She paused, spotting a flicker of movement by the boxwood hedge. “Oh, dear—the Weasels have just absconded with a bottle of champagne and are heading for the stables.” A reluctant chuckle. “To share it, no doubt, with Alice, Skinny, and Pudge.”
Wrexford smiled. “Albert won’t let them get into any real mischief.” The stablemaster tolerated no nonsense within his bailiwick, but his gruff manner disguised an impish sense of humor. “Given the occasion, though, he will turn his back to their bending of the rules this afternoon.”
They stood in companionable silence, watching as the guests slowly began to take their leave of the newly married couple, but she sensed that his mind was elsewhere.
“A farthing for your thoughts?” she said softly, without shifting her gaze.
In answer, he stepped back from the stone railing. “Would you mind stepping inside for a moment? Now that the festivities are coming to end, there is something I would like to show you.”
“I sensed that something was troubling you,” said Charlotte as she followed him through the open French door into the library. “Did you discover something new this morning concerning the break-in?”
“Actually, I did,” replied Wrexford. “However, that’s not what I wish to discuss . . .” The sound of hurried footsteps in the main room of the library caused him to pause.
A moment later, the earl’s estate steward looked into the study chamber. “Forgive me for interrupting you, milord, but two men are outside and requesting an audience.” He tugged nervously at his coat cuff. “They say it is urgent.”
The words sent a chill skittering down Charlotte’s spine.
“Then you had better show them in,” said Wrexford. Charlotte looked back at the terrace, where flashes of bright sunlight were capering across the flagstones. And yet she felt a shadow approaching.
The steward returned, followed by two tired-looking men in mud-spattered riding boots.
“My sincere apology for intruding on your festivities, Lord Wrexford,” said the older of the two, fiddling nervously with the brim of the hat in his hands. “I am Thaddeus Whalley, magistrate of St. Ives and the eastern towns of Huntingdonshire . . .” Recalling his manners, he quickly added, “And this is Matthew Goffe, our local surgeon and newly appointed coroner.”
Coroner.Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant, knowing the man’s presence could mean only one thing.
“I am afraid that my colleague and I are the bearers of bad news.” Whalley hesitated, looking unsure of how to go on.
“I assume it involves a death in your jurisdiction, Mr. Goffe,” said Wrexford. “Though I am perplexed by how it could relate to me . . .” He glanced at Charlotte. “Or my family.”
In answer, Goffe drew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and wordlessly offered it to the earl. It was crinkled with water stains and streaked with mud, but Charlotte immediately recognized its distinctive light blue color, specially made by London’s most exclusive stationery shop.
“It’s an invitation to the wedding,” she said as Wrexford opened it.
“Yes, milady.” Goffe cleared his throat with a cough. “Forgive me, but might I inquire if any guests failed to show up for the occasion?”
“Three,” she answered. “An elderly couple, relatives of the groom, who sent word that the storm had made it too difficult for them to attempt traveling.” After a tiny pause, she added, “And the bride’s cousin.”
“A gentleman, milady?” asked Goffe quickly.
“Yes.”
“Forgive me asking such an indelicate question, but can you describe him?” pressed Goffe.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Neither I nor His Lordship have ever met the fellow.”
“How—” began Goffe, only to be silenced by a stern nudge from the magistrate.
“We shall summon Mrs. Sheffield,” said Wrexford.
Whalley looked aghast. “Isn’t there someone else who might know, milord? I wouldn’t want the poor bride to swoon from shock on her wedding day!”
“My wife,” intoned a voice from just outside the open terrace, “is not prone to swooning.” Sheffield entered and raised a questioning brow at the earl. “I saw that you had visitors. Has it to do with the break-in last night?”
Eyes widening, Whalley let out a huff of confusion.
Charlotte sympathized.Our unconventional inner circle tends to spin in unexpected ways.
“Cordelia would, of course, be happy to describe her confrontation with the intruder,” continued Sheffield. “But he was masked, so she can’t give much of a description.”
