“You two were awfully close.” Mrs. Massey narrowed her eyes. “Were you involved in her schemes, as well?”
“The only schemes I heard about were between Sue and your husband,” Miss Abbott spat out.
Mrs. Massey gasped, pressing her palm over her overflowing bosom.
Mr. Massey only frowned, a deep groove lining his forehead. “What?”
“Everyone knows that’s why you and Sue fought,” Miss Abbott continued. “Were you jealous of her time with your husband? Is that why you killed her?”
Anglia leaned toward Eleanor, resting his hand on her arm. “This truly is more entertaining than White’s ever could be. Thank you for the invitation.”
His breath was hot on her ear. Moist. She leaned away from the unpleasant sensation. Looking up, she saw Frederick’s glare focused on the man. On his hand on her arm to be more precise. Things were already becoming heated. Eleanor eased her arm from under Anglia. She didn’t need Frederick causing a scene over another man touching her.
“That’s not why Mrs. Massey would have killed her.” Lady Mary was the only one still eating. She cut a bite of carrot and placed it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I would have thought as Lady Richford’s intimate friend, you would have known that.”
Miss Abbott leapt to her feet, her hip knocking into the table. Glasses of wine trembled, and more than a few hands went out to steady them. “I will not be spoken to in this manner.” And with a flounce of her skirts, she turned on her heel and left the room.
“We have dessert coming,” Lady Mary called after her.
All right, Eleanor didn’t want Frederick causingmoreof a scene. Although this night would be memorable regardless of what else happened.
Lady Mary stuck another bite in her mouth and shrugged. “It’s a Bakewell tart. One of Cook’s specialties. No one should miss it.”
Mrs. Massey stood, wobbled, and grabbed for her husband’s shoulder. After she’d steadied herself, she tugged him up. “Miss Abbott might be as infernal as her friend, but she was right about this. We don’t have to subject ourselves to your…your…insinuations, either.”
She pulled Mr. Massey after her.
He looked forlornly back at the table. “I do love a good Bakewell tart.”
“I’ll have our cook make you one tomorrow.” And she stamped out of the room, dragging her husband after her.
Lord Anglia neatly folded his napkin. “There have been too many dramatic exits. I’m bored again.” Standing, he gave a smart bow and started for the exit.
Lady Mary popped to her feet. “Lord Anglia, a moment.”
He kept going, and Lady Mary disappeared after him.
Frederick and Eleanor locked gazes, then jumped to their own feet.
“Mother, stay here,” Eleanor said as she circled the table. They trotted after Lady Mary, catching up in the entry. The door had just closed on the Masseys. Anglia was winding a woolen scarf around his neck and took the coat Lady Mary’s butler held out.
Lady Mary stepped in front of the door, blocking Anglia’s exit. “I wished to speak with you about your connection with Mr. Edric Cooke. I hear he has become involved in the passage of your spending bills.”
“What of it?” Anglia shoved his hands into leather gloves. “As a private citizen, he has the right to advocate for bills he would like to see passed.”
“Even if he, and the lawmakers involved, stand to profit from them?”
Anglia tilted his head. “You’ve surprised me, Lady Mary. I thought this conversation would be about something altogether different.”
“You thought I called you here because of your anonymous piece inThe Times?” Lady Mary said. “Or the threatening note you had delivered to my house?”
A smile curled at the edges of Anglia’s mouth. “Neither as anonymous as I thought it would seem. And the note was a kindly warning. Not a threat.”
“Not much is anonymous when I have powerful relations,” Lady Mary said. She’d admitted to Eleanor and Frederick that she’d gone to see her nephew finally. He’d found out who the author had been. Not many newspaper editors could stand firm against a duke.
Anglia lifted one shoulder. “Just like Mr. Cooke, I have a right to say my piece.”
“It was libel.” Frederick took a step forward, his shoulders seeming to widen.
