The corners of Lady Mary’s eyes tipped up. “Of course, Mr. Rollins. I would never have thought otherwise.”
Lady Mary and Eleanor watched as he put the final touches on his cravat, smoothed the tails down inside his jacket. The silence in the room turned heavy, tangible. Eleanor waited for someone to bring up her mother as a final suspect and thought of all the ways to defend her.
The reason Eleanor knew her mother was innocent was the one she couldn’t voice. Her mother had become angry and bitter and violent over the years, and it had only gotten worse when Eleanor’s father had died. But she knew from personal experience that her mother’s episodes were spontaneous. Impulsive. Her mother might have tried to throttle Lady Richford in the Tea Room, but nothing so calculating as waiting to find her alone. And if she had come upon her after hours with no one around, after the deed was done, her mother wouldn’t have had the self-discipline to sneak out of the club unobserved.
Her spite made her impetuous.
But neither Mr. Rollins nor Lady Mary voiced her mother’s name, and Eleanor was grateful for it. “So, have we come to any conclusions?” she asked.
“No conclusions,” Lady Mary said grumpily. “Only more questions.”
Mr. Rollins tugged at the ends of his cuffs. “That is often the way with investigations. Questions emerge, confusion grows, until finally one bit of information is uncovered that makes all the evidence fall into place and an answer becomes clear. I only need to keep digging.”
“We only need to keep digging.” Lady Mary shot him a narrow-eyed look.
“That’s what I meant.” He gave her a charming smile. “And now, ladies, I must return to my office. Let me know if you discover anything else.” With a nod, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
“Did he sound skeptical that we would discover anything else?” Lady Mary asked.
“He did indeed.”
Lady Mary sniffed. “That’s what I thought.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Mary
My hand hesitatedonly a moment before I knocked on Lord Richford’s door. I had a legitimate reason to be here. It was my Christian duty to offer comfort to my neighbor, after all. But I knew that wasn’t my true purpose, and a small part of me hated myself for it.
“Lady Mary.” The earl’s majordomo greeted me when he opened the door. “How nice to see you.”
I shuffled inside before he could deny me access. “How is Richford today? I’ve come to offer whatever aid I can.”
He turned a solemn face to me. “My lord is reviewing proposed legislation in his study. I will inform him of your presence.”
I waited impatiently in the foyer, hoping Lord Richford would be too polite to turn me away. We were socially acquainted, but didn’t know each other well. Pretty soon he might think me as interfering as Miss Abbott.
His man returned, inclining his head. “Follow me, please.”
He led me into a richly appointed room, its full-length windows inviting in the western sun and illuminating the stacks of papers on the wide oak desk. A thick Berber carpet muffled my footfalls, and the chair I was shown to cushioned my rump like I was sitting on a cloud.
Lord Richford waited until I was seated before retaking his own chair. “Lady Mary, how kind of you to call.”
“I wanted to see how you were faring after the funeral.” I shifted. “I have experienced what it is to bury a spouse, and I thought perhaps you’d want to speak with someone who understands what it is you’re going through.”
His shoulders drooped. “That is kind. I do sometimes feel as though no one knows how I suffer, but of course that isn’t true. Many of my peers have faced the death of loved ones.”
“Yes, but even when I lost my Cavindish I had some comfort in knowing it was God’s will and he was no longer in pain.” My stomach twisted, and I wondered that I could be so disingenuous to a grieving widower. But I pressed onward. “Lady Richford was in the prime of her life. And to have someone take her from you must be an exceptional kind of pain.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his whiskered throat. “Indeed. I still cannot understand why someone would do that to her. It doesn’t make sense.”
“The actions of a madman rarely do.” I traced my thumb along the lion’s head that topped today’s walking stick, following the curves of its mane. I needed to phrase my next words delicately. “There has been some talk at the club that your wife was using some of my rooms after hours for her own purposes. Do you know anything about that?”
Richford gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles going white. “You’ve been speaking to my son. I can assure you that his insinuations that his mother was…was… enjoying the company of other men are completely unfounded. She was mine and I was hers. And any accusation to the contrary is insulting.”
I sat back. I’d never heard Richford speak so forcefully. It made me like him more, especially as it was in defense of his marriage.
She was mine and I was hers.
