Sharp rapping on his door pulled him out of his painful thoughts.
“Come in,” he called out. He shoved his chair back as the door opened to the butler in the doorway.
“Excuse me, sir, the Dowager Duchess requests you join her in the Lady Margaret parlor for tea.”
“Now?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lakehurst drew in a deep breath. “All right.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll be down shortly.” He should have realized his grandmother would question them on their excursion with Lady Darkford. The Dowager Duchess of Malmsby would know something had gone wrong. He’d rather handle the situation with Lady Darkford himself; however, knowing his grandmother, she’d march into the situation whether he said yea or nay. Now he’d most likely be faced with collateral damage.
* * *
The Dowager Duchessof Malmsby rhythmically tapped a spoon against the edge of the tea tray set before her. She was not happy.
She raised an eyebrow as she frowned at her granddaughter. Gwinnie sat in a chair at right angles to her, back straight, feet flat on the floor, a wholly unusual posture for her. Her clasped hands were in her lap, her eyes downcast, though surreptitiously, she repeatedly slid her eyes in her direction.
The Duchess knew it was grieving Gwinnie not to say anything, to wait until her brother arrived. She saw her clamp her lips tighter against speaking when her patience thinned. It would do her good, the Duchess complacently decided.
When the white parlor doors opened to admit her grandson, she merely looked up at him and waved her hand to indicate the chair he should sit in.
She saw Lakehurst hesitate a moment before crossing to the chair. She hid a smile. It amused her to see her two grandchildren on tenterhooks at their age. Reminded her of their ten-year-old selves.
Silently she handed each of them a cup of tea, then picked up her own.
“When I visited Cook in the kitchen to discuss a menu change, she told me how you two had returned today through the staff entrance with wet clothing, particularly you, Lakehurst. You each grabbed a biscuit she’d just removed from the oven before continuing up the back stairs. Then, as I was turning to leave, Rose came in. She would have hurried up the backstairs as well; however, I persuaded her to tell me what was going on,” the Duchess said in a conversational tone.
Gwinnie and Lakehurst exchanged glances.
She sipped her tea, then set her cup down. “So who wants to tell me your side of this afternoon’s events?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap.
“We wanted to get to know Lady Darkford better,” Gwinnie burst out, no longer able to contain herself. “We hit upon the notion of inviting her and her son to go to Hyde Park with us and then afterward to Gunter’s Tea Shop for an ice.”
The Duchess nodded. “Admirable,” she said. “Now, tell me why and how—according to Rose—Lady Darkford came to push Lakehurst so hard he fell into the Serpentine, and why you then asked your maid to trail a man whom you suspected might be trailing Lady Darkford?” she asked pointedly.
Lakehurst sighed heavily. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “It started last night when Lady Darkford threw my book across the parlor,” he said.
Gwinnie nodded.
“What?” the Duchess said, staring at Lakehurst, a frown pulling her brows together.
“No, wait…” The Duchess held up one of her be-ringed hands. “Judging by how you say that, I believe I will need another fortifying cup of tea,” she said.
She obviously had not expected his response. To catch the Duchess unawares was a feat all her grandchildren tried to do growing up and seldom succeeded. He didn’t feel comfortable with his success today.
The Duchess refilled their teacups, passed the plate of cakes Cook had provided, pulled her feet up on the sofa, tossed a shawl across her legs, nestled back into the corner of the sofa, picked up her teacup again and looked at Lakehurst. “Now, I am ready. You may proceed.”
Despite how low he felt at the moment, Lakehurst had to smile at his grandmother. She’d settled herself into a position conducive to listening, determined to pay close attention to what he said. He appreciated that.
“I think we all knew from Ellinbourne that she’d been widowed eighteen months ago. I never heard how he died nor thought to ask. Do you know?” he asked his grandmother.
“I knew he died of stab wounds,” she acknowledged, “and that his wife was quite distraught.”
“Did you ever ask how the stab wounds occurred?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I assumed footpads or highwaymen,” she said, frowning. “Do you know it to be something else?”
He shook his head. “I don’tknow, anything,” he said, straightening up. “However, after she read the beginning of chapter seventeen, she threw the book across the room. She said it described how her husband was killed. She said the author had to have been there and she would see that they were arrested for murder. Then she burst into tears.”
