‘Matilda has a great many ambitions,’ Josephine defended swiftly. ‘She also has her first season approaching at the end of the year, which I’m sure will bring many new opportunities.’
‘And what of you, Miss Fairfax?’ Sir Francis smiled. ‘Have you left many admirers languishing in London? It is a little early to be returning to the country, is it not?’
Josephine willed herself not to flush, mortified Sir Francis should remark upon her unusual presence at home while the season was still in full swing. She hesitated, searching for a reasonable excuse not to be in town.
Thankfully, Fred came to her rescue. ‘Oh, Lord, Jo needs Knightswood air for her lungs!’ he exclaimed. ‘And my bookworm sister would far rather be tucked up with all her stories than dancing in Almack’s, wouldn’t you, Jo?’
Josephine nodded, torn between gratitude for his intervention and fresh annoyance that he’d mentioned her lung affliction. She wasn’t ashamed, but Aunt Higglestone’s frequent mention of it in town had attracted both suspicion and dismissal by several matriarchs, as though she was far too risky for any bridegroom to consider seriously.
‘Indeed, it is true,’ she covered brightly. ‘Yet, what time is there to be thinking of languishing admirers when there is the mysterious tale of an infamous lord’s return from the continent to consider?’ she added, turning the conversation from herself.
‘Ah, you must be referring to none other than Lord Alistair Huntingly of Huntingly Manor!’ Sir Francis grinned, taking the bait. ‘The scandalous lord who disappeared abroad after a murderous duel and hasn’t been seen for six whole years…’
‘Hogwash!’ Fred called good-naturedly. ‘And you know so too, Francis.’
Together, they turned onto the path that wound through Knightswood’s avenue of oak trees, towards the grand house nestling at the top of the formal lawns. This morning, it was surrounded by a haze of bluebells and, briefly, Josephine wished she had her notebook with her to capture the springtime scene.
‘I?’ Sir Francis reposted, his sea-spray eyes widening so theatrically they all laughed.
‘Was it hogwash?’ Josephine asked shyly. ‘I did so enjoy the newspaper reporting a bloody, murderous duelwithout a body to show for it.’
‘Ah well, that was the sticking point,’ Sir Francis chuckled. ‘The gossip was rather more fun than the facts, wasn’t it, Fred? Though he was a devilish cavy fellow, even at Oxford.’
‘Cavy? Huntingly?’ Fred frowned. ‘Don’t recall that? I mean, he was moreannoyingthan anything else. The kind of bright, sporting fellow who was as popular with the gentlemen as with the ladies, but quite decent with it too… Anyway, you get the picture…’ He broke off hastily.
Josephine glanced across at Sir Francis and was surprised to find him looking rather less mirthful all of a sudden.
‘You knew Huntingly at Oxford, Fred?’ Matilda demanded. ‘Then you’ll know whether or not he did it?’
‘Or, at least, if he had the potential…’ Josephine amended carefully. ‘And perhaps the identity of his opponent? Do you know what they argued about, or what prompted the duel?’
‘Yes, andwhywere there no bodies?’ Matilda added impatiently.
‘Somany gruesome questions for well-bred young ladies.’ Fred chuckled with a glance at his quiet friend. ‘In truth, it was an age ago—’ he shrugged ‘—and it happened some time after we graduated. I was probably halfway up some impossibly tallchiesawith Francis at the time.’
He glanced again at Sir Francis, who smiled faintly, prompting a tiny flutter in Josephine’s core.
‘Oh, Fred, you must remember something!’ Matilda grumbled. ‘At least what prompted the duel– everyone must have been gossiping about it.’
‘Well…’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I can’t recall precise details but, as far as I know, there was some dispute over old Lord Huntingly’s will involving his steward’s son.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounded a damned messy affair, to be honest, and suffice to say we were all a bit shocked when the news broke. I mean, it’s one thing calling out friends over a game of faro, but the son of a steward who’s shot naught else but rabbits his life long? It just didn’t seem very… Huntingly. Not that I knew him all that well. He was in with the fast set generally, all boxing and racing, laced with wild nights in between. Popular on the whole, but when a gentleman is in his cups and provoked…’ He glanced again at Francis. ‘Francis knew him better than me, but neither of us stayed in touch… must have some flaw somewhere, I suppose.’
‘But what of the duel? Don’t you know why both gentlemen disappeared?’ Matilda complained in a disappointed tone.
‘Sorry, Matty, I don’t,’ Fred shrugged. ‘All I ever heard was that the seconds were local and, while a physician was called, there were no bodies to show for the affair, either at the time or at any time afterwards.’
‘What would make two grown men run to the continent, if there was no murder to cover up or hide?’ Josephine mused.
‘Unless therewasa murder, but Huntingly hid the body and waited until the coast was clear?’ Matilda smiled, a gleam in her eye.
‘Or they chased each other onto the continent?’ Josephine continued. ‘Where one finished the other off?’
‘Even better!’ Matilda laughed. ‘And one of them must have been injured, because the surgeon was called.’
‘What a dark and terrible tale you Fairfaxes can weave!’ Sir Francis quipped with a chuckle. ‘Though it really wasn’t as dramatic as all that. There was no murder charge, because there was no body. Perhaps the steward’s son was pigeon-livered and Huntingly decided to cool off in Italy or France, or some such place, and stayed longer than he intended. Anyway, the estate was put into the hands of a manager, and Huntingly has been reliving his Oxford years abroad. End of tragic tale.’ He turned to face the rest of the group as they reached the tall lead-framed French windows that looked directly into Knightswood’s well-stocked library. ‘And now we are back, what say we use this mood to divine our own gruesome gothic tales,’ he grinned, sweeping his arms theatrically towards the top of the lawn. ‘With the best one to be read aloud at supper?’
There was a brief silence.
‘Write a story? We’re not in the schoolroom!’ Matilda objected indignantly. ‘And you promised to play tennis. You won’t stand a chance against Jo anyway. She’s a terrible tennis player, but the best wordsmith I know.’
