The next morning Oliver led the shooting party. Each man was dressed from head to toe in tweeds and required three guns, with two servants to work as loaders. The persistent sound of gunshots gave Thomas a headache, and he was relieved when it was time to join the ladies for the midday meal. Per custom, luncheon was served in a tent near Ashdown, and all the ladies were dressed in similar tweeds.
Cordelia’s tweed jacket emphasized her narrow waist, and the green color brought out the reddish tints of her hair. She was in the center of a group of women, telling a story that they must have found amusing, for the women were laughing. He walked up to the group, longing, as always, to be near enough to feel the sunshine of her presence.
“How was your morning, ladies?”
“We spent it reading the papers,” Lady Oxenbury said.
“And gossiping,” Lois added with her tigerish smile.
“A very productive morning, then,” he said.
The ladies laughed and dispersed to greet their husbands, leaving only Cordelia, Lucy, Penelope, and Thomas. The light, humorous atmosphere was gone in an instant, replaced by an awkward restraint.
“Did you bag many birds?” Penelope asked.
“At least a hundred, between all of us.”
“You have always been such a good shot. Even your father said so, and he was a well-known sportsman.”
He turned to Cordelia and Lucy. “My father always boasted of a year when he, Mr. Ryse, and three other friends bagged over seven thousand rabbits in one season.”
“I bet everyone was tired of eating hare by the end of that year,” Lucy said.
Thomas laughed and so did Cordelia. He had never before made the connection between the hunt and the table.
“The late Lord Farnham shared the bounty of the hunt with his tenants and the poor in the village,” Penelope said stiffly.
“I am glad to hear it,” Cordelia said. “I have seen much need in the villages around Ashdown. The recent poor harvests have hit them the hardest.”
“It is not Thomas’s responsibility to feed them.”
“We are not feeding them. We are simply providing employment opportunities so that they can feed themselves,” Cordelia said, linking arms with Lucy and walking to a table to sit down next to Stuyvesant.
Penelope lifted her nose. “Cordelia forgets her place as well as yours when she pays her American friends more attention than is their due.”
“I see nothing wrong in her behavior,” Thomas said. “She is talking to all of her guests. Please refrain from criticizing my wife.”
He strolled to the opposite end of the tent and took a seat next to his aunt Lady Oxenbury.
“My lady’s maid had quite a story to tell me about Hibbert.”
“I am sure she did,” Thomas said. “I was hoping to have a private word with you about it.”
“Hibbert would never have tried to harm your wife. His devotion to our family is the stuff of butler legends. I don’t believe it for a moment.”
Thomas sighed. “I don’t know what to think about it, but he was the only one besides me with access to the gunroom.”
His aunt took a large drink from her glass. “Since Hibbert was apprehended, have there been further accidents?”
“Yes, only yesterday,” he said. “Cordelia likes to walk through the ash grove, and a tree she always passes by had a branch that had been partially cut. The person must have waited for her to arrive and then pulled on the branch at the opportune moment.”
“Sinister.”
“What am I to do, Aunt?”
“You’re to leave for the London Season soon, I expect.”
“Early next week.”
