As she and Harriet parted ways, Katherine loosened her hand and nearly dropped the paper she’d forgotten she held. She held it tight and slipped down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused beside a lamp and smoothed the page, curious to read Annie’s message.
My dear Lord Northbrook,
I beg you to forgive my clumsiness these past two days. It was not my intention to draw attention to either of us or make a spectacle. Although the transgressions were innocently made, I hope you’ll accept this violet-banded moth as a token of my eagerness to be forgiven and forget the matter. It is a very rare specimen, rather like yourself.
As promised, she did indeed leave instructions on the care of the moth, down to which sort of plants it preferred to eat and under what conditions they should be presented to it. She signed it with her full name.
Katherine heaved a sigh as she shook her head. She stuffed the note into her reticule. What madness had led her to believe that serving as a chaperone would be any easier than solving a murder? Clearly, she’d been mistaken.
Chapter Eight
Katherine slipped into the parlor, the last woman to arrive. Given that the men arrived swiftly on her heels, she believed that her tardiness had been overlooked. At the very least, no one mentioned it, nor did anyone ask about her whereabouts.
However, that didn’t stop more than one lady from glaring daggers at her throughout supper. Miss Young must have told her matchmaker about Katherine’s interference, for Mrs. Fairchild spent the meal staring at Katherine as though she were an undercooked fish on her plate.
Pru Burwick seethed with ill-contained displeasure. Although she sat two chairs away from Katherine, Lord Somerset seated between them prevented conversation with his overly loud chewing. Thankfully, Annie drew no disapproving looks. With luck, her confidence would soon improve.
As Katherine ate, contributing to the soft chatter only often enough to keep the shallow conversation moving, she turned her thoughts to the mystery at hand.
Lord Mowbry remained her best suspect, but she needed either to unearth a stronger tie between him and Miss Rosehill, or to place him in the garden on that night. Considering the length of time that had passed since the incident, both tasks proved formidable.
As the servants cleared away the dishes from the last course, Lord Somerset stood and offered Katherine his left arm. She accepted his help to rise, with the others guests milling around them but leaving them alone, at least for the time being.
If she hadn’t watched the duke saunter off that night in the garden, she might have considered him a stronger suspect. He could have circled around—she didn’t recall seeing him in the swathe of people to attend to Annie after her scream, and that could have been because he was the one that she’d seen running away.
But no. Lord Mowbry’s boots fit the measurements. But Katherine pondered why he would he double back to the scene, unless he was very clever and thought his presence would rule him out as a suspect, should Annie have noticed anyone stalking her.
Hadn’t Mr. Greaves mentioned something about looking for Lord Mowbry prior to the incident? If he wasn’t in the house, then where was he? And his response to Mr. Greaves’s question was rather odd—he’d asked if Greaves thought he screamed like a girl. Was that because he was trying to cover up the fact that what Mr. Greaves really meant was that he wasn’t inside the house?
“May I escort you to the parlor, Lady Katherine?” Lord Somerset asked.
Farther down the table, Wayland caught her eye, an amused tilt to his lips as he started toward her. Best to accept Somerset’s offer or Wayland might find a ruse to install himself by her side. He could nag her until the sun rose, but she refused to provide him with even the smallest of tidbits about the pink-ribbon murders, not when she was so close to solving them herself.
“Thank you, my lord.” She laid her hand on Lord Somerset’s sleeve and matched his plodding pace. As she did, she searched for her charge. “Don’t you mean to join the men for after-dinner port?”
As they reached the door, the old lord leered at the bare swathe of skin above the neckline of her gown. Although he was an inch or two shorter than she, it wasn’t slight enough to put him at an acceptable height to ogle her, if such a height existed. “I’ll join you ladies in the sitting room. You make for much better company.”
Katherine’s cheeks ached from maintaining her polite smile. “I imagine we’ll be working on our needlepoint.” Not that Katherine had any use for such a frivolous pastime. The day it helped her solve crime, she would apply herself to the hobby wholeheartedly.
