“I’m sorry about the way the evening turned out, Mama,” Anthony said as he stood by the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy. He raised an empty glass toward Winston and Huntley, who were each occupying their own armchairs while their wives sat next to Anthony’s mother on the sofa. “Would you care for some?”
Both gentlemen nodded, so Anthony proceeded to pour for them as well.
“It wasn’t your fault,” his mother said, her voice sounding tired. “Not unless it was your idea to have Lady Rebecca shot on my lawn in front of everyone.”
“What a thing to say,” Louise gasped. She looked at Anthony. “Pour her a sherry, will you? And while you’re at it, Sarah and I would like one too.”
Anthony hid a smile. He loved his sister dearly and knew that she meant well, which was part of the reason why he rarely asserted himself whenever she tried to take charge. Not unless she was being unreasonable. Stubborn and willful best described her—traits that had resulted in her marrying Huntley when the alternative would probably have been a deep depression. Anthony knew she’d left not because she hadn’t cared but because she’d cared too much. Watching their father’s daily digression would have killed her—Huntley had offered her the excuse for escape, and as far as Anthony could tell, the two were getting along well enough, for which he was both grateful and relieved.
“The Griftons didn’t look very happy,” Winston muttered. “But then I suppose that’s to be expected. To believe that Lady Rebecca had remained behind at Roselyn Castle, locked away in her chamber, only to find her here, the center of a dramatic event.”
“For someone declared to be as mad as a March hare, she did sound rather succinct when I spoke to her,” Anthony said, handing the ladies their drinks.
“Neville sounded shocked when her condition was mentioned—as if he’d realized no such thing,” Winston said, accepting the glass that Anthony gave to him.
“All things considered,” Huntley remarked, “it would probably have taken a great deal for Neville to notice whether or not Lady Rebecca had a few bats loose in the belfry. He’s not very levelheaded himself.”
“That’s true,” Anthony heard his mother say as he strode back to fetch the final glass for Huntley. “He’s always been too carefree for his own good—much worse than Anthony and Mr. Goodard ever were, and that’s saying something.”
“I still can’t imagine who would do such a terrible thing,” Sarah said as she took a careful sip of her drink. Anthony watched her with the same sense of wonder he’d always reserved for his sister-in-law. Everything she did, from the way in which she moved to the way in which she spoke, was done with the same amount of care that one might apply to a piece of artwork. It was most peculiar.
“It’s very strange,” Anthony’s mother said, her brow knit in a tight frown.
“She can’t possibly have any enemies,” Louise said, looking to her husband, then to Winston and finally to Anthony for an answer.
Huntley shrugged. “It does seem unlikely. Perhaps it was an accident.”
“An accident?” Louise’s voice pitched. “One does not bring a loaded pistol to a ball and then proceed to fire it by accident.”
“Huntley’s right,” Anthony said. All eyes turned to him in surprise and, he surmised, expectation. “What if the bullet wasn’t meant for Lady Rebecca but for someone else entirely?”
“She was dancing with Neville at the time,” Winston said, following his statement with a large gulp of brandy.
“Now there’s a man that many would likely wish dead,” Anthony’s mother said as she shook her head a little sadly. “His uncle has his work cut out for him, reforming that boy so he can one day inherit. I certainly don’t envy him.”
“And I don’t envy Anthony,” Louise said. She gave her brother a look that was filled with genuine sympathy. “Not only are you faced with the challenge of solving an attempted murder but you also have Miss Smith to find.”
“As grateful as I am for your consideration, Louise,” Anthony felt compelled to say, “the constable will hopefully locate our villain with the help of law enforcement in other parishes, if necessary, which means that all I really have to do is discover Miss Smith’s whereabouts. I’ll begin tomorrow.”
“I say,” Winston remarked with the hint of a cheeky smile upon his lips, “she must have left quite an impression on you. I haven’t seen you this eager about a woman since I can’t remember when.”
“It does seem a bit rash,” his mother added.
