Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

H alfway along the corridor to the side door, Penelope slowed. "We've learned all sorts of bits and pieces. Now, we need to juggle them into a coherent picture." She halted and looked at Barnaby and Stokes. "Might I suggest we invite David and Veronica to join us over dinner? Both will have insights into Meriwell family members that could shed light on what happened."

Barnaby nodded. "Specifically, illuminating who poisoned his lordship."

"Wait here." Stokes turned back. "I'll fetch them."

He reappeared minutes later with a curious David and Veronica, both shrugging into their coats, in tow.

"We need your specialized knowledge," Penelope informed them as she linked her arm with Veronica's and turned to continue to the door.

"In more ways than one," Barnaby added as the three men set out in the ladies' wake.

They walked out of the door, onto the terrace, and started around the house.

"It might be best," Stokes said, "to leave all discussion until after dinner." He glanced at Barnaby. "I don't know about you, but my head's spinning with so many disjointed facts."

"A short mental break will do us all good," Penelope declared and strolled on into the wood, following the path to the Angel Inn.

It had been a gentle May day, with sunshine and light clouds scudding across a pale-blue sky, and the evening looked set to remain pleasant, with nothing more than an errant breeze cooling the shadows beneath the trees.

The walk to the inn was uneventful. Penelope led the way inside and waved at their host, at her station behind the counter in the main bar, then she steered Veronica in the opposite direction, to the private parlor they'd commandeered.

The men followed, and the attentive innkeeper appeared on their heels. She took their orders and, after promising to have everything delivered promptly, retreated.

Penelope and Veronica sat at the table and waited while Barnaby, Stokes, and David drew up extra chairs. The men had only just settled when the door opened, and the innkeeper and two maids ferried in dishes, plates, cutlery, napkins, glasses, and mugs.

In short order, their meal was laid before them, and they gladly addressed themselves to the fare.

While she ate, Penelope mulled over all they'd learned since they'd arrived at Meriwell Hall and was sure Barnaby and Stokes were doing the same. David and Veronica were content to allow them time to cogitate, but once the dishes were emptied and the plates had been cleared and slices of fresh apple pie and a jug of cream were placed before them, along with a bottle of good brandy and—at Penelope's insistence—five glasses, and the servers withdrew, she reached for the brandy bottle, pulled out the stopper, and poured herself a small amount, then did the same with another glass and pushed it toward Veronica. "Trust me, it will help."

With that, Penelope handed the bottle to Barnaby, picked up her glass, and took an appreciative sip.

The warming burn of the liquid as it slid down her throat helped her focus on the investigation. "I can barely believe that we arrived at Meriwell Hall only"—she consulted the clock above the fireplace—"less than eight hours ago."

Cradling a glass of amber liquid in his hands, Stokes nodded. "And from the moment we stepped through the front door, we've been learning facts, bits and pieces, here and there, at a rapid rate. But how many are relevant and—or even whether—they fit together is not at all clear."

Barnaby sipped, then lowered his glass. "That's the challenge before us now—to make sense of things and discover what else we need to learn."

"So where do we start?" Stokes asked.

After a moment of silence, Penelope suggested, "Let's begin by assembling a timeline of Lord Meriwell's movements on the day he died, then, working from that, create a list of potential suspects—those who could have done the deed."

"And who had cause to do the deed," Barnaby added. "Motive and opportunity, and let's start with his lordship's meeting with our unknown man."

David blinked. "Unknown man?"

Veronica, too, looked surprised. She glanced at David. "We haven't heard anything about any meeting."

"Likely it wasn't known to anyone other than Jensen and Gorton. And his lordship, of course." Penelope outlined what they'd learned of the unidentified stranger and how, after having Wishpole turn up at the door, they'd learned that he'd been summoned by his lordship via the unknown man.

"Would that we could identify the man," Stokes said, "but as of yet, we have no notion of his identity."

"It seems odd to have his lordship's solicitor turn up at this point," David said. "Did he say why?"

"Indeed." Barnaby outlined what Wishpole had told them of his lordship's intentions.

