“I do worry about him. His health. And now this murder business.” In a sudden blur of motion, Lady Patrice rose to her feet and began to pace. “I wonder how he is. I should not have let him go alone. What if something happens…?”
“I’m certain he’s fine. He’s with our brother, Mr. McLeod, and the others.”
The dowager did not seem to hear Emma’s reassurances, her agitation feeding upon itself. She wrung a handkerchief between her hands, darting from place to place, her movements like that of a crazed hummingbird. Clearly, she was worrying herself into a frenzy.
“Gadzooks,” Vi whispered, “dosomething, Em.”
“Er, perhaps you’d like a stroll in the square, your grace?” Emma said.
“A stroll?” the older lady said blankly.
“Fresh air can be very calming to the constitution,” she said.
The lines smoothed from Lady Patrice’s expression; her smile jolted like lightning through thunderheads. “That sounds lovely. Let us go.”
***
Pleading fatigue, Thea stayed home, leaving Emma and Vi to accompany Lady Patrice. Jim the footman followed at a discreet distance, and Emma began to relax into the beauty of the summer afternoon. The park in the middle of the square was tranquil, a leafy green oasis filled with birdsong. If it were not for the surrounding townhouses, she could almost imagine that she was on one of her old walks through the countryside.
Vi scampered off, her coltish stride unable to accommodate a sedate pace. As Emma walked more leisurely along the pebbled path with Lady Patrice, the latter seemed to calm.
“How charming,” the dowager said with a sigh. “Back at Strathmore, I take a daily morning constitutional on the banks of the loch. There’s something very soothing about the water. Strathaven adored it when he was a boy.”
“What was he like when he was a boy?” Emma said.
“Oh, he was handsome and clever,” the other said, smiling. “He takes after my own dear duke, you know. Strathaven men are always ambitious. They don’t sit on their laurels, content with the title and what they’ve inherited. They want more. They thrive on success and power.”
Sounds like Alaric, Emma thought wryly.
“And they marry ladies who support their noble aspirations. My husband and I used my dowry to add two new wings to the castle,” Lady Patrice said proudly.
Emma hadn’t considered what wealth she’d bring to Alaric; to her, he hardly seemed to needmoremoney. But maybe, as far as the upper classes were concerned, one could never have too much. Ambrose would certainly not allow her to go to her future husband empty-handed, yet any dowry of hers would definitely not add a wing to an ancestral home.
Emma felt a sudden pang as she imagined the advantages to Alaric if he married an heiress, a lady of his own class.
“Oh dear. I’ve spoken too candidly.” Lady Patrice bit her lip, her eyes clouded. “Forgive me, Miss Kent. My words have a way of running away from me. I hope I have not offended you.”
“You haven’t. I just hadn’t given much thought to the connection between money and marriage,” Emma admitted.
“Which is most charming and refreshing. And why, I think, Strathaven has taken such an interest in you.” When Emma blushed, Lady Patrice said indulgently, “Oh yes, my dear, I can tell which way the wind blows. And if I may be so bold… do you return his regard?”
Emma gave a shy nod.
“I am glad to hear it. I like you, my dear, much more than his last duchess.” The dowager gave a soft harrumph. “Laura might have been rich and beautiful, but she was also a spoiled, demanding chit. My poor boy did what he could to please her, but it was never enough. For that reason alone, I could not like her.”
“Of course,” Emma murmured.
“He needs someone to nurture him, to devote herselfentirelyto his happiness and the care of the family estate. My boy deserves nothing less. You will do that for him, won’t you, Miss Kent?”
The other’s fervent scrutiny was rather unnerving. Emma didn’t think now was the time to share that, in addition to her wifely duties, she planned to pursue her passion for investigation.
“We’ve certainly discussed the merits of partnership,” she hedged. “Of respecting and supporting one another—”
A rustling sounded behind them. Some sixth sense made her turn around...
... in time to see a dark-garbed villain bash Jim in the head with a cudgel. With a groan, the footman crumpled to the ground. The cutthroat advanced toward Emma and the frozen dowager. Emma grabbed onto Patrice, dragging her backward. Only to collide into a brick wall of a chest—another cutthroat had snuck up behind them.
A thick piece of cloth muffled Emma’s scream. She struggled against her captor, a sweet pungent smell burning through her nostrils, her throat. Her strength floated from her, and the world dissolved into a cloud of darkness.
