Chapter Five

Chapter Five

As Eudora was bearing the brunt of Mrs Mifford"s company and fussing, Mary decided that it was only fair that Emily take her place on a jaunt along the Row, while Mary brought their youngest sister for a spot of shopping on Bond Street.

Emily was not entirely certain how it was fair that she make the sacrifice to take Eudora"s place, rather than Mary, but she did not argue, for one had to choose one"s battles when dealing with an eldest sister who always thought herself in the right.

While the jaunt would force her into the extended company of her mother, it would also afford her the opportunity to spend some time with Jane, who was--it was universally agreed--the sanest member of the clan.

As the barouche drove towards Hyde Park--hood down, so that they might be better admired--Jane kept up a steady stream of conversation which, in turn, kept Mrs Mifford occupied and out of mischief. Alas, when the vehicle reached the gate to the park at Hyde Park Corner, Jane"s plan came to a sudden halt as the matriarch of the family began to firmly ignore her and focus her attention on the other riders and vehicles making their way toward the Row.

"Oh, look," Mrs Mifford called loudly, elbowing Lord Crabb so forcefully that he winced, "There"s Lady Jacobs and her daughter. A-hoy, a-hoy!"

To Emily"s horror, her mother leaned over the side of the carriage and waved frantically in Lady Jacob"s direction.

"Mother, sit down," Jane hissed, pulling her mother back into her seat, "We are not on a boat."

"No," Mrs Mifford agreed, as she straightened her bonnet petulantly, "We are in a gleaming new barouche, and I should like for her to see it and compare it to her own vehicle--which is rather shoddy, I think you"ll agree."

Beside Mrs Mifford, Lord Crabb stifled a smile--for, mercifully, he found her antics amusing--while Jane and Emily breathed sighs of annoyance.

"Mama," Jane adopted a stern tone, "You must be on your best behaviour, for Emily"s sake. We cannot have people saying that she is both a murderess and from an uncouth family."

"Don"t be ridiculous," Mrs Mifford sniffed, "No one would ever think me uncouth."

"But they do think me a murderess," Emily interrupted, "Look at how people are staring."

She waved her gloved hand--kid skin, to match her ankle boots--outside the carriage, where several people were gawping at her from their vehicles. One grande-dame was so intrigued, that she actually lifted a pair of quizzing glasses to her eyes so that she could get a better look.

"Don"t be ridiculous," Mrs Mifford sniffed again, "People are looking because they think you the next Marchioness of Highfield. I don"t know how I raised such thin-skinned daughters."

It was a mystery, Emily agreed to herself, how she and her sisters had managed to avoid inheriting their mother"s misplaced--but rather admirable--sense of self-assurance. Mrs Mifford"s skin was as thick as a rhinoceros" hide, and she never once doubted that anyone might not be as charmed by her presence, as she herself was.

"I am not going to be the next Marchioness of Highfield," Emily cautioned carefully, "I pray that you won"t say that to anyone, or people will believe I have ill-advisably set my cap at Lord Chambers--and I will be left humiliated when he runs off and marries some moneyed-chit with a mute mother."

"You have not set your cap at him," Mrs Mifford replied, affronted, "Rather the other way around. He was most dogged in his determination to dance with you at Lady Stanton"s ball--he had eyes for no one else."

"Don"t be absurd," Emily rolled her eyes, before glancing to Jane for support. But her elder sister did not join her in mocking her mother"s fantasy, instead, she nodded in agreement. Confused, Emily glanced to Ivo, who wore a rather knowing smirk on his handsome face.

Fit for Bedlam, Emily thought nervously, they were all fit for Bedlam. Obviously, extended time alone with Mrs Mifford had addled Jane"s usually sensible brain. Lord Chambers had no interest in Emily, apart from their joint involvement in investigating Lady Hardthistle"s murder. And, even that interest was miraculous, considering that Lord Chambers likely took little notice of anything bar his reflection in the mirror.