“I’m happy to encourage industrious accomplishments. My daughters are all very accomplished embroiderers.”
Since arriving at the Northbrook estate, Katherine had seen the duke apply himself so single-mindedly to the pursuit of a woman that she’d forgotten that he’d been married more than once, with daughters older than she to show for it.
Lord Somerset added, “Do you also lay claim to talented fingers, Lady Katherine?”
It could have been a proposition. It must be something in Lord Northbrook’s port to make every man at the party so brazen and lewd. She forced an answer through gritted teeth. “I’m afraid the pastime isn’t one at which I excel.”
“I’m certain your talents lie in other areas.”
She would like to lay claim to the talent of ending conversations, but she didn’t have that power. Lord Somerset moved slower than a stubborn mule; the parlor, and the remainder of the ladies, seemed a thousand miles away at this plodding pace. “Indeed,” she answered, her voice clipped as she tried to think of some way to extract herself from his company. Although she’d hoped to find herself alone with him at some point to interrogate him regarding the past murders and to measure his boots, as of that moment, she reconsidered. She would much prefer to glean information regarding his whereabouts and interest in the victims from others.
“I must admit, Lady Katherine, I am surprised to find you unwed. Is a lady of your stature holding out for a husband of her distinction—a duke, perhaps?”
No, you sarding clodpoll. Somehow, she managed to maintain a serene expression despite the infuriated revulsion rippling beneath her skin. She hated that every man assumed she was good for nothing more than marriage and babies. “I don’t intend to marry,” she answered in a short tone.
“That would be a shame.”
Frankly, if Somerset was the Pink-Ribbon Killer, she would be surprised that his victims hadn’t tried to strangle him.
“I would have thought your tastes lay with women more like Miss Smythe, Miss Rosehill, or even Miss Young.”
The duke tsked under his breath as his eyes wandered down her body, lingering on her hips. “A figure like yours, Lady Katherine, is made for marriage and babies. If you change your mind and would like to become a duchess…”
Katherine nearly choked on her tongue. This was her first proposal—and from a duke, no less—only it wasn’t quite the happy ending her sisters described, given that he wanted her to be his broodmare. “I doubt I’ll change my mind,” she said, her voice strained. “I like my independence too well.”
And once she apprehended the Pink-Ribbon Killer, she would have everything she needed to remain independent for the rest of her days. No more matchmaking jobs. No more questions about her intentions to marry. She would become a spinster and solve crime like her father.
She glanced down at his boots. She had the string in her reticule but didn’t dare feign as though she’d dropped something. With her luck, Lord Somerset would think she’d swooned at delight because of his offer. No, better to leave that for another time.
However, she needed a moment to compose herself before she pursued the true task she’d set for herself at this party. The moment they reached the parlor, she thanked Lord Somerset for his escort and searched for a reason to leave him.
Her eyes fastened on Pru Burwick, who sat next to her mother and accepted the woman’s loud criticism of her needlepoin
t with a distasteful twist of her mouth. Why had she truly been searching Lord Northbrook’s chambers? Katherine intended to find out.
When she crossed to stand beside Pru, the young woman jumped. Katherine smiled. “Hello, Miss Burwick, Mrs. Burwick. May I join you?”
“Certainly,” Pru said, her voice strained. She stood. “In fact, you can take my place.”
“Prudence—”
She ignored her mother’s tone of warning and said in a light voice, “Isn’t that the Duke of Somerset? Why don’t you discuss my horrible needlepoint with him?” She moved toward the wide windows overlooking the lawn.
Mrs. Burwick released an exasperated breath as she watched her daughter’s retreat. “Please, forgive her. She’s a lovely girl when she’s not purposefully being rude.” She shook her head. “That deuced Lord Mowbry has her in a snit.”
Katherine, poised to pursue Pru, dropped onto the vacant seat on the settee instead. “What do you mean?”
Mrs. Burwick’s mouth twisted, and she stabbed viciously at her embroidery hoop with her needle. “She was seated next to him all through supper, but did the blighter say one word to her? No, he was far too busy flirting with the other women near him. She acts aloof, but his abominable behavior hurt her deeply.”
