“Very good, Your Grace.”
“Tea?” Covington scoffed. “I need a brandy.”
“Yes, I’m sure we shall all need a stiff drink. But let us try to remain sober while we establish a course of action.”
“What action is necessary other than finding that no-account and shooting him down like the dog he is?” Covington growled.
“Viscount Arlington will not appreciate your murdering his son, even if he is merely a fourth son,” Pendrake said dryly.
Harriet stood silent and took in all the conversations.
Beatrice’s father had referred to her beloved as a commoner. Perhaps he was considered that under strict adherence to succession rules, but no commoner would ever consider a Royal Navy captain in charge of his own vessel a common man.
It struck her then just how rigid the rules of privileged Society were.
Her brother would have been delighted to welcome such a man as Captain Arlington into their family, for a captain in command of his own ship could claim a captain’s share of any plunder gained from his capture of an enemy vessel and perhaps make himself a wealthy man.
But Lord Covington considered such men as not worthy to shine his boots.
This was a lesson to be learned.
Covington was a marquess, but the three other men in the study with her were dukes and could claim even higher rank than this exalted marquess.
What did they think of her?
A dead soldier’s penniless sister.
How stupid of her to insert herself in this situation and not run upstairs to her bedchamber as Pendrake had advised.
Too late now.
“What about Lady Beatrice’s maid,” Harriet asked. “Has anyone questioned her? Would she not be the person most likely to know where Captain Arlington has taken her?”
“We would ask, if she were here,” Ware said.
Pendrake nodded. “She rode off with Lord Covington’s daughter hours ago. Must have been immediately after she delivered the letter to you. My head groom confirmed she rode out with Beatrice.”
This is why the three dukes had rushed out of the stable mere minutes after entering. The Pendrake head groom must have told them the two ladies had taken horses and fled.
Harriet groaned. “Of course, how clever of her. Lady Beatrice sent me that note asking to meet me at six o’clock to purposely put everyone off until that hour. She was never going to meet me, and she now has a two hour head start. Oh, heavens. How easily I was taken in.”
“She obviously planned this ahead of time,” Pendrake said to Beatrice’s father, “perhaps before ever arriving at this house party.”
Harriet’s heart was in a jumble. “Would you like me to search Beatrice’s room with Mrs. Watkins? She may have left a clue behind as to her whereabouts.”
“No, Miss Comeford. That is not necessary,” Pendrake said, regarding her quite sternly. “You’ve involved yourself enough.”
Despite defending her to Beatrice’s father, was he now blaming her for this incident? How could he when he had just suggested this might have taken days of planning?
Yet, the way he looked at her.
“We’ll search in the village next,” he continued, his expression growing darker as he now scowled at her. “I know you wish to help, but there is nothing you can contribute.”
She swallowed the knot of sorrow now wedged in her throat. “Yes, of course.”
She hurried out of the study, feeling all eyes upon her retreating back.
Why had she inserted herself in the discussion when she clearly was not wanted? Nor did she have anything to offer the investigation.
