“It is possible,” his friend allowed. “I also spoke with Potter, however, and he vehemently denies he was anywhere out of doors this morning. The housekeeper, Mrs. Beasley, confirmed to me that she had seen Potter in the house several times and had conferred with him over the silver which was to be laid out for dinner this evening.”
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered, stalking past his friend to the window and rubbing his throbbing temples as he stared down at the unkempt gardens below. “If Potter is responsible for the shot that wounded Izzy, then I must act sooner rather than later, and find him a cottage somewhere in the village, where he won’t be in danger of committing inadvertent assassination.”
And if Potter had indeed been wandering about the countryside, confused and believing himself on a grouse hunt, then Zachary was to blame for what had happened.
“I am not convinced Potter is responsible for the shot that was fired,” Wycombe said. “In fact, if I were a wagering man, I would bet he is not. I found the steward’s manner to be rather peculiar. He sought me out immediately to tell me what he had seen, which means that either he is keen to be of help, or something far more nefarious.”
He trusted his friend’s judgment implicitly. As Chief Inspector Hudson Stone, in his previous life before unexpectedly inheriting the title, Wycombe had worked his way to his position by his shrewd knack for solving cases and his sheer brilliance as a detective. However, even so, the prospect of his faceless steward accidentally shooting Izzy rather than the confused, elderly butler who had recently been attempting to shoot mice in the pantry seemed implausible.
“You suspect the steward?” he repeated. “In what fashion?”
“His eagerness to relay the information, for one thing,” Wycombe said. “His knowledge of where Izzy was walking when she was wounded is another cause for concern. There is nothing to suggest he would have reason to know where Izzy had gone this morning or why, and yet the steward was clear that he had seen Potter in the north field, where the incident occurred.”
“Perhaps that is because that is, indeed, where he saw Potter,” Zachary pointed out. “Perhaps as you said, he was just keen to be of help. We both know Potter is a bit unhinged, else he would not have been attempting to slay imaginary mice with a shotgun.”
“That is part of the dilemma,” Wycombe countered. “Given recent events and the butler’s age and general infirmity, he is an easy target to affix blame. I also found Ridgely reluctant to meet and hold my gaze when he was discussing the details of his supposed sighting of Potter. In my experience, it’s a sign of dissembling.”
Zachary raked his fingers through his hair, contemplating his friend’s words. “If the steward is lying about seeing Potter this morning, why do such a thing?”
“Perhaps because Ridgely is actually the one responsible for the gunshot that wounded Lady Isolde,” the duke suggested, his tone as forbidding as his countenance.
His blood went cold. “If he is, I will tear the bastard limb from limb with my bare hands.”
“Calm your bloodlust,” his friend cautioned. “Nothing is certain yet. I merely wished to convey to you what I have learned so far and to see what you know about your steward.”
“Nothing.” He could not keep the bitterness from his voice. “I know absolutely nothing. Which is what I know about this damned estate, being an earl, and becoming a husband as well.”
He was fucked.
And he had been steadily doing everything wrong.
Horatio was probably laughing at him from beyond the grave, for he had certainly done an admirable job of proving he was indeed the reckless, careless, irresponsible blackguard his older brother had once accused him of being.
“I know the feeling,” Wycombe told him, clapping him on the back in a sign of solidarity. “I had no expectations of ever becoming a bloody duke. It was the last thing I wanted. I inherited an estate ridden with debt, and I went from living in simple bachelor quarters with no responsibilities to living in the country with a mountain of duties, being a husband amongst them. But I have been learning. My wife has been a godsend, and I have no doubt yours will prove the same to you.”
Izzy would, yes. She was everything he had never known he wanted or needed, but now that he had found her, she was as essential as sunshine. But he was not about to admit anything as maudlin as that aloud to his friend.
“And that is why I am determined to do everything in my power to protect her,” he said instead.
Wycombe nodded. “I understand. I recommend we start with making certain Potter does not have any further weaponry hidden about, and then, we need to do some digging into your steward.”
Dig he would.
He would excavate to the damned center of the earth until he found out everything there was to know about Ridgely.
CHAPTER16
Just as he had the days of her convalescence preceding, Zachary arrived at her chamber when her mother was taking her customary afternoon nap in her own room. The vagaries of dressing with a healing wound had rendered it impossible for her to wear anything other than a loosely fitting dressing gown, keeping her confined to her chamber. Finally, however, her wound was healing well enough for her to dress again. The doctor had just given her his approval.
Izzy had answered the knock at her chamber door despite a suspicion it was Zachary on the other side.
Or perhapsbecauseof it.
She could not deny the sight of him in the hall, his charm in full force, that rakish dimple on display, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, and a book tucked under his arm, triggered the longing she could never seem to banish in his presence.
“My lord,” she greeted him formally, just the same.
Part of clinging to her defenses meant that she could not afford to relax so easily in his presence.