Yes, Emily assured herself, as she settled back into her seat, everyone was completely mad. There was as much a chance of Lord Chambers being romantically interested in Emily, as there was of she having an interest in he...

Emily forced her attention outside of the carriage, where the great and good of the ton were parading, all kitted out in their best wears. The young ladies all wore extravagantly decorated bonnets, whilst the gentlemen wore tightly-cut riding coats in various bright colours. A few of Ivo"s acquaintances hailed him as they passed, and several other ladies waved to Jane, for she was--as Emily kept forgetting--a viscountess, and much in demand socially.

Mrs Mifford, her bonnet festooned with half the contents of the plumassier"s, waved a regal hand at nearly everyone who passed--as though she were Queen Charlotte herself. For a moment, Emily felt embarrassment down to the tips of her toes, but as a carriage approached, bearing the familiar face of Lady Francesca, Emily found herself drawing courage from her mother"s unshakable confidence.

Lady Francesca sat beside her friend, Miss Amelia Gardner, the young lady who had joined in the insulting of the Mifford clan at Lady Collins" musicale all those nights ago. While Miss Gardner looked radiant, clad in the finest of clothes--as one would expect from the daughter of a wealthy industrialist--Lady Francesca appeared so wan, that Emily almost felt a stab of pity for her.

Then, she recalled that it was Lady Francesca who had loudly and publicly accused her of murder, and Emily felt her pity melt away.

Lady Francesca had not yet spotted their carriage, and Emily steeled herself for some sort of outburst when she did, but, mercifully, two white knights rode to the rescue.

"Mr Bunting and Mr Fitzgibbons," Mrs Mifford whispered, as she spotted whom Emily was observing, "Mr Fitzgibbons has designs on Miss Gardner, but by all accounts she is leading him on something of a merry dance. As for his companion, Lady Francesca has her beady eye on him, but her family"s fortune is not sufficient enough for him to offer for her. I do wish someone would tell her, for it"s painful to watch her so obviously mooning over the lad."

Usually, Emily ignored malicious gossip, but the news that Lady Francesca"s affections were not returned by Mr Bunting gave her a momentary sense of satisfaction.

It is not kind to derive pleasure from the misfortune of other"s, Emily reminded herself sternly, in an attempt to quash the feeling--though it still persisted.

Mercifully, Jane was on hand to distract, and she tut-tutted loudly.

"Honestly, mama," she said, rolling her eyes, "You are an incorrigible gossip. You state all that as though it is fact, when it is likely merely drawing room whispers."

"I can see the truth with my own eyes," Mrs Mifford grumbled, nodding in the direction of the handsome pair.

The two gentlemen had brought their steeds to a halt alongside the Gardner"s carriage, and Mr Fitzgibbons was chatting with great animation to Miss Gardner and her mama. Mr Bunting, however, looked most uncomfortable, and though Lady Francesca batted her eyelashes and fiddled with her bonnet, he did not direct his gaze her way.

There was something familiar about Mr Bunting, Emily decided as she observed his profile. Then, as though he had heard her thoughts, the young gentlemen turned his head her way, and Emily gave a gasp of recognition.

He was the fellow whom Emily had spotted sharing a passionate embrace with Lady Francesca at Lady Collins" musicale. Mr Bunting gave a frown, as he tried to decipher just where he knew Emily from, but thankfully, as the carriage continued along the Row, she was soon out of sight.

Emily fidgeted nervously with her gloves, as a wave of guilt washed over her for her earlier mean-spirited thoughts towards Lady Francesca. No wonder the poor girl had looked so wan; the young lady must have been expecting a proposal after being so generous with her favours, now Mr Bunting would not even look at her. What a rake he was!

As Emily pondered the cruelty some men were capable of, her mother kept up a running commentary on everyone who passed.

"There"s Lady Hickletrough and her eldest daughter. She never did manage to marry her off and one doesn"t struggle to guess why."

"Oh, there"s Lady Archer. She"s found herself a new dressmaker, I see. I must ask her for their name, so I know to avoid them."

