“Why don’t you go inside and lie down?” Bridget suggested. “I’ll have some tea sent up to your room.” George’s death had been an enormous shock to Lady Matheson, and grief had an odd way of expressing itself. After her papa died, the smallest thing could bringforth a flood of tears.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Lady Matheson sniffed. “But I’ll want some brandy with my tea. I need something to settle my nerves.”
“Of course, my lady,” Bridget said.
Lady Matheson turned and walked toward the villa.
“I say!” Colonel Kendall called after her. “This is outrageous. One cannot simply discard one’s post in the middle of a game.”
Lady Matheson kept walking and paid no heed to the colonel’s rantings, which only infuriated him further. “If you were in the army, you’d be shot!” He shouted.
Jane giggled, and Bridget squared her shoulders and prepared herself to face Lady Luxton.
“What’s the matter with you?” Jane asked. “You look a bit green all of a sudden. I hope there isn’t some sort of illness going around.”
“No, don’t worry, I’m fine.” Bridget swallowed. She could not reveal all that had transpired between Nate and Lady Luxton during the summer. Nor was she at liberty to tell anyone that Lady Luxton’s son belonged to Nate and not Lord Luxton. “I wasn’t expecting her, that’s all. I’m surprised.”
“She’s not the most amiable, I agree,” Jane murmured. “But it’s always good to have more guests, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.” Bridget handed Jane her mallet. “I’d best go and see to her needs.”
“You too!” Colonel Kendall said, and then bellowed, “Have you ladies no sense of honor—ofduty!”
“I’m sorry, Colonel. I’ll be back, I promise. But I must see to our new guest,” Bridget said.
Colonel Kendall threw down his mallet in a huff, making poor Miss Jennings flinch and gasp out loud.
“Lady Luxton,” Bridget said as she approached the lady. “What a lovely surprise. Will Lord Luxton be joining you?”
“No,” Lady Luxton said dismissively.
Bridget looked at the little boy and swallowed. Eight months had made an enormous difference in the small child’s appearance. The boy, now three years old, had Nate’s mop of dark curls and his mother’s lovely, chocolate brown eyes and long, thick lashes. Dressed in a linen blue skeleton suit with gold buttons, he held his nanny’s hand and looked up at Bridget. His likeness was so close to Nate’s that Bridget could not take her eyes off him.
“I’ll want the same arrangement I had during the summer,” Lady Luxton said coolly. “A room for myself—the best you have, of course, and one for Viscount Brayton and his nanny.”
Bridget was momentarily taken aback by Lady Luxton’s use of Henry’s title. She’d not used it once during the summer, and it struck Bridget as awfully pompous and formal. But, she supposed, it was another opportunity for Lady Luxton to exalt her status over Bridget.
“I believe we can accommodate you, but we weren’t expecting you, my lady,” Bridget said. “Usually, guests send word to warn us of their coming. Did you send word to Mr. Squires?”
“No, I decided to surprise him. Where is he?”
Surprise him? More like blindside him.Bridget’s gaze dropped again to the little boy who was Nate’s tiny doppelgänger.
“He went into town to see Mr. Groby,” Bridget said, then winced at her choice of words. She was so disrupted by the sight of the boy, she’d spoken without thinking. “He should be back shortly.”
“Groby?” Lady Luxton inclined her head. “Who is that?”
“He’s our butcher,” Bridget said, not wanting to talk about the murder.
“The butcher?” Lady Luxton’s dark eyebrows came together in a frown. “Shouldn’tyoube handling such a menial task?”
Bridget’s chest burned. Lady Luxton never missed a chance to insult her. But before she could reply, Mr. Angert looked up from his easel and said, “You misunderstand. The butcher is accused of murder. And Mr. Squires wishes to save him and deprive us all of a goodhanging.”
“Mr. Angert!” Bridget had to restrain herself from diving forward and covering little Henry’s ears.
“Murder, did you say?” Lady Luxton raised her lush eyebrows. “Anotherone?”
“Oh, yes.” Mr. Angert said, his paintbrush poised in midair. “It’s most sensational. The murderer cut out the victim’s heart and fed it to his pigs. Come see for yourself.” As he spoke, drops of red paint dripped from his paintbrush onto his black boot.