Veronica's eyes had widened. "But surely that gives someone—one of the family—a very good reason to murder his lordship. It can't be a coincidence that Lord Meriwell decides to change his will, and within hours, he dies of poison."

"Not only that," Penelope darkly said, "but that might also explain why now." She met Barnaby's eyes. "I've been puzzling about why the murderer turned up with poison, all ready to do the deed. Perhaps he or she suspected his lordship was about to learn whatever secret the unknown man delivered, and so our murderer came prepared, then realized that, indeed, his lordship knew—his lordship's seething anger would have given that away—and so the murderer acted, then and there."

Slowly, Barnaby nodded. "The murderer couldn't have known that his lordship had summoned Wishpole, but he could have known, in light of whatever the secret is, that his lordship might react in just that way."

"Given what we've learned from several sources about Lord Meriwell's abiding obsession," Stokes said, "namely the family's reputation, then any scandalous secret that threatened that would have made him see red."

Penelope nodded. "It does seem certain that the news the unknown man brought his lordship was what tipped him into his subsequent rage."

David was frowning. He glanced at Veronica. "This is the first I've heard about his lordship being in a rage."

But Veronica was looking at Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes, with an expression of dawning recollection on her face. "I might know something to the point. I was in the gallery when the Busseltons and Stephen arrived. I was on my way to see Sophie, to remind her to go down and be agreeable, and I stayed out of sight while the usual greetings were exchanged, and I thought even then, purely judging by his lordship's tone, that he was very angry, but doing his best to hide it. Then once the Busseltons moved on into the drawing room, where her ladyship and Lord Iffey were waiting, Lord Meriwell hung back and, in a furious whisper, said to Stephen"—Veronica closed her eyes, presumably the better to recall—"that he—his lordship—needed to speak with Stephen later, after dinner, in the library. And his lordship added that it was about the business in Seven Dials."

Penelope's eyes flared wide. "Seven Dials?"

Veronica opened her eyes and nodded. "That was my reaction, too."

Stokes was busy scribbling. "How did Stephen react?"

"He readily agreed," Veronica reported, "but it sounded as if he didn't have any idea what Lord Meriwell was referring to." She paused, then added, "That was the extent of the exchange. They went into the drawing room, and I went on to see Sophie. I assumed that the business in question was either Arthur's or Peter's latest scandalous exploit."

"Very likely," Stokes somewhat grimly agreed.

For several moments, silence reigned as they puzzled over the various facts.

Eventually, Penelope blew out a breath. "Now we've got a new fact, we should go back and follow the trail—the sequence of events—from the beginning and slot it in and see how it fits and what more it might suggest."

"Right." Stokes nodded. "So, yesterday afternoon, Lord Meriwell met with some man whom he was expecting. We don't know who that man is, but whatever he imparted to his lordship—possibly a report about a business in Seven Dials—had two verifiable results. One, his lordship sent for Wishpole, telling him he wanted to make a significant alteration to his will. He didn't tell Wishpole more than that, so although Wishpole has confirmed that the beneficiaries of the will are her ladyship, Sophie, Stephen, Arthur, and Peter, we don't know which of them might be the one who'd been about to be struck from the will."

"While it might be tempting to discount the ladies," Barnaby said, "especially with respect to anything in Seven Dials, I suggest we consider them potential suspects until we learn more."

Stokes nodded. "The other thing that arose from that meeting—presumably due to what his lordship learned from the unknown man—was that his lordship's temper flared. His valet, Gorton, said his lordship was unruffled prior to the meeting, but in its aftermath, his lordship's fury built and built, and Veronica heard his suppressed anger in his exchange with Stephen. Subsequently, when his lordship was in the drawing room before dinner, several people, including her ladyship and Mrs. Busselton, noticed his seething anger."

"All the ladies, and even Jensen, commented on that," Penelope said. "And it seems his lordship's anger had him glaring down the dining table, then uncharacteristically quaffing a mouthful of wine the instant the wine was in his glass, before anyone else had even been served."

Frowning, David observed, "Lord Meriwell was a stickler for correct behavior."

"So we've gathered," Barnaby said, "which further suggests that whatever he learned was shocking enough to have driven him into a rage far beyond his usual limits."