"Oh, doesn"t Sir Cadogan look pleased with himself? I can"t imagine why with that unfortunate nose."

While Emily had ignored most of her mother"s acerbic comments, she glanced up at the mention of Sir Cadogan"s name. Mrs Mifford"s observation that Sir Cadogan looked pleased with himself was true, the squire wore a very satisfied smile which near eclipsed his bulbous red nose.

"Cadogan, old chap," another rider called out as he passed him, "You look like the cat that"s got the cream."

"I"ve just had some very good news, Boyne," the squire called back, his words sounding a little slurred to Emily"s ears, "Truly marvellous."

Emily longed to join in the conversation and shout out to ask Sir Cadogan what this wonderful news was, but the rules of propriety did not allow young ladies to hang out of carriages bellowing at gentlemen they did not know. Which was a pity.

Sir Cadogan, who was riding in the opposite direction, soon disappeared from view, and Emily settled back into her seat, as Mrs Mifford resumed her running commentary on everyone her beady eye happened to land upon.

The family spent another half hour parading along the Row, until Mrs Mifford was satisfied that they had been seen by enough people.

"What fun that was," she exclaimed, as they drove through the far gate onto Serpentine Road, "Wasn"t that fun, girls?"

"Thrilling," Jane replied, dryly.

Her brown eyes wore a glazed look, and Emily guessed that her sister had spent a large portion of the ride daydreaming that she was elsewhere. Ivo, too, looked bored and restless, and was distractedly tapping the heel of his Hessian boot in time with the horses" clopping hooves. They were, Emily thought, as she glanced between them, a couple most unsuited to the rigidity of London society.

"We must hurry back," Mrs Mifford continued, "And dress for Lady Wilcox"s gala."

"Oh, yes, we wouldn"t want to be late for that," Jane agreed, though as she caught Emily"s eye she winked conspiratorially.

London could be chaotic, confusing, and cruel, but Emily was glad that no matter how far from home they travelled, her sisters would never change.

"Is that my new reticule?" Jane queried suddenly, and Emily"s fondness for her sister"s consistency of character vanished.

"Honestly, between you, Eudora, and Mary, it"s a wonder I have a stitch of clothing left to my name. Whoever said sisters were a blessing did not have to deal with you lot," Jane began, and continued her diatribe against her thieving siblings the whole way back to St James" Square.

Lady Wilcox"s opulent home in Belgravia was bursting at the seams with the great and good of London society. Under the glittering chandeliers of the ballroom, couples dressed in silks and satins--and that was just the men--danced to the music provided by an orchestral quartet in the corner. The smell of beeswax, expensive perfumes, and flowers filled the air, and as Emily wandered from room to room, she could not help but be mesmerised by the sheer glamour of the evening.

In the corner of one room, she spotted Mrs Sarah Siddons--the best tragedienne to have ever walked the stage--holding court with the thespian set. In another room, she spied Mr Wilberforce--the esteemed politician and trumpeter of abolition--in deep debate with several egalitarians. And, then, much to her delight, Prinny stalked past, trailed by a courtier, complaining loudly about the food.

Emily was so starstruck at having seen the Prince Regent at such close range, that she did not hear Lord Chambers sneaking up behind her, until he pointedly cleared his throat.

"A-hem," he said, somehow managing to convey in two syllables his utter surprise that his glittering presence had not immediately caught her eye.

"Lord Chambers," Emily turned and dropped into a quick curtsy to hide the confusion she felt at seeing him again. A kaleidoscope of butterflies appeared to have taken up residence in her stomach, and when she rose from her curtsy and caught a glint of amusement in the marquess" sky-blue eyes, they took flight again.

"I hope the funeral went well," Emily said, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound more serious than she felt.

"As well as these things can," the marquess answered easily, watching her with an indecipherable gaze.

