The colonel shifted in his seat. “Perhaps you’re right. It was a bad choice of words. I only meant to say that he was not of your class. He has no place writing poems for society ladies, and one old enough to be his mother at that.”
“I beg your pardon!” Lady Matheson straightened her shoulders. The insult had worked to reignite her energy.
Embarrassed for the colonel, Nate dropped his gaze. It was utterly unacceptable to refer to a lady’s age in that way. Colonel Kendall had been abominably rude. But that was the colonel’s nature. He often spoke out of turn and without thinking.
“I was only stating the obvious,” Colonel Kendall said, proving Nate’s thoughts by being seemingly oblivious to thefaux pas.
“I think the more important point here,” Nate interjected, “is that Lady Matheson may have been the last person to see Mr. Otis alive.”
“Oh, my.” Lady Matheson seemed to wilt like a dying flower. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Aside from the killer, of course,” Colonel Kendall said.
“Oh, poor George. My poor, sweet, kind George. To think that I was the last friendly face he saw before…it’s too horrible.” She lifted her glass and attempted to take a sip before realizing it was empty.
Nate refrained from offering her another.
“Did Mr. Otis walk you back to the villa?” Nate asked.
“Why yes. Of course, he did. He was a gentleman.”
“So, you went inside, and Mr. Otis left to go—where?”
“He was going home. It was quite late, and he was tired.”
“He wasn’t meeting anyone else?”
“Not as far as I know.” Lady Matheson picked up her glass again and gave it a forlorn look.
“The killer must have been lying in wait for him then,” Nate mused. “He must have been spying on the two of you and waiting patiently for Mr. Otis to escort you back to the villa before accosting him.”
“Oh, stop!” Lady Matheson slammed her glass down and covered her ears. “It’s too horrible!”
Nate cleared his throat and picked up Lady Matheson’s glass. Perhaps a touch more brandy was warranted. He went and poured two splashes into it and then raised the decanter in the direction of the colonel. “Cognac, Colonel?”
“I don’t mind if I do,” the colonel said.
Nate poured the colonel’s brandy and took the two glasses, handing the larger to the colonel and the smaller to Lady Matheson.
“Would you mind showing me the poem Mr. Otis wrote for you?”Nate asked after Lady Matheson had swallowed her brandy.
“Oh, he didn’t write it down. He recited it to me as we walked by the lake. It was something about the stars and the moon and…” her cheeks pinked. “Well, it was simply charming.”
Nate sighed. He’d thought the poem might have contained some clues.
“Impudent little bugger,” the colonel snorted. “He had no business courting a woman such as yourself.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! He wasn’t courting me.” Lady Matheson’s mouth trembled. “He was simply a friend, a dear, dear friend.”
The colonel gave another loud snort, indicating his disbelief and disapproval. “I’d say it was your money he was after.”
“I’d agree with that,” Lady Armstrong said as she entered the drawing room and walked to the settee whilst leaning on her cane. Her companion, Miss Jennings, trailed reluctantly behind her.
“And I’d say it’s none of your business.” Lady Matheson turned her nose in the air.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now that the man is dead,” Lady Armstrong said, and Miss Jennings came forward to assist her as she lowered herself onto the settee. “If you ask me, it’s a good thing that the poet will no longer be lurking around here. He spent far too much time chin-wagging about poetry and the mysteries of the world. What utter rot! He filled my companion’s head with such fancy notions! His talk was enough to excite a young woman into madness.” Lady Armstrong eyed Miss Jennings who sat timidly beside her.
“Did he, indeed?” Lady Matheson looked at the lady’s companion and gave her a tight smile. “George was a wonderfully charitable person, and so generous with his time—even to those most others would simply ignore.”