"None of our witnesses," Stokes said, consulting his notes, "were certain about whom his lordship was glaring at, just that he was glaring toward his granddaughter. Sophie, however, believes it was, indeed, her his lordship was glaring at, but she has no idea why, and in that, I believe her." Stokes looked at Penelope. "She seemed genuinely confused."

Penelope agreed. "She was at a complete loss to explain it."

Barnaby went on, "All agree that his lordship swallowed the wine, choked, gasped twice, tried to lift his left hand, presumably to point in the direction in which he'd been glaring, but collapsed before he actually pointed at anyone."

From his notes, Stokes read, "It seems likely his lordship died at the table, but the nephews and his staff sought to move him to his bedroom anyway, deeming it more appropriate and respectful. Once there, you"—Stokes nodded at Veronica—"examined him and pronounced him dead."

Penelope frowned. "The movement of people through the next minutes is somewhat unclear, at least to me. While you were upstairs, Peter was delegated to usher the remaining members of the company to the drawing room, which he duly did. However, some untold minutes later, Peter left, supposedly to learn what was happening, but he never returned to the drawing room."

"Most likely, he went to the library," Stokes said, "where, according to Jensen, at least two people helped themselves to brandy."

"Also, Peter's departure from the drawing room gave Sophie an excuse to plead illness and leave as well. She says she went upstairs and called for her maid, Sally, immediately." Penelope looked at Stokes. "We should check with Sally."

Stokes nodded. "And sometime after that, Stephen and Arthur left his lordship's bedroom and went downstairs, supposedly to report to those gathered in the drawing room—which is what each told us they did—but it seems they separated, because when Stephen entered the drawing room, Arthur followed, but not closely enough to be seen by those in the drawing room as having been with Stephen, and we think it must have been Arthur who used the second glass in the library. However, when he did that is yet to be determined." Stokes frowned. "Did Arthur merely lag farther behind Stephen in going to the drawing room? Or did he—or both of them—detour to the library first?"

Barnaby shifted. "Those movements are pertinent because, between the time the company vacated the dining room and you"—he glanced at Veronica—"returned with Jensen, his lordship's wine glass went missing."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Stokes said, "but during that period, we've at some point lost sight of Peter and Sophie and, potentially, Arthur and Stephen. All were or could have been out of sight of others long enough to have taken and hidden the glass, and all know the house extremely well."

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "I've just had an unhelpful thought."

Stokes sighed. "I'm not sure I want to hear it."

Penelope pushed up her glasses. "Depending on how the company filed out of the dining room, it's possible one of the others was able to remove the glass and hide it nearby, to be collected later, during the night."

David grimaced. "Given how distracted they all must have been, I would consider it possible that one might have done that with no one else noticing."

"We already know that whoever put the poison in the glass was a past master at doing something in full view of others without attracting attention," Barnaby pointed out. "We know that the poison was introduced into his lordship's glass at some time between Jensen leading the company into the dining room and Jensen filling his lordship's glass. Everyone was about the table, talking and settling, and not one person saw anything to the point." Barnaby met Penelope's eyes, then looked at the others. "Our murderer doesn't lack for confidence in his ability to act and get away with it."

They all pondered that, then Penelope suggested, "Let's return to basics—to motive and opportunity."

"Opportunity first," Stokes said. "Who couldn't have done it?"

"George Busselton," Barnaby replied. "He walked in with Lord Meriwell, and everyone else was seated by that time. No cover, plus his lordship was there and Jensen was watching."

Penelope nodded. "I agree. Is there anyone else we can definitely rule out purely on the basis of the chance to put the poison in the glass?"

"Well, the staff," Veronica said. "But that was obvious from the first."

"In general, yes," Penelope acknowledged. "But Thomas placed the glass on the table. Although he was supposed to be wiping each glass with a cloth as he put them out, he could have dripped poison into his lordship's glass without Jeremy or Jensen noticing." She tipped her head, considering. "Or he might have put the poison in when he was alone in the room while Jensen summoned the diners and Jeremy fetched the soup course."