"Did you learn anything in Faversham which might aid our investigation?" Emily continued brusquely, feeling more than a little flustered by him. He was behaving as though they were intimates, rather than two strangers thrown together by fate and a mystery.

"I did," Chambers agreed, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise at her tone, "If you would care to take a walk with me, I will divulge what I learned."

Lord Chambers proffered his arm, and there was little that Emily could do bar take it. She reluctantly placed a gloved hand on his forearm--which was hard as a rock beneath his soft merino coat--and allowed him to lead the way.

"My mama is in the card room," Emily said, hoping to supply a destination for their walk.

"Avoid card room, understood," the marquess answered, drawing her from the parlour room towards the French doors which led out to the gardens.

"No, that wasn"t what I meant," Emily protested, but there was little conviction to her tone and she allowed him lead the way.

Outside, the sky had turned from dusk to dark, though a few faint traces of pink remained on the horizon. It was a clear night, and a sliver of a crescent moon hung low in the sky, small but bright.

"The funeral was a quiet affair," Lord Chambers continued, once they were alone in the quiet air, "However, the reading of the will brought a rather interesting revelation."

"Oh?" Emily held her breath, as she waited for him to reveal what that was.

"Lady Hardthistle left everything to her maid, Ethel. If ever a motive existed for murder, it is the chance of inheriting a large fortune, is it not? And, Ethel did not much seem upset by her mistress" death," the marquess finished with a flourish, then waited for Emily"s response.

It was unusual for a member of the aristocracy to bequeath their fortune to a servant, Emily internally agreed, but was there perhaps more to it than Lord Chambers imagined?

"While that"s very interesting, it does not necessarily mean that Ethel is the guilty party," Emily answered, in an attempt to reason with him, "Lady Hardthistle had no offspring, and, perhaps, Ethel is a distant relative? She was more of a companion to her than a maid, after all."

"How do you explain how unaffected she was by her mistress" death?" Lord Chambers countered.

"You are assuming that Ethel liked her mistress," Emily could not help but laugh, "You may not believe it, my lord, but just because a servant feigns respect for you, it does not actually mean that they feel it."

"Of course they do," Lord Chambers snorted, his confidence that he was adored by all unshaken.

What a difference money made, Emily thought with a smile. The Mifford"s own maid, Nora, was not paid enough to conceal how irritating she found her duties--and the people she performed them for--to be. If Mrs Mifford was to suddenly expire, it was doubtful that Nora would shed any tears.

"We shall have to agree to disagree on that score," Emily reasoned, but as she noted the slight gleam of hurt in his eyes, she allowed him one concession, "Though you are correct that the contents of the will has marked Ethel as a suspect--however unlikely."

"You are forgetting that on the night in question," the marquess interrupted, determined to have his say, "That Ethel was nowhere to be found--and Lady Hardthistle only ventured into the gardens to look for her. It"s entirely possible that, after a lifetime of service, she decided she could wait no longer, snapped, and strangled her mistress to death."

As Emily pictured the frail maid in her mind, she could not help but allow her disbelief show. There was no way that the reed thin woman had possessed the strength to overthrow the considerably sturdier Lady Hardthistle and then strangle her to death.

She voiced this thought to Lord Chambers, who was momentarily staggered.

"She had an accomplice, then," he replied, after a second"s pause.

"Perhaps," Emily agreed, though her teeth were gritted--the marquess was like a dog with a bone over Ethel, "However, I do think that we should remain focused on our other suspect; Sir Cadogan."

In hushed tones, Emily explained that she had seen the squire earlier that day, looking most pleased with himself.

"He said that he"d had some good news," she finished, triumphantly.

In the silence which followed, all that could be heard was the distant sound of the guests from inside the house, while Lord Chambers" thick eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief.

"That"s hardly as startling a revelation as my one about Ethel," the marquess finally replied, his bottom lip pouting.

"It"s not a competition," she huffed in response, "We are supposed to be working together as partners. I should have guessed that your ego was too large to allow anyone else have an opinion or an idea opposite to your own."

