The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (32 page)

“It’s a distinct possibility,” her sister-in-law replied. “The constables at the gate aren’t looking for stowaways. They’re just keeping track of the guests.”

“Let’s go ask the cook what deliveries came around yesterday afternoon,” Vi suggested.

“Good thinking,” Em said.

Vi thought so—seeing as she was hoping to grow two plants with one seed.

Her hopes came to fruition when the kindly cook not only had information to give, but also provided her with a dish of bread and butter pudding studded with currants. Sitting on a stool at the work table, Vi dug into the treat with gusto as the cook reviewed yesterday’s schedule.

“Now let me see,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, “most o’ the deliveries came before noon. But the butcher was a bit late, maybe an hour or two after that—had a broken axle on the way, he said. And the greengrocer arrived soon after that, with some fine asparagus and leeks.”

“Could you give me their addresses, please?” After recording the information, Em said, “Thank you, Cook. This will aid my brother in the search for the missing woman.”

Hopping off the stool, Vi added, “And thank you for the most delicious bread pudding I’ve ever had.”

The cook beamed.

~~~

After supper, Richard went to the music room in search of Violet. He spotted her right away, a vibrant bloom in lavender, sitting with Wick and his cronies. Guests as well as professionals were on the program this eve, and at present, Violet’s sister, the Marchioness of Tremont, was spellbinding the audience with her rendition of a sonata by Master Beethoven.

Despite her delicate looks, the marchioness had full command of the pianoforte. She wrung power, passion, and tenderness from the keys. Standing at the side of the room, Tremont looked on with unmistakable pride.

When the performance came to an end, the audience erupted into applause. While the marchioness took her well-deserved bow, Richard headed toward Violet.

Making a leg, he indicated the empty seat next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

“Now it is. I saved it for you.”

The warmth in her whiskey eyes gave rise to a sweet ache in his chest. It was strange that a thing as small as that gesture—her reserving a place for him—could affect him thus, but it did. He’d never had someone who looked out for him before. Someone to share madcap adventures with and passion beyond anything he’d imagined possible. A true partner.

“Good evening, Carlisle,” his brother said from Violet’s other side.

Wick appeared his usual dapper self, yet Richard saw the lines of tension around the other’s eyes. He wished he could ease Wick’s burdens. “How are you?”

“As well as I can be, given the situation,” Wick said quietly.

“Don’t worry,” Violet whispered. “My brother has everything in hand, and Carlisle and I are helping too.”

She gave Wick’s arm a squeeze. He smiled back at her.

Richard knew her gesture was meant to comfort his sibling, but he found he didn’t like it or the warmth of the exchange between the two. Looking at the young, fashionable pair, he felt, for an instant, like an outsider again.

Don’t be a jealous fool,
he chided himself.
She’s your fiancée. She’s going to marry you.

“What
are
you three whispering about?” The drawl came from Parnell, who was sitting behind them with Goggs and some other rakehells. Parnell’s aristocratic features were fixed in a mask of ennui. “If it’s gossip, do share—the juicier the better to relieve this curst dull evening.”

“The juicier the better,” Goggs said, chortling. “Good one, Parnell.”

“Does the gossip have to do with Madame Monique?” Parnell said.

“Why do you ask?” Richard twisted around to face the other fully.

Parnell’s thin brows lifted. “Because rumors are flying. Everyone knows Monique’s death wasn’t an accident. According to Miss Primrose, her papa is closing in on the murderer as we speak—with your and our own dear Violet’s assistance. So what do you have to say to that?”

“That I’ll have to have words with Rosie,” Violet muttered.

“Come, Vi—Miss Kent,” Parnell corrected smoothly after a warning look from Richard. “We’re your cronies, and you can trust us. So do tell:
was
it a lover who killed her?”

“It’s always the lover in novels,” Goggs said with emphasis.

Seeing Violet’s desperate look, Richard cut in. “Stop pestering her. This is murder, not some silly game.”

“What a killjoy you are, Carlisle.” Parnell sniffed. “It’s a wonder our Violet wants anything to do with you. A case of Beauty and the Beast, to be sure.”

A loud chord crashed through the room—a good thing because it diverted Richard from his intention to rip the lordling’s head off. As the music began, Violet placed a hand on his arm.

