“Good day, Lady Mary.” Mr. Ryder rose and inclined his head. A plate dusted with crumbs rested on the side table next to him. “Lovely morn.”
I eyed the plate with suspicion. “Yes.” Turning my back, I wandered to the bookcase that held botanical reference books. I hadn’t found anything about plants that could be used as poisons yesterday, but I’d only skimmed through half the shelf devoted to botany.
“I didn’t realize you were interested in gardening.” Ryder spoke from right behind me. He reached over my shoulder and removed a book on garden design. “Do you have much of a garden at your home in London?”
“It’s adequate.” There was space for me to sit in the sun in good weather and plenty of colorful plants to cheer my eye. I left the care and tending of it up to my staff. I pulled out a book, flipped through the pages, and replaced it. What I needed was a book with illustrations of flowers so I could see if poisons lurked in Perrin’s own gardens.
“I saw you tookAn Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Moralsup to your room last night.” His arm brushed against my shoulder as he reached for another volume.
I frowned and stepped to the side. “What of it? Does it surprise you, a woman reading something other than a novel?”
Ryder tapped the book he held against his thigh. “My only surprise is that you would enjoy it. I’ve always found Hume’s writing dry and his conclusions uninteresting.”
I muffled a snort of laughter. I hadn’t expected that. I gave him a considering look. My assumptions about the president of the London Society for Morality and Decency led me to believe he would have approved of any book with ‘morals’ in the title. But then, Hume found morality largely to be based on passions, not reason, and that theory I could easily believe Mr. Ryder to find abhorrent. I couldn’t imagine the man ever succumbing to passion.
Seeing a book entitledBritish Botanist, my hopes rose. I pulled it out and, yes, there were illustrations. Quite detailed and lovely ones, in fact.
“Did you find anything in your late night reading to help you understand why someone would kill your brother-in-law?” Ryder tucked a thumb into the pocket of his waistcoat, the movement showcasing his admirably flat abdomen.
I sighed. I shouldn’t forget how shrewd the man was. Of course, he would know I would continue to look into Perrin’s death. “Do I detect disapproval in your tone?”
He looked at me, his milk chocolate eyes serious. “You shouldn’t spend your time investigating murders. Leave it to the authorities.”
I tapped the toe of my boot against the floor. “And what, pray tell, should I be doing with my time instead?”
His forehead furrowed. “My advice was intended as a warning about placing yourself in harm’s way, not a criticism of your hobbies. But now you mention it, there are more appropriate activities a woman of your station could pursue. Needlework?”
Needlework? I ground my back teeth. Of course, he would wish to relegate me to the most boring activity ever devised. “I have bad eyes.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Pianoforte or harp?”
“I lack an ear for music.”
“Charitable works?”
“I’m already on the boards of London Ladies of Mercy and The Charity for the Houseless Poor.” How much more charitable did a person have to be? “My French is atrocious, I detest journaling, and I couldn’t paint anything recognizable if you held a pistol to my head. As you can see, not all women have the capacity, or inclination, to excel in the feminine arts you seem so desperate to relegate us to.”
“But you are skilled in argumentation, one of the most feminine arts of all,” he said dryly. He shook his head and wandered to one of the windows. The bits of silver in his golden-brown hair caught the sun. “You remind me of my wife.”
I blinked. “You’re married?”
Ryder chuckled. “You don’t have to sound so surprised a woman would consent to marry me.” His face sobered. “I was. My wife died only two years after we wed. She fell down the stairs in our home after imbibing one too many glasses of wine.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know why I’d never considered that Ryder would have had a wife. He looked well enough now; he was probably quite handsome in his youth. He was well-spoken and intelligent, and if—
“Just one moment.” I planted a hand on my hip. “Are you implying I overindulge? I have a glass of wine with dinner, and a glass or two of something stronger only if the situation demands it.” My brandy was more medicinal than anything else.
He held up his hand. “I wasn’t implying that you drink too much, and that wasn’t my wife’s habit, either. The comparison was purely of the stubbornness of the two of you. You know what the sensible course of action is, but you refuse to follow it.”
That only partially unruffled my feathers. “It would be quite a dull life if one only did what was sensible.”
He twisted his lips. “Perhaps. Well,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “what have you learned?”
I narrowed my eyes. His turn seemed too good to be true. “Not much. There are four guests here with known motives to want Perrin dead.” Five if you include Miss Smith’s harebrained theory.
“I hope I am not included in your tally.”
“No.” I tucked the botany book under my arm. “You arrived too late to be the perpetrator. The stable master confirmed it.”