Feeling vexed, by both his attitude and the luscious curve of his bottom lip, Emily spun on the heel of her slipper, determined to stalk away. Having come of age in a house with four other females, Emily knew well how to make a dramatic exit, which adequately portrayed her annoyance, and she stuck her nose in the air and prepared to stomp away.

Lord Chambers, however, had other ideas; he reached out a gloved hand to grab her wrist, and spun her around gently to face him.

"Forgive me."

"I--I beg your pardon?"

"I apologise," he replied, his blue eyes dancing, "You are correct, my ego got in the way of our investigation. While it"s vaguely possible that Ethel is the true villain, Sir Cadogan is the man we should be focusing on."

Emily blinked, unable to comprehend such a swift and sincere apology, for she usually never received any apology when she fell out with her sisters.

"Oh," she answered, for want of anything better to say. She paused, and allowed herself a few seconds to gather her thoughts, "I suppose, if you see if you can learn anything about Sir Cadogan"s movements on the night, I can try find out if there"s anything we need to know about Ethel. Servants are always gossiping, I"m certain if there"s any scandal attached to Ethel that some of the staff in Northcott House already know it."

"How clever," Lord Chambers smiled, "I would never think to ask a servant."

No, Emily agreed--though she did not say it aloud--he wasn"t the type of man to spend an afternoon conversing with his staff.

A harmonious silence fell between them, and Emily pondered what she might say next. She wasn"t terribly adept at small talk, and she suspected that attempting any with a man as handsome as the marquess would not go well. True, she found him highly annoying, but even she could not deny that he was the most handsome gentleman in all of London--perhaps, even all of England.

Lord Chambers" grip on her wrist had now loosened, but he did not let her go. Instead, his hand slipped down to her own and held it gently--though for all his gentleness, it still felt to Emily as though her skin beneath her glove was burning.

She glanced up at him, with some confusion, and found that his blue eyes--usually twinkling with amusement--were now as dark and tumultuous as the sea before a storm. Her breath caught in her throat, and as Lord Chambers tugged her towards him, Emily realised that he intended to kiss her.

More startlingly, she realised that she wanted him to.

Her lips parted in an "o" of surprise, and she braced herself for the feel of his mouth against hers--

"If you"d all like to follow me to the pond, you"ll have a chance to glimpse my rare night-blooming water lilies, found on an expedition to the Americas--which I generously sponsored."

Emily jumped in fright at the sound of Lady Wilcox"s booming voice sounding out across the night air. The countess was an avid collector of rare botanicals, and had obviously corralled a number of her guests into a tour of the gardens.

"The lilies lasted longer than the peacock," Lady Wilcox continued loudly, "Poor thing didn"t survive the winter."

"We shouldn"t be seen out here alone together," Emily whispered nervously to the marquess, as she realised the party would soon pass by them. "You remain here, and I will return the way we came."

"Allow me to escort you--" he began to protest, but Emily hushed him with a wave of her hand.

"No, no need," she said, her voice so high-pitched that it was a wonder he could hear her, "Er, we shall just continue with our agreed plan, and reconvene if we learn something interesting. Goodnight, my lord."

Without waiting for a reply, Emily fled the scene, her mind awash with confusion. The Marquess of Highfield had attempted to kiss her--and, worse, she had wanted him to.

Had he truly wished to share a passionate embrace with her, or was he just an opportunistic rake?

As she raced from the parlour room, towards the card room, Emily racked her brain to see if she could recall any gossip about Lord Chambers, but she could come up with none. The marquess" reputation was as immaculate as the starched white cravat he wore at his neck.

Still, she could not allow herself to attribute their shared moment to anything other than a mild insanity, brought on by the balmy night and the excitement of the murder mystery.

Lord Chambers had no real interest in her, Emily assured herself, as she smoothed down her skirts before she entered the card room. It wasn"t possible--for it would mean that her mama had been right about something, and she could not allow that to happen, or she"d never hear the end of it.