The others all looked at her. Eventually, Barnaby asked, "Are we really considering Thomas the footman as a viable suspect?"

Stokes grunted. "To my mind, we have enough suspects with the family and even the guests. I can imagine a scenario where, for some reason we've yet to divine, Persimone Busselton or even her brother poisoned his lordship." He looked at Barnaby. "The Busseltons were looking to ally themselves with the Meriwells, so his lordship's obsession might already have focused on them."

Barnaby pulled a face. "Sadly, that's true. He might have had someone look into the lives of the Busseltons—perhaps that was what the unknown man reported on."

They pondered that, then Stokes stirred. "Let's move on to motive. Actual motive that we have evidence of, not motive arising from our imaginations."

Barnaby grinned and supplied, "Via the will his lordship sought to alter, his three nephews, Sophie, and her ladyship all stood to gain in some way."

"And," Penelope said, "by association, given his long-standing affair with her ladyship, Lord Iffey should also be on our list."

"Right," Stokes said. "And apropos of motive, I've just realized that none of the Busseltons have one, not if we believe that whatever the unknown man reported to Lord Meriwell was what drove his lordship to decide to change his will. The Busseltons aren't affected by the will, and even if Persimone marries Stephen and we consider that connection, it doesn't sound as if Stephen needs the inheritance to any real degree. I can't see a believable, much less compelling motive to poison Lord Meriwell for Persimone, her brother, or her mother."

Penelope added, "Especially as those three aren't exactly tripping over their feet to encourage Stephen Meriwell's suit." She looked at David and Veronica. "All three, independently, gave us to understand that they were definitely on the fence. Persimone is considering Stephen Meriwell as a potential husband. There's been no decision made, not on the Busselton side."

Veronica frowned. "From what I gathered, including from comments Lord Meriwell made, he seemed very keen to further the match."

Stokes nodded. "Duly noted, but it seems the enthusiasm was, at least at this point, shared only by Mr. Busselton."

"All right." Penelope folded her arms on the table and leaned on them. "Let's take our suspects one by one. Sophie had a falling out—a major and active one—with her grandfather over him vetoing her London Season this year. That said, I can't see how killing her grandfather advances her cause. Indeed, as she herself remarked, she now won't have a proper Season next year, either, as she'll still be in half mourning."

Veronica gave a disgusted huff. "That sounds exactly like Sophie's way of thinking."

Penelope nodded. "Which is why I can't see her as his lordship's murderer. She might stand to gain financially under his will, but she doesn't strike me as sparing much thought for her financial future."

"No, indeed," Veronica agreed. "She's quite naive and unworldly and expects others to take care of her." She paused, then added, "Given her upbringing, that's hardly surprising. She's lived a very secluded, protected life."

"I would also suggest," David added, "that obtaining concentrated prussic acid was beyond Sophie's capability. Thanks to her grandfather, she's been more or less fixed here, and she would have no chance of buying such a thing in the local area. Not without someone commenting."

Stokes was making notes and nodded without looking up. "Good points all."

"So," Barnaby said, "that brings us to her ladyship and Lord Iffey."

Penelope frowned. "Given how long-standing their affair is and that we've found no evidence at all that his lordship knew—" She broke off and sat up. "Wait! Could his lordship have finally grown suspicious and had them investigated? Was that what the unknown man reported—that Iffey and Clementina were having an affair?"

Stokes frowned. "Could Meriwell change his will to deny his wife use of the house and estate after his death?"

Barnaby tipped his head. "I suppose that might be possible, but it seems…"

David offered, "Out of character for a man who was so powerfully driven by virtuous consideration, meaning trying to do the right thing in the manner society expected."

"Yes." Barnaby nodded. "That."

Stokes looked at the faces around the table, then said, "Let's move on to potentially greener pastures—the nephews. According to what we've learned, via his lordship's death, Arthur and Peter each gain something they want. On current information, how desperate either of their wants might be is difficult to judge, but it's possible that one or both might have a sufficiently urgent reason to lay their hands on their inheritance, a reason compelling enough to prompt murder."