Anthony rolled his eyes. “I am not engaging in a search for her because I’m smitten,” he said. At least that wasn’t his only reason. “But because the Deerfords are of the opinion that the gown Miss Smith was wearing was the very same one their daughter wore the night she disappeared.”
Silence.
“In my opinion it’s ridiculous,” he continued, pausing only to take a healthy sip of his brandy. “What on earth would Miss Smith be doing with Lady Margaret’s ball gown? It’s absurd.”
“Then again,” his mother said, her gaze coming to rest upon Anthony’s face, “we don’t really know anything about Miss Smith, not to mention that she did adopt Winston’s ridiculous idea about being from Flemmington.”
“I thought it was rather clever, unveiling her that way,” Winston said as he smiled across at Sarah, who was looking at him as adoringly as ever.
“It didn’t offer us much information about her though, other than her desperate desire to remain unknown,” the duchess said. She leaned slightly forward in her seat and looked at Anthony. “Whoever she may be, she attended this evening without invitation and proceeded to lie to us directly. The only reason she wasn’t escorted out was because you developed a weak spot for her. I can understand it in a way—her looks, coupled with that bit of mystery—most men would grovel for her attention.”
“I never grovel for anything,” Anthony said. His annoyance made the words come out harsher than he’d intended.
“Nevertheless, your interest in her was what kept her here—that and her attire, which indicated that she was every bit the gentlewoman she pretended to be. And I do mean pretend, Anthony, especially given the latest bit of news about the Deerfords. Heavens, she might be someone’s maid, for all we know.” The duchess’s lips twisted into a bit of a pout. “It promised to be such a lovely evening, and now . . . this.”
“It could be worse,” Sarah said, surprising them all with the sound of her smooth voice. “Lady Rebecca could have died while Miss Smith vanished without a trace. From what I gather, however, Miss Smith cannot be far from here. I was standing close to her when she mentioned seeing the fireworks as a child from her bedroom window.”
“How very observant of you, my dear,” Winston said, his eyes shining with pride.
“You are right,” Anthony told her. He then looked around at everyone else. “She must live within a ten-mile radius to have seen them clearly. If I go into Moxley tomorrow and visit the various homes—”
“You cannot possibly,” his mother gasped. “There are hundreds of houses, Anthony—Moxley may not be the biggest town in England, but it’s not exactly a village either.”
“I can help,” Huntley said, “if you wish it.”
Winston nodded. “So can I, and if we enlist the help of the footmen too, then it ought not take more than a day to visit all the homes.”
“Thank you, both of you.” Anthony reached for his brandy. “I’ll ask my valet to visit the peripheral homes—that should save us some time.” Tossing back the remainder of his drink, he rose to his feet. “If you’ll forgive me, it’s been a long day, and tomorrow promises to be quite grueling. I’d like to retire to my chambers and get some rest.”
“A wise decision,” his mother said, nodding. She looked as if she planned to say more but stopped herself.
“What is it?” Anthony asked.
Her eyes met his with such intensity that Anthony found himself taking a step back, hitting the heel of his foot against the chair behind him as he did so. “I know it’s been difficult for you the last few years, but I want you to know that I’m so proud of the way in which you’ve handled it all. I’m sorry about what I said earlier—about needing to take responsibility.” She sighed, a sad little smile playing upon her lips. “You’ve faced your obligations without the least bit of hesitation, and you’ve reformed. Most men would not have accomplished such a growth of character in so short a time.”
“I only did what was necessary, Mama,” Anthony said, feeling somewhat bashful from all the praise.
“Perhaps,” his mother conceded. “But that makes it no less impressive. I hope you find happiness for yourself, as Louise and Winston have done, for you deserve it. Perhaps Miss Smith—”
“A moment ago you were opposed to her,” Anthony said, surprised that his mother would mention Miss Smith in regards to his future.
“I only mean to caution you against acting rashly—at least until we discover more about her and why the Deerfords say they recognized her attire, though I must agree I think