“Lady Wrexford?” It was Mercer Wayland, the tallest and best-dressed of the three men, who offered to escort her into the corridor.
“Thank you.” Charlotte smiled up at him, using the opportunity to study the details of the paneling. One never knew when circumstances might require her to draw a scene within these hallowed halls.
Ezra Wheeler, a burly fellow who looked cut from a rougher cloth than his two friends, was left to follow along behind them.
Garfield led them to a smaller sitting room with a pair of sofas and several cushioned armchairs arranged in front of a marble hearth. “I must say, I always feel like a naughty schoolboy in the Great Hall,” he said lightly, “about to be roundly scolded by all those intimidating gentlemen peering down their noses at me.”
Charlotte chuckled politely along with the others.
“Allow me to offer my felicitations on your nuptials, Mrs. Sheffield,” continued Garfield, clearly trying to put everyone at ease before moving on to the reason for their meeting. “If I recall what Oliver told me, the happy event was . . . quite recent, was it not?”
“It was yesterday,” replied Cordelia.
Garfield’s eyes widened in surprise. “I, er, I . . .” He quickly gathered his composure. “I would have thought that you and your husband would still be celebrating with friends and family.”
“Alas, circumstances have demanded that we put aside our festivities.”
The three men, observed Charlotte, were now no longer smiling.
“This sounds rather serious,” said Garfield. “I would have thought . . . that is . . . er, did Oliver not accompany you?”
Seeing Cordelia hesitate, Charlotte quickly added, “I’m afraid that we have some very bad news. Mr. Milton’s body was found on the rocks below the bridge at King’s Crossing—”
“Good God,” exclaimed Wayland. “What happened?”
“The circumstances are not at all clear,” replied Cordelia. “But what we do know is . . .” Her voice faltered.
Charlotte interceded, deciding there was no point in shilly-shallying. “The incident was made to look like an accident. However, the local coroner has determined that Mr. Milton was murdered.”
* * *
The dowager shaded her eyes as she looked into the sunlight, watching a breeze waft a scattering of shell-pink petals from the rose garden over the graveled carriageway.
“I can’t say that I’m sorry the pressures and perils of organizing a wedding are over,” she mused to McClellan. “But it was a lovely ceremony.”
“It was indeed,” agreed the maid. “Hawk outdid himself with the flowers, and Harper didn’t filch any of my special honey-glazed ham from the serving platters.”
“Ha, the hound is smart enough to know on which side his bread is buttered,” chortled Alison, but her amusement quickly gave way to a sigh. “My only regret is that the wedding day was shadowed by the death of Cordelia’s childhood friend. She seemed quite affected by the news.”
“Sheffield mentioned that the two of them were quite close,” said McClellan. She paused as shouts of mirth rose from up ahead, where Raven and Hawk were racing helter-pelter along the grassy verge, tossing a ball back and forth, just out of reach of Harper’s snapping jaws. “Such tragedies,” she murmured, “are a fierce reminder that the joyous moments in life are precious beyond words.”
Alison regripped her cane, her gaze following the antics of the boys.
“So let us talk of more cheerful things.” McClellan offered her arm for extra support as they resumed walking. “His Lordship mentioned that you will be returning to London with Henning in order to attend Sir Robert’s seventieth birthday celebration.”
“Yes, and it promises to be a splendid occasion,” replied Alison, her expression brightening. “Horatio has gotten permission from his commanding officer to take a group of us for an afternoon cruise along the River Thames in one of the Royal Navy’s new steamboats before the gala dinner.” The dowager’s young relative, Horatio Porter, was a midshipman and had played a heroic part in their last investigation, earning the gratitude of the government. “He has promised me that I will be permitted to steer the ship . . .”
The carriageway turned steeper as it rounded a copse of beech trees. Just as they reached the leafy shadows, the boys came running back up the hill.
“A fancy carriage has passed through the entrance gates and is coming our way!” called Raven.
“We don’t recognize it,” added Hawk.
“Hmmph.” McClellan drew the dowager to a stop. “Neither m’lady nor His Lordship mentioned anything about visitors.”
Raven whistled to Harper, and after taking hold of the hound’s collar he and his brother positioned themselves in front of Alison and the maid.
Their protective measures drew a smile from the dowager. “Don’t worry, I happened to grab my sword cane for today’s stroll.”