Penelope inclined her head. "That's an accurate summation." For David and Veronica, she added, "Arthur needs a particular stallion his lordship owns in order to placate a long-standing creditor, and Peter has debts of mounting significance."

Barnaby tapped a finger on the table. "We shouldn't forget that this murder was premeditated. Our murderer came prepared with concentrated prussic acid. Did Arthur or Peter—or indeed, any of our other potential suspects—have something change that made gaining what they stand to inherit suddenly imperative?" He looked at Stokes. "Did any of our suspects experience some goad that spurred them to murder his lordship?"

Stokes returned Barnaby's regard, then said, "The only goad I can think of is the unknown man who reported to Lord Meriwell. It's possible that, before our murderer set out for Meriwell Hall, he discovered that the unknown man had learned his secret and it was about to be revealed to his lordship. So our murderer came prepared."

Barnaby and Penelope nodded. Penelope remarked, "That fits."

After a pause while they all thought of what they knew and what they didn't, David looked at Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes. "What about Stephen Meriwell?"

Barnaby said, "No matter our preconceptions, we need to keep him on our list. Both in terms of motive and opportunity, he qualifies. He could have placed the poison in his lordship's wine glass, he could have removed the wine glass later, and he is a major beneficiary under his lordship's will."

"That said," Stokes observed, "Stephen's motive appears the weakest. By all accounts, he's well-to-do and financially sound?—"

"And that must be so," Penelope pointed out, "or the Busseltons would never allow him near their daughter, much less be even vaguely entertaining his suit."

"Indeed." Barnaby inclined his head. "Stephen doesn't appear to have a financial need, and although it seems he will inherit the title and the entailed estate, I can't see how that gives him any great motive to kill his lordship now ."

Penelope commented, "In terms of gaining the Busseltons' acceptance of his suit, the prospect of the title is just as good as having the title, at least in this instance."

Frowning, Veronica glanced at the others. "We seem to have forgotten the ‘business in Seven Dials.'"

The others stared at her.

Stokes sighed. "That's precisely what I mean about having so many disconnected bits and pieces whizzing about in our minds."

"We can't see the needle because of the hay," Barnaby wryly said.

Stokes frowned. "What's interesting is that no one else has mentioned any business in Seven Dials."

Clasping her hands on the table, Penelope sat straighter. "Can we assume that the business in Seven Dials was the matter on which the unknown man reported to his lordship?"

"Timing-wise," Barnaby said, "that would fit."

"Which suggests," Veronica said, "that the information about the business in Seven Dials was what sparked his lordship's anger. That was certainly the impression I received from what I overheard."

Barnaby looked at Stokes. "We should ask Wishpole if he knows anything about such a business."

Stokes jotted a note. "Our other outstanding item is that missing glass." He looked at Veronica and David. "With woods all around the house, it could be anywhere, yet at the same time, the murderer wouldn't have had unlimited time to wander off and hide it."

"What if," Penelope suggested, "the murderer took the glass from the table and simply hid it somewhere it wouldn't have been immediately noticed? Those monstrous sideboards in the dining room spring to mind. He could well have counted on no one registering that the glass was missing—if Veronica hadn't detected poison and come looking for the glass…"

David shifted and said, "Very likely, this murder was intended to pass as death by natural causes." He met Barnaby's, Penelope's, and Stokes's gazes. "The reality is, in most cases with a man of his lordship's years, the death would, indeed, have been put down to a heart attack or seizure of some sort. The local doctor would have been summoned and would very likely have issued the death certificate saying just that." David glanced at Veronica. "If Veronica hadn't been there and been so observant, the murderer would have gained his objective without anyone being the wiser."

Stokes nodded. "And we wouldn't be here, poking around and searching for that glass."

"Exactly," Penelope said. "So the murderer—assuming the death would be explained by a heart attack or seizure—hid the glass…why?"

She looked at David, who obliged, "Presumably because the glass, having contained concentrated prussic acid, would likely still carry enough poison to be detected, even by someone not trained to be suspicious."