“Ignore Parnell,” she whispered. “He just likes to bait.”

With a terse nod, Richard turned to the front where Miss Wrotham was warbling about a lovelorn lass, Miss Turbett accompanying her on the pianoforte. Richard tried not to wince as the former emitted a high trill that scraped like a fork over his eardrums. At the same instant, Miss Turbett hit a discordant chord that threatened to burst said eardrums altogether.

Even the duet from hell, however, couldn’t distract Richard from his brooding. Parnell’s remark about Beauty and the Beast had resurrected a memory: of overhearing Miss Lucinda Belton talking about him at a ball. Her voice drifted to him now, the way it had from the other side of an Oriental screen…

“I had to say no, of course,” Lucinda said in her distinctive silvery voice, “but it was terribly awkward. He’d gone down on bended knee and seemed so
surprised
when I turned him down.”

“Did he actually believe that you could love him?” Disdain colored another female voice. “You’re a Diamond of the First Water, Lucy, and he’s… well, he’s more like a lump of coal.”

Giggling, Lucinda said, “His manners are rather… unpolished, aren’t they?”

“Not to mention his looks,” her friend added.

“Luckily, in this instance,” a male voice drawled, “our fair Aphrodite doesn’t have to settle for old Hephaestus…”

“Penny for your thoughts, Carlisle?”

Belatedly, Richard realized that the performance had ended, and Violet was asking him a question. He looked at her pretty, glowing face and hated his own self-doubt. But he couldn’t prevent the question from worming into his mind: could Violet love him?

They’d never spoken of that emotion, and, in truth, it wasn’t one he took much stock in. Ladies, in his experience, fell in and out of love with alarming regularity. As he recalled, Audrey Keane had once professed harboring that sentiment for him. No, love could not be relied upon. The things that he and Violet shared—passion, liking, and mutual interests—those were what truly mattered... weren’t they?

There was no way in hell he could share these jumbled thoughts with Violet. He felt foolish enough having them in the first place. Exposing his humiliating history was out of the question.

“I’m just thinking about tomorrow,” he said quietly.

“Me too.” Looking around the room, she said in an undertone, “Everyone is carrying on as usual. It’s difficult to imagine that somewhere in this room could lurk a murderer.”

It was an unsettling observation, enough to dispel his other ruminations.

As Richard surveyed the crowd, he tried to imagine any one of them being responsible for smothering Monique de Brouet and stealing the necklace. His gaze went to Wormleigh standing at the edge of the room, presently flirting with Mrs. Sumner. Nearby, Tobias Price was busy bantering with a matron of his own class. Near the stage, Ashe and Burns were hovering, readying to perform.

Then there was Garrity in the front row. As usual, the other was dressed to the nines, but it was not the moneylender’s garb that caught Richard’s attention but who he was sitting with.

“I know. I don’t like the looks of that either,” Violet said, as if reading his mind. “Gabby’s far too nice to be entangled with the likes of him.”

Miss Billings was staring at Garrity with a rapt expression. Rather like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, Richard thought. The moneylender’s words echoed in his head.
Even a man as busy as I am must occasionally make time for diversions.

He doubted very much that Garrity’s interest in Miss Billings was motivated by pleasure alone… unless one counted the man’s love of profit. But this wasn’t Richard’s problem. Billings was also watching his daughter and Garrity, his expression tight.

Ashe and Burns finished to rousing applause.

“I have a hunch that tomorrow is going to bring some surprises,” Violet whispered.

Richard shared that portentous feeling: a storm was brewing ahead.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next morning, the guests undertook the journey from Traverstoke to the village in a caravan of horses and carriages. Violet had chosen to ride a spirited dappled grey mare from Billings’ stable. Beside her, Richard was mounted on his magnificent Thoroughbred Aiolos, whose sleek muscles rippled beneath his gleaming chestnut coat.

Man and mount were much alike, Vi thought admiringly. Both were noble beasts of strength and grace. Richard looked utterly at home in the saddle, his muscular body moving in synchrony with his powerful steed.

Which reminded her of an idea that had been bobbing around in her head since their last discussion about his stables. With all that had been going on, she’d forgotten to share it with him. Now they had a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about you and breeding,” she said.

