Mr. Colbert, Mr. Davidson, and Lord Temple and his daughter, Lady Abigail, had all joined them.
Mrs. Miles hurried across the room and took Amy’s hand. “My dear. How are you holding up?”
“I am just fine, Mrs. Miles, and how are you?” This would be the third book club meeting they’d had since St. Vincent’s murder, and each time she’d told Mrs. Miles she was doing just fine. The woman thrived on drama.
Mrs. Miles patted her hand. “I’m so glad to hear that. You do seem to be dealing with everything quite well.”
Not sure what the woman meant by everything, Amy said, “There are refreshments on the table by the window. Why don’t you help yourself?”
Lady Carlisle entered the room, which completed the membership. Amy approached her newly arrived guest, who seemed a bit confused. Lady Carlisle had been hosting dinners and parties to help her husband in his quest for the position of ambassador, and it appeared to be tiring for her. “Are you unwell, Lady Carlisle?”
She smiled. “No. I am quite well. I see you have tea. I shall enjoy a cup before the meeting begins.”
Amy moved from group to group while the members stood around speaking and partaking of the refreshments. Eventually Mr. Colbert called the meeting to order, and they all took seats around the room.
William selected the chair next to her and leaned in close to her ear. “I think it might be a good idea to visit with Miss Hemphill one day next week. You must think of a reason to call on her, since we need more answers. I feel as though we do not have enough information on her. It might also be helpful if you can confirm that she sent the note. I will be speaking with some of the shipyard people to see if we can get more information on the individual St. Vincent was working with.”
“Sir Holstein sent around a note today that he spoke with the police and they were not very helpful.”
William snorted, and Eloise, who had been listening to the exchange, shook her head.
* * *
The afternoon after the book club meeting, Lacey ushered Detective Marsh and Detective Carson into the drawing room. Amy smiled at the men and offered them a seat. They didn’t smile back and sat down.
She sighed and rearranged her skirts and waited for them to begin. She’d received a note that morning from Marsh requesting an interview. It was her duty to assist in the investigation of St. Vincent’s murder, but she would much rather spend her time conducting her own inquiries than answering their questions. Particularly since she was still convinced they only wanted to charge her with the murder and close the case.
“How may I assist you, Detectives?”
Detective Carson began. “It has come to our attention that you have hired a private investigator to work on this matter.”
She wanted so badly to feign innocence and ask what matter he was speaking about, but annoying the man would only do her a disservice. “I have not hired anyone, Detective. I was as surprised as you were when Sir Holstein sent along a note that he wished to sp
eak with me. It appears my father employed the man upon recommendation from Lord Carlisle, who is great friends with the investigator.”
Detective Carson scowled. “It seems odd for the pompous Lord Carlisle to be friends with a lowly private investigator.”
“Sir Holstein did some investigative work for Lord Carlisle some time ago and they remained friends. However, just to be clear, I do not pass judgment on friends of my friends.”
He dismissed her remark with a wave of his hand. “Just as long as he doesn’t get in our way. We don’t appreciate having private citizens do police work.”
Since that was not a question, she merely continued to look at him, waiting for his next remark. She doubted the only reason for their visit was to warn her not to allow her investigator to get in their way.
“Is there anything else, Detective?”
“Yes.” Marsh opened a notebook and flipped through the pages. He looked at her with what he most likely thought was an intimidating look. “What do you know of a Miss Eva Hemphill?”
So, the woman who had anticipated marriage with St. Vincent had come to their attention. “Not much. I met her briefly at a sewing circle last week.”
“Did you know she was expecting to marry your fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé.”
Carson jumped in. “Do you know why he proposed to you instead of her?”
Honestly, the man could come up with the oddest questions. “No. I can assure you I have no idea what Mr. St. Vincent was thinking. I had no knowledge of his relationship with Miss Hemphill.”
“How did he come to be betrothed to you?” Carson continued the questioning while Marsh took notes.
“We spent some time together. We got along well. He seemed to be a nice sort of person. Without speaking to me first, he traveled to London, met with my father, and made his offer.”
Detective Marsh smiled for the first time ever. “Do toffs still do it that way?”
Amy shook her head. “I have no idea if ‘toffs’ do it that way; I can only tell you what happened in my situation.”
“Excuse me, Lady Amy, but you do not seem like the sort of woman who would accept an offer from a gentleman who worked it out with your father first.” Detective Carson also offered his very first smile.
A Study in Murder Page 15