The group nodded and murmured their agreement.
The duke continued, waving his arm toward Mark and Daffin. “These fine gentlemen are investigators. I’m told it’s standard when a member of the aristocracy dies for an investigation to take place.”
Another murmur ran through the room, this one carrying a surprised tone.
“General Grimaldi and Mr. Oakleaf will be asking each of you some questions about the night John died,” the duke said. “I request that you share any details you have with them, for my sake.”
A general nod and murmur of approval went through the group again. Mark, one elbow braced on the mantel, watched their faces. No one seemed particularly alarmed or uncomfortable. They’d planned this little announcement with everyone present so he and Oakleaf could see if any of them appeared anxious when they realized an investigation was taking place.
“We’re happy to help,” Lord Anthony said from the corner, his jaw clenched. “Ask me anything.”
“Yes, yes,” Lord Hillenbrand added, pushing a shoe along the edge of the fine rug. “Quite.”
The others murmured in agreement.
Mark stepped forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d like to begin by speaking with Lady Arabelle, if that’s all right with you, my lady.” He smiled patiently down at Lady Arabelle.
Arabelle nodded and dabbed at her eyes again. Her mother made to stand and come with her but Mark said, “Alone, if you don’t mind. I assure you, I will be nothing but kind to her.”
“That’s hardly proper,” Lady Arabelle’s mother said, her mouth turned down in a frown.
“I will accompany them.” Lady Harriet shot to her feet with alarming speed for someone of her age, her turban tilting haphazardly.
While Lady Harriet righted her headpiece, Lady Arabelle’s mother looked as if she might continue to argue the point, but Arabelle patted her mother’s arm and said, “It’s all right, Mama. I’m certain I won’t be long.”
“Not at all,” Mark replied, bowing to both ladies.
He escorted the lovely blonde out of the room and down the corridor to the next room over, a smaller drawing room decorated in hues of green. Lady Harriet, looking like the cat who swallowed the cream, trailed behind them.
“Can I get you anything?” Mark asked as they entered the room.
“No, thank you.” Lady Arabelle shook her head and held the handkerchief to the tip of her nose. Althoughshe was serene and composed, the black she wore made her pale features even paler. Dark circles ringed her eyes as if she hadn’t slept much of late.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mark said, gesturing to her to take a seat.
Lady Harriet hurried to grasp the young woman’s hand and to sit next to her on the settee. Mark waited until the two ladies were settled before he pulled up a wooden chair before them, sat, and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“How long did you know John?” Mark asked her, his tone gentle and sympathetic. He would not use a notebook. That might make the young woman nervous. He wanted her to feel as comfortable as possible. That was important when interviewing sources, especially if he wanted them to remember important details.
“Since April,” Lady Arabelle said quietly. “He and I met at a ball. The Baxters’ ball.”
“The Baxters always host the most lovely balls.” Lady Harriett patted the young woman’s hand.
Mark gave his aunt a reproving glare.
“Oh, yes, dear, back to the point,” Lady Harriet murmured, casting down her eyes and turning pink.
“You had your debut this Season?” Mark asked Lady Arabelle next.
“That’s right.” The quiet blonde nodded.
“And how soon after you met did John propose?” Mark asked.
The hint of a smile floated across the young woman’s pretty face. “Not until early July.”
“July is a lovely month for engagements,” Lady Harriet said with a sigh.
Another reproving glare from Mark.