"Or," Veronica said, "the murderer might have been worried that whichever member of staff collected the glass—remember, it still had wine in it—might be tempted to take a sip?—"

"And if they died, too," Penelope concluded, "it would have been obvious that his lordship was poisoned." She nodded. "Right. So the murderer hid the glass and wine, and I have to say my bet is on him using one of those sideboards."

Stokes continued to scribble. "And then, later in the night when there was no one else about, he came down, took the glass and wine, and disposed of both in some way."

Barnaby narrowed his eyes, imagining that. "I doubt he could have gone far, even then. He would have to be in his nightclothes in case he ran into any staff or other guests, so I doubt he went far from the house. If he left the house at all."

Penelope sighed. "It's a large house, with attics and basements, and all our suspects know it well. The glass is likely hidden somewhere, but finding it might not be easy."

"Regardless," Stokes said, "we should ask Jensen to search again and this time go through the bedrooms as well. I seriously doubt they did that the first time."

Veronica asked, "Could all of our suspects have taken the glass?"

Everyone paused to think, then Penelope stated, "Possibly not. None of the Busseltons are likely to have done so—we agree on them not being suspects—and we were told that they preceded her ladyship, Lord Iffey, and Peter from the room and took Sophie with them. But the Busseltons and Sophie waited outside until the other three joined them, and then the Busseltons, with Sophie, followed her ladyship, Iffey, and Peter to the drawing room." Penelope frowned. "I really can't see how any of that group could have secreted the glass without one of the others seeing, noting it, and subsequently telling us."

Stokes nodded. "But Peter and Sophie had an opportunity to collect and hide the glass later, after they'd left the drawing room."

"And," Barnaby added, "Arthur and Stephen both had time to do so—they were downstairs and, it seems, each was out of sight of others for a short time during the critical period."

"So." Stokes looked down at his jottings. "On the basis of having an opportunity to remove the glass, the three nephews and Sophie remain on our suspect list. That said, given we really don't know exactly how Peter, her ladyship, and Iffey exited the dining room, there's an outside chance that Iffey might have slipped back for just long enough to move the glass"—Stokes tipped his head at Penelope—"into one of those sideboards. The long and short of that is that I don't think we should rule him out yet."

Penelope nodded. "Let's leave him on our list for the moment. By my reckoning, that leaves all three nephews, Sophie, and Iffey."

"And we have two avenues to further investigate." Barnaby met Stokes's eyes. "We need to learn about the business in Seven Dials, and if at all possible, we want to find the missing glass."

Stokes nodded. "Even at this point, finding where the glass is might give us a clue as to who put it there. Or who could have. Any information that reduces our suspect list is welcome."

The others agreed, and on that note, they pushed back from the table and stretched, and after noting the hour, Barnaby offered to drive David and Veronica back to the Hall.

David cast a questioning glance at Veronica, but she smiled and told Barnaby, "The weather's May-mild, and the night's clear. The moon's out, too, so it'll be easy enough to find our way through the wood, and it's hardly far. No need to disturb your horses. Indeed, it's probably quicker for us to walk."

David supported the notion, and the others saw them off before retiring to their beds.

Veronica had spoken truly. The air was mild, and the path through the wood was bathed in soft shadow, with moonbeams dancing through the rippling canopy and dispensing a silvery, diffuse illumination that was more than enough for them to find their way.

Despite the specter of a murderer lurking at Meriwell Hall, in the wood, tranquility and peace held sway.

The path was relatively even and clear. There was no reason David needed to offer Veronica his arm, and no reason for her to take it; nevertheless, she did.

Walking closer, arm in arm with him, aware of the warmth of his body beside hers, as the night's quiet embraced them, she glanced at his face, studying the strong lines etched by the silvery light. Facing forward, she said, "Thank you for responding to my note so promptly."

He glanced at her; she felt his gaze trace her cheek. "Believe me when I say that I will always come to your aid as quickly as I'm able."

"Be that as it may, I couldn't be sure that you would be free." After a second, she added, "Or that you would credit my observations and deductions that his lordship had been poisoned and act so decisively, even to the point of notifying Scotland Yard."

She sensed him hesitate as if searching for words.

"Veronica…" He halted and swung to face her, and as her arm slid from his, he reached for her hands, capturing one in each of his. "My dear, you must know that I have complete faith in your professional abilities."