Mrs. Burwick had defended him only this afternoon. Katherine wondered whether she could trust a word out of the woman’s mouth. For one, Pru had been far too consumed by glaring at Katherine to pay the least bit of attention to her dinner partner.
“She seemed a bit distracted at supper, but are you certain it’s due to Mowbry? Perhaps she prefers someone else, like our host.” Had Pru told her the truth about her search of Northbrook’s chambers?
Mrs. Burwick jabbed at her embroidery again, violently pulling on the thread as she looped it through. “Him? Not likely. His mother has impossible standards. Besides, we’re aiming for higher than a mere earl.”
This, said to a mere earl’s daughter, from a woman whose husband had no title at all.
Pru lied. Either that, which Katherine had suspected all along, or Mrs. Burwick concealed her aim with Lord Northbrook. If she disdained the suit of an earl to such a degree, it seemed unlikely she would send him any sort of embarrassing missive. Pru had another reason to search his room, and Katherine would not rest until she discovered it.
As her gaze travelled to the young woman, who spoke to Lord Somerset with enough frost to betray her distaste for the conversation, Katherine prodded Mrs. Burwick along. “The heir to a marquis is preferable?”
Mrs. Burwick inclined her head. “But of course. He’s closer to her age, too.”
Than the Earl of Northbrook or the Duke of Somerset? Somerset, certainly, but Katherine guessed both Pru and Northbrook to be of a similar age.
The woman speared her linen once more, simmering with outrage. “This unfortunate incident with his fiancée has clouded his mind, not that she deserves his grief. Miss Smythe had no connections, no fortune, not even a sponsor. I must say, I have no idea why Pru seemed to like her and Miss Rosehill so much. All those two had going for them was their beauty. But Miss Smythe seems to have enchanted Lord Mowbry so much so that he seeks to fill her void with someone equally as beautiful. Pru’s is the perfect shoulder to cry on. He would be very happy with her, if he’d only take the time to look. Instead, he lavishes Miss Young with attention.” She continued her violent progress with her needlepoint, her mouth and eyes set in a lethal expression.
The vehemence in the woman’s expression took her by surprise, and Katherine recoiled. “Perhaps there’s time yet,” she said weakly. But if Pru had been friends with Miss Smythe, it didn’t make sense that she would want Mowbry. Perhaps the friendship hadn’t been as it seemed. Was Pru devious enough to feign friendship with Miss Smythe in order to get close to Lord Mowbry?
As the gentlemen ambled through the doorway to join them for the evening’s entertainment, Mrs. Burwick set aside her embroidery with a perverse smile. “Yes, perhaps there is.”
Katherine frowned as the woman sauntered over to rescue Pru and force her into Lord Mowbry’s orbit. Mrs. Burwick did seem determined.
Katherine couldn’t help but wonder about Mrs. Burwick’s whereabouts during the two murders, and to what lengths the woman would go in order to secure an advantageous match for her daughter. Certainly not murder.
She needed to know more, and for that, she needed to find a private moment alone with Pru, who had secrets of her own. One way or another, Katherine needed to find the answers, and soon.
Chapter Nine
She garnered no answers from Miss Burwick that night. Pru, it seemed, was adept at not only slipping away from Katherine’s company, but also at arranging for her to cross paths with people who refused to let her pass without a biting or probing word.
Wayland, unfortunately, was among that number far too many times. By the time Katherine trudged up to her room, she was emotionally wrung out. The one saving grace of the evening was that Annie had been on her best behavior. No one could have found fault in her demeanor, though she’d kept to the edge of the room to avoid being drawn into conversation.
The moment Katherine opened the door to her room, Emma bounded out. Her curly tail thumped the air with vigor. Her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth as she circled Katherine’s ankles, begging for attention.
“I suppose you need another walk before bed, do you, girl?”
Emma yipped happily and dashed into the room. She returned seconds later dragging the leash.
