As the boys headed toward the card table, Rosie placed a staying hand on Andrew’s arm.
“My brother is an expert at counting cards,” she said under her breath. “He’s fleeced everyone in the family.”
Andrew looked unconcerned.
After a few rounds, it became obvious why. Andrew won the entire pile of chips, and Edward and Freddy were looking at him as if he’d just pranced across the Thames. Even Harry stopped brooding long enough to look thoroughly impressed.
“Where did you learn to play like that, Corbett?” he asked.
“Practice.” Andrew shuffled the cards, the showy arc making Edward and Freddy whoop with delight. “This is how I got the stake to buy my first club.”
This was news to Rosie, yet another fascinating facet of Andrew. He was a man of hidden talents and depths, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life discovering all that she could about him… and he wanted the same, didn’t he? The discordant thought hit her: he’d said he loved her, but he hadn’t mentioned marriage. In fact, he’d never pushed it once during their affair.
Was that because of what he believed to be her wishes? Or did he, himself, have no desire to marry her? As insecurities pulled at her like invisible strings, she refused to be swayed by them. She knew in her heart that she and Andrew were meant to be together. Thus, tonight when they were alone, she would tell him she loved him and ask him what he wanted.
The butler came in, handing Papa a note. Rosie’s nape stirred; from her father’s alert expression, she could tell he’d received important news.
“Can you teach me your method?” Edward was saying eagerly to Andrew. “Do you use a particular algorithm for calculating the odds or—”
“Lesson’s over, lads,” Papa announced. “The adults have something to discuss.”
“I’m an adult,” Edward said.
“Me too,” Freddy chimed in.
“Off you go.” Papa’s tone brooked no refusal, and, grumbling, the boys shuffled off.
“What is it, Papa?” Rosie said. “Did you receive news?”
He closed the door. Facing everyone, he held up the note.
“This is from Lugo. He’s in Kent and he’s spoken to Lord Cranston, the friend of Alastair James. Cranston confirmed that James was indeed at his house party. He didn’t recall seeing James on the day that Daltry died, but he said his guests came and went as they pleased. Certainly James was never gone long enough to get himself to Gretna and back. So his alibi holds.”
“What about Mrs. James?” Rosie said. “Has Mr. Lugo confirmed that she was also in Kent?”
Papa frowned. “That is the strange thing. As it happens, Ashford is only an hour away from the Cranston estate, and Lugo went there to inquire at the inn where she claimed she was staying. There is no record of her being a guest, nor do any of the staff remember her. Lugo plans to canvass the area to see if anyone recalls seeing her.”
“My gut tells me she’s hiding something,” Emma said. “Which is why I interviewed one of her maids today.”
“How did you manage that?” Rosie was surprised that Mrs. James would agree to any invasion of privacy.
“Her Grace is quite inventive when she sets her mind upon a thing,” the Duke of Strathaven drawled. “She convinced me to stalk the servants’ entrance of the James residence with her.”
“As if you mind a little adventure,” his duchess retorted.
“I don’t—when I get to reap its sweet rewards,” he murmured.
Blushing, Em went on, “On the condition of anonymity, the maid told me that her mistress has a habit of disappearing and for blocks of time. Apparently, Antonia James’ husband is a jealous man, and she’s bribed the servants into telling him that she’s at this charitable function or that—but no one knows where she really went.”
“Good work, Em,” Papa said. “So Antonia James stays on the list of suspects, while Alastair James goes off… along with Lady Charlotte and Miss Eloisa, whose alibis we were able to verify. We still need to hear back about Peter Theale and Miss Sybil. I’ve sent a man to Bristol to speak to Albert Brace, Theale’s alibi. And McLeod will stop in Lancashire on the way back from Gretna to pay a visit to Miss Bunbury, Miss Sybil’s friend.”
“We’re making progress,” Emma said. “Soon we’ll have the villain behind bars.”
“That time can’t come soon enough,” Rosie said with feeling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After the party, Andrew escorted Rosie home in his carriage. Tucked against his hard strength, her head on his shoulder, she felt cherished and protected. Soon the murderer would be captured, and she would be free to pursue the life she wanted—with the man she loved.