“Pardon?” Richard’s dark brows shot up.

Realizing how that sounded, she flushed. “Breeding
horses
, I mean.”

“Ah.” Though his craggy features remained polite, a wicked bronze spark lightened his eyes. “Too bad. I was hoping you meant something else.”

“Stop trying to embarrass me. I’m being serious.”

“There’s a first. All right, then. What about breeding horses?”

“Why don’t you rebuild your stud farm and use the profits to support your estate?”

He looked briefly startled at her question. “Well, it’s not as simple as that. Building a breeding program takes time, not to mention a financial investment. And it can take years to achieve success—if one attains it at all. Plenty of gentlemen pursue this as a hobby, sink fortunes into the venture… and wind up with little more than an expensive stable and some pretty horses. Our last monarch being a prime example.”

“But
you
wouldn’t do that.” The idea of Richard being a spendthrift was laughable.

He canted his head. “You sound rather confident given that you know little about my skill at horse breeding.”

“But I know
you
. You’re a man who knows what’s what. You’re methodical, dependable, and clever. For crumpet’s sake,” she said with a grin, “you secured a skeleton key to break into Monique’s room.”

Instead of sharing in her humor, he stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

“What’s the matter?” She patted her riding hat with its smart little amber veil, wondering if it had slipped. “Am I askew?”

“Quite the opposite.” He was still staring at her, only now with a heated intensity that made her heart pound. “In fact, you’re rather… perfect.”

She was speechless. No one had
ever
called her that before.

Seeming to collect himself, he cleared his throat. “As much as I appreciate your vote of confidence, establishing a stud farm is a large risk. One I can’t bank the future of the estate on.”

“It’s only a risk if you don’t believe in yourself.”

“I do believe in my ability to create a successful breeding program,” he said, “and if it were only me depending on the outcome, then there would be no question of my pursuing it. But it’s not just me. My mama, Wick, the tenants—all of them depend upon the health of the estate. They depend upon me to do the right thing.”

“Which right thing?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean
which
one? As Carlisle, there’s one clear duty which I must fulfill.”

“Well, you’re more than just a viscount, aren’t you? You’re
you
, too, with dreams of your own. So the way I see it, you have both a duty to others—and to yourself.”

As their horses clip-clopped along, Richard’s expression remained pensive. “I’ve never quite thought of it that way before.”

“I’m not saying your family isn’t important. Yet it seems to me that you spend a great deal of time looking after others and your estate,” she said frankly. “What about doing what
you
want to do? Don’t you also deserve to pursue your desires?”

“I do, and I’m going to.”

“You mean you’re going to start up a breeding program again?” she said eagerly.

“I mean I’ll be marrying you. There is nothing,” he said, “that I desire more.”

His quiet ferocity made her breath catch. It was the most he’d spoken of his feelings for her, and pleasure gripped her heart, squeezing exquisitely. Her lips parted, but the only word that came out was a dazed, “Oh.”

His lips tipped up at the corners. “As for the horses, I’ll think on it.”

~~~

Despite the tense situation—her thoughts kept wandering to her siblings and how they were faring in their search of the estate—Violet couldn’t help but enjoy herself. She loved fairs, the color and excitement. The sunny weather bore hints of summer, drawing out eager hordes.

The village square was crammed with wooden carts and stalls, goods ranging from fresh foodstuffs to jars of jams and honey to local crafts piled high for the visitors’ perusals. A fiddler played on the green, the scent of roasting nuts permeating the air. On one side of the square, the owner of the village tavern had set tables and chairs outside so that patrons could enjoy their foaming tankards while taking in the boisterous scene.

For the first hour, Vi strolled around with Richard, although they had to keep their conversation polite with Lady Ainsworthy dogging their every step. Other guests were enjoying the square as well. Vi observed Tobias Price arm in arm with Mrs. Sumner (the two apparently friends again), and Lord Wormleigh was escorting some young miss whose name Vi couldn’t recall. A beaming Miss Wrotham accepted an apple that Cedric Burns chose for her from the costermonger’s cart.