Her heart beat faster.

Through the dimness, his gaze locked with hers. Then, somewhat wryly, he grimaced and said, "If you want the truth, my major motive in recommending you for this position, here at Meriwell Hall, was that I wanted a way to maintain contact—professional contact—until…" He paused to draw in a deeper breath. "Until I could work out how to forge a more permanent—different—partnership with you. So I sent you here for my own reasons, and on reading your letter and learning that in following my own agenda, I had placed you under the same roof as a murderer…well, of course I acted. I called in Stokes and Barnaby and Penelope because I wanted their help to keep you safe." Impatiently, he dipped his head. "Yes, to find the murderer as well, for all the obvious reasons"—his eyes again found hers, and he held her gaze—"but my principal and overriding motive is and will continue to be to keep you safe."

David paused, and somehow, at last, the words flowed more easily. "You are very precious to me, my dear."

Her eyes had widened, and she searched his expression. He had no idea what she might see; courtesy of the demands of his profession, his face rarely reflected his emotions.

Then he saw her swallow, and quietly, she asked, "You mentioned a permanent—different—partnership. Once this is over and the murderer caught—and surely, given Barnaby, Penelope, Stokes, and his men, that will happen soon—then in reality, looking ahead, there is no need for me here. Her ladyship needs a companion more than a nurse, and Lord Iffey is just waiting to fill that role. And Sophie…if she's made to stand on her own two feet, she'll discover she can and will go forward from there. She truly does not need a nurse, not of any kind." Her gaze steady on his face, she tipped her head. "So once this is over, I will not be needed here. I'll be free to find other employment."

David had wondered—had even hoped—that through the pressures of the investigation, his time to speak might come. And now it had. He'd toyed with the notion, imagining what might be for months—ever since he'd first made Veronica's acquaintance—but he'd shied from chancing his hand, citing one excuse after another, but he didn't dare put off speaking any longer. Life was too short; who knew what might come? "I suspected the assignment here wouldn't last long. I felt sure you would come to the same conclusion regarding Sophie as I had, even from my limited time with her, and I had already planned, once you were free, to ask if you would consider joining me in my practice."

A faint frown formed in her eyes, made lustrous by the moonlight. "You mean, as your nurse?"

He couldn't stop his lips from gently curving. "As my principal nurse, but not just as that. My dear, I'm asking if you would consider becoming my partner on a wider stage." Holding those glorious eyes with his, he raised her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers. "I'm standing here in this moonlit wood and asking you to be my partner in all things. In short, dearest Veronica, I'm asking if you will do me the honor of becoming my wife."

Her eyes flared. Although he searched them, he couldn't see beyond her stunned surprise.

Sudden uncertainty had him rushing to explain, "I've been rehearsing words like those for months, ever since we met at old Lady Ardlington's house, but it took the shock of knowing you were under the same roof as a murderer and that I had put you there?—"

"Stop." She freed a hand and placed her fingertips over his lips. But she was smiling as she said, "You're babbling. I've never heard you babble before."

He blew out a breath. "Yes, well, if you must know, that's what you do to me. I lose a great deal of my self-assurance…" He tightened his grip on the hand he still held and locked his gaze with hers. "Please say yes, Veronica. I feel as if, quite literally, my life and yours, too, depend on it."

Veronica stared into the face that had inhabited her dreams for the past months. Her heart felt as if it were bursting from her chest; she might have dreamed, but she'd never expected… "Yes." She stared into his rich brown eyes. "Yes," she repeatedly more firmly.

Then, on a surge of joy, she shook her hand free and raised both palms and cupped his lean cheeks, and she stretched up and kissed him and gave him her answer in a language impossible to misconstrue.

And he kissed her back, gently at first, but they were both too eager, too impatient, and soon, she was wrapped in his strong arms, and the communion of their lips had plunged into heated waters.

In the night's quiet, they kissed and hoped and let the dreams each had dared to dream crystallize.

When, much later, they continued on their way, his arm around her and her head resting against his shoulder, despite having a murderer yet to catch, they were both smiling.