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Authors: Amy Corwin
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However, another gentleman stepped forward, his heavy features distorted by a frown. Nathaniel recognized the short, stout man as Sir Henry, Lord Westover’s friend.
Earlier that evening when Nathaniel had escorted Lady Anne to the buffet table, he had noticed Bolton standing nearby, frowning at them. Nathaniel had ignored him.
“It wouldn’t take long to bash someone on the head.” Bolton gestured toward a small marble cherub lying next to Lady Anne. A dark, wet stain covered the stone cheeks. Bolton stood in front of Nathaniel, staring at him with accusation, but apparently not daring enough to give voice to his doubts.
“There were plenty of others out here,” Nathaniel said, keeping his voice steady and easy. “ I am sure many saw me and a few may have even noticed Lady Anne. We must question the rest of the guests and find out who was in the garden during the past hour or so.” He studied the dead woman, angry with himself at having avoided her.
Why had she foolishly followed him?
He should have escorted her to the terrace and left her there. Except everyone knew she’d been trying to fix his interest for the last two months. He didn’t want to be seen returning from the garden in her company. Honor and her sharp-eyed parents would demand he marry her.
God, what a tangled mess . Why couldn’t these women leave him alone?
“Let me by. We need to bring her back to the house,” Nathaniel said at last, shouldering his way past the other men.
Stepping in front of Nathaniel, Lord Jackson picked up the body and turned to face the small crowd. “I’ve got her, Your Grace. If you would go ahead and speak to her parents—someone must speak to them.” He caught Nathaniel’s expression and added, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it might be best coming from you.”
Nathaniel nodded. “ I will inform them and then send word to Bow Street. Her parents will wish it, and this must be investigated.”
“Someone must investigate, indeed,” Bolton replied, his voice sneering. “And they will, Your Grace , they certainly will.”
Chapter Six
Conspiracy is where two or more persons combine together to execute some act for the purpose of injuring some third person or the public, and is a misdemeanor at common law. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
“Did you enjoy yourself, Miss Haywood?” Lady Victoria asked as they settled themselves in the carriage.
“Lovely.” Charlotte sat back with her eyes closed, feeling immensely tired. “Thank you for locating that footman.”
“Yes—Tom Henry. We can always use a good man,” Mr. Archer replied. “He seemed like a fine specimen.” He eyed Charlotte. “A strapping young fellow.”
Did he think she was fascinated by a servant? She had only the vaguest idea of what he even looked like. If it had not been for the cut on his hand, she wouldn’t have known him from any other unemployed man in London sitting on the edge of the street, staring at his dusty feet in the gutter.
Then she stopped, horrified. How could she consider him unacceptable simply because he was a servant? He had been born poor to the “wrong” parents through no fault of his own.
God, please let her get away from England while she still retained some sense of equality. It was absurd to judge a person based solely upon the accident of their birth. A person’s actions, not their birth, revealed who they were.
“I really had not noticed,” Charlotte replied, trying to suppress a yawn. “Since you were kind enough to offer me your home and therefore have another person in your household, it seemed like an excellent notion to expand your staff. He seems suitable.”
“That is true,” Lady Victoria said. “Which reminds me, I noticed you don’t have an abigail, either. You will need one of those, as well.”
“I suppose. But she must be an older lady interested in travel.”
“Travel?”
“Yes. I am sure your lawyers have gone over the terms of my father’s will. When I am
Earlier that evening when Nathaniel had escorted Lady Anne to the buffet table, he had noticed Bolton standing nearby, frowning at them. Nathaniel had ignored him.
“It wouldn’t take long to bash someone on the head.” Bolton gestured toward a small marble cherub lying next to Lady Anne. A dark, wet stain covered the stone cheeks. Bolton stood in front of Nathaniel, staring at him with accusation, but apparently not daring enough to give voice to his doubts.
“There were plenty of others out here,” Nathaniel said, keeping his voice steady and easy. “ I am sure many saw me and a few may have even noticed Lady Anne. We must question the rest of the guests and find out who was in the garden during the past hour or so.” He studied the dead woman, angry with himself at having avoided her.
Why had she foolishly followed him?
He should have escorted her to the terrace and left her there. Except everyone knew she’d been trying to fix his interest for the last two months. He didn’t want to be seen returning from the garden in her company. Honor and her sharp-eyed parents would demand he marry her.
God, what a tangled mess . Why couldn’t these women leave him alone?
“Let me by. We need to bring her back to the house,” Nathaniel said at last, shouldering his way past the other men.
Stepping in front of Nathaniel, Lord Jackson picked up the body and turned to face the small crowd. “I’ve got her, Your Grace. If you would go ahead and speak to her parents—someone must speak to them.” He caught Nathaniel’s expression and added, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it might be best coming from you.”
Nathaniel nodded. “ I will inform them and then send word to Bow Street. Her parents will wish it, and this must be investigated.”
“Someone must investigate, indeed,” Bolton replied, his voice sneering. “And they will, Your Grace , they certainly will.”
Chapter Six
Conspiracy is where two or more persons combine together to execute some act for the purpose of injuring some third person or the public, and is a misdemeanor at common law. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
“Did you enjoy yourself, Miss Haywood?” Lady Victoria asked as they settled themselves in the carriage.
“Lovely.” Charlotte sat back with her eyes closed, feeling immensely tired. “Thank you for locating that footman.”
“Yes—Tom Henry. We can always use a good man,” Mr. Archer replied. “He seemed like a fine specimen.” He eyed Charlotte. “A strapping young fellow.”
Did he think she was fascinated by a servant? She had only the vaguest idea of what he even looked like. If it had not been for the cut on his hand, she wouldn’t have known him from any other unemployed man in London sitting on the edge of the street, staring at his dusty feet in the gutter.
Then she stopped, horrified. How could she consider him unacceptable simply because he was a servant? He had been born poor to the “wrong” parents through no fault of his own.
God, please let her get away from England while she still retained some sense of equality. It was absurd to judge a person based solely upon the accident of their birth. A person’s actions, not their birth, revealed who they were.
“I really had not noticed,” Charlotte replied, trying to suppress a yawn. “Since you were kind enough to offer me your home and therefore have another person in your household, it seemed like an excellent notion to expand your staff. He seems suitable.”
“That is true,” Lady Victoria said. “Which reminds me, I noticed you don’t have an abigail, either. You will need one of those, as well.”
“I suppose. But she must be an older lady interested in travel.”
“Travel?”
“Yes. I am sure your lawyers have gone over the terms of my father’s will. When I am
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