Curious, Rebecca walked to the gate. Sir Frederick Wilford dismounted and looped a rein over the gate post.
“Sir Frederick, I ... I did not expect to see you again so soon.”
He glanced beyond her into the empty garden. “May I ask what you are doing out here alone?”
“Just giving Rose a little privacy to talk with her sister.”
He reared his head back in surprise. “Her sister?”
“Yes. Lady Fitzhoward, the former Daisy Watts.”
His brow furrowed. “Daisy? I thought her name was Marguerite?”
Rebecca nodded. “She told us she never liked the name Daisy and changed it when she left here.”
“Ah... and Marguerite is the French word for daisy, after all.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. No wonder she looked familiar.”
“I am surprised I did not guess the connection earlier,” Rebecca said, “but their situations and demeanors were so different, especially after thirty years apart. And with the different names...”
He nodded. “I would never have guessed either. And how is it going in there?”
“After a tense beginning, things are looking more promising.”
“Good, good.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Well, John and Dr. Fox have set off all right.”
Rebecca swallowed. “I am ... relieved to hear it.”
He grimaced. “Again, I am sorry, Miss Lane. I could not in good conscience ignore his actions.”
She ducked her head, mortified anew. “I know.” Keeping a tight grip on her composure, she said, “Thank you for showing mercy to my brother.”
In her heart of hearts, Rebecca wondered if John had truly repented. Had he really worried she might be implicated, or had he simply wanted his prized pages back? Perhaps realizing almost too late that if his manuscript killed Oliver, he would never be able to claim it as his own.
Or maybe it had been a combination of those factors.
In the end, the poison had not been what had killed Ambrose Oliver. And they could all take some comfort in that.
Frederick looked up and squinted into the slanting afternoon sunshine. “Well. I just wanted to let you know. And to make sure you were all right. I ... hope you do not despise me for it.”
“Of course not.”
“Thomas does. He is still angry with me for arresting Miss Newport as a ploy to force Mr. George to confess.”
“He will forgive you in time.”
“I pray you are right.” He picked at a loose paint sliver on the gate. “So ... do you and Lady Fitzhoward depart soon, or will you delay, now that she has been reunited with her sister?”
“I am not certain of her plans. But I believe we will be here for some time.”
He looked up and something sparked in his eyes. “Good. I...” His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “I hope we shall see you again, while you are here.”
She managed a wobbly smile. “I would like that.”
The lodge door opened, and Lady Fitzhoward stepped outside, her cane noticeably absent. Indeed, she seemed more spry than usual as she crossed the garden toward them.
