He leaned back, stretching. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and the clock by the door told him it was nearing two in the afternoon. Well past time for a repast.
There was no one in the dining room, but crumbs were on the table and a napkin on the floor. Henry picked it up on the way to the sideboard, folding it neatly before picking up a plate. Thankfully, food remained on the dome-lid covered dishes. The kitchen staff had seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of its popular chef by providing an abundance of food. If they didn’t have quality, then quantity would have to do.
He loaded his plate with cold ham, several hard-boiled eggs, bread and jam, and the end of a nut loaf that remained. The coffee and tea were cold, but Henry didn’t have much of a thirst, not knowing that someone liked to put poison in the beverages.
He sat and tucked in. Didn’t poison have a warning taste? Scent? The acute bitterness of the wormwood wine would most likely have covered any warning signs, he supposed. Did the killer know that no one else would touch Perrin’s special wine, or did he simply not care if anyone else died?
Movement at the glass doors caught his eye. Henry stood, wondering who would be out in this weather, and caught sight of Mr. Taylor leading Miss Smith down the terrace, his hand at her elbow, a rain umbrella in his other hand. They passed from sight, walking in the direction of the sitting room next door.
Henry gritted his teeth. In other circumstances, it would be none of his business. But seeing as how nothing connectedPerrin’s secretary and his almost-betrothed except the dead earl, Henry decided to make their little assignation his business. He left the dining room, emerged from the house out a side door, and walked as softly as possible to the corner.
“You don’t have to worry,” Taylor said. He bent down, a look on his face that Henry could only assume was meant to be comforting but looked eager instead. “I’ve taken care of everything. There’s no….” The wind whipped away the rest of his words.
Miss Smith had her back to the house, a look of distress on her face. Probably from the wet and cold.
Henry frowned. Couldn’t Taylor make sure she was properly dressed before taking her out-of-doors? At least the man could give her his damned jacket.
Her words were quieter. All Henry could make out was “I think we should…” before the storm’s voice drowned out hers.
Taylor stepped closer to her, making the hair raise on the back of Henry’s neck. “We can go away together now. I have the money. We can—”
The doors to the sitting room opened. A small bundle of fur shot through, followed by Miss Walker’s head. “Oh, hallo. Southey needed letting out. We didn’t expect to find anyone else out here in this weather.”
The terrier sniffed at a garden hedge before doing his business. He seemed not to care about the rain and mud. The servants would likely feel differently when he came back inside.
Miss Smith sidled past Mr. Taylor and gave Miss Walker a bright smile. “The weather is atrocious, but sometimes one just needs some fresh air. Mr. Taylor was kind enough to attempt to block the worst of it from me. It is chilly though. Time to come inside, I think.”
Taylor opened his mouth, his brows drawing down. Whatever he wanted to say, he thought better of and closed his mouth again.
Henry went back to the side door, desiring to get inside before Southey discovered him and gave him away.
The secretary and the affianced. Henry hadn’t noticed a relationship between them before. Taylor was more amenable to her than the other guests, but she was a pretty girl. His attendance had seemed natural.
But was there more to it than that? And if Perrin had discovered his intended in a relationship with his secretary, what hell would he have put them through?
Henry headed back to the study, his shoulders set. The question that burned most in his mind was the money Taylor professed to have come into. Henry needed to look through the ledgers thoroughly. Perrin hadn’t been a romantic man. His pride would have been hurt if he’d lost his intended to his secretary, but not his heart.
But Perrin did care about money. If Taylor had been stealing from the earl, and Perrin had discovered it, Perrin would have done everything in his power to destroy the young man.
Perhaps Taylor had decided to strike first.
Chapter Eight
Katherine
Katherine stopped atthe top of the stairs, sucking in a deep breath. She could do this. It was only dinner. She would smile. Nod. And no one would know she had killed Lord Perrin.
Except for Mr. Taylor. She started down the steps. Their conversation earlier had left her feeling…unsettled. Her gaze flew to the spot at the bottom of the stairs. The spot where Perrin had lain, crumpled. Mr. Taylor had said he wouldn’t be able to testify against her if they wed. He said he loved her. She couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Taylor had waited to make such declarations until he saw a clear path to matrimony to her– and access to her father’s money.
She stopped on the third step from the bottom, still staring at the carpet. If Mr. Taylor only pressed for her hand because he wanted to increase his wealth or status in society, he would be sorely disappointed. The money her father would endow if she married well would disappear if she married beneath her station.
“Not even a depression in the carpet remains.”
Katherine started at the voice behind her. She shifted, turned, then gasped as her heel twisted off the step, spilling her backwards. She windmilled her arms, but gravity had its way. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
A pair of iron arms wrapped around her instead.
Opening one eye, Katherine saw an expanse of dark brown wool inches from her face. She turned her head, and the edges of a cravat tickled her nose.