Katherine laughed as she kneeled. “I’ll take that to mean yes.”
After she clipped the leash to Emma’s collar, all but hidden beneath her jaunty bow, the pug took a corner of the leash in her mouth and led Katherine through the manor and toward the door to the garden. It seemed she had memorized the path, for in her eagerness she didn’t once falter.
Glad to hurry through the chore so she could tuck herself into bed, Katherine followed after her pet without complaint. Feeling a slight tinge of unease at being out in the garden alone at night, she kept close to the house as she let the dog pause to sniff the various shrubberies in the hopes that she would find a proper place to empty her bladder for the evening. The moment the pug watered a well-groomed birch tree, Katherine steered her toward the manor again.
Nearby voices made her pause.
Emma strained against the leash, wagging her tail. She yipped with excitement.
Katherine dove to her knees next to her pet and scooped her into the air. “Shhh,” she hissed. “Let’s not draw attention to ourselves.”
Emma barked again.
“Hush,” Katherine whispered. She tilted the dog to scratch her belly. No dog interrupted the bliss of a belly rub by barking. As she crouched, Katherine strained her ears to listen to the conversation. Was the Pink-Ribbon Killer out there now?
“It is a servant. No one walks their own pet,” said a man, one whose voice tickled her recognition. But who is it?
“Are you certain, my lord?” A young woman, given the demure tone. “If we’re seen alone together, we’ll have to marry.”
Katherine gritted her teeth. That coy voice could only belong to Miss Young. In whom did she hope to sink her claws?
As she continued to rub Emma’s belly, Katherine slowly straightened until she could peer above the groomed box shrub and into the vine-covered grotto on the other side. A lantern near the western walkway bathed the occupants in a warm orange glow. Miss Young indeed sat on a bench, opposite the host of the party.
I wonder if Mrs. Fairchild knows you’re here without a chaperone. Katherine wouldn’t have cared a whit, but Miss Young’s ambitions contributed to Annie’s disappointment.
Lord Northbrook clasped his hands on his lap. “I promise to be the image of comportment. I would never harm you, Miss Young.”
She laughed prettily. “I know you wouldn’t, my lord. I feel safe with you.”
Katherine made a face. When she stopped scratching Emma, her dog wriggl
ed. Hurriedly, Katherine resumed the attention, hoping to keep the pug occupied.
“I must admit to some surprise at your request.” The young woman leaned forward. “Did you ask me out here simply for the pleasure of my company, or do you have an end in mind?” She turned her face up to his as she swayed even closer.
Katherine bristled. She would have walked away and resigned the unexpectedly brazen Miss Young to her fate, had she not vowed that there wouldn’t be another victim.
Katherine thought it unlikely that Lord Northbrook was the Pink-ribbon Killer, but it was better that she remain to keep an eye on Miss Young, just in case. Though, if she started kissing Northbrook, Katherine might reconsider.
To his credit, the young earl didn’t take advantage of what was so clearly offered to him. Instead, he reached out to clasp one of Miss Young’s hands. “I wanted a moment of your time so I might thank you properly.”
For the first time since Katherine had met him, he seemed less stiff. She might even call him earnest. Witnessing the change in his demeanor, her hopes for Annie sank.
“Thank me?” said Miss Young. “For what?”
For what, indeed?
Emma struggled against Katherine’s hold. Keeping her attention on the conversation, she absentmindedly set her dog on the ground. She kept a firm hold on the leash while Emma investigated the underside of a bush.
Northbrook said, “My valet saw you leaving the family quarters. I’ve never received such a thoughtful gift.”
Gift? Katherine’s fingers slackened around the leash as she leaned closer to the shrubbery to attend the conversation.
“Oh… the gift. Yes, of course.”
Miss Young didn’t sound the least bit as if she knew to what Northbrook was referring. Katherine, on the other hand, had the sinking suspicion that she knew the gift in question.
In that same halting tone, Miss Young added, “I… didn’t know whether it would be favorably received.”
An Invitation To Murder Page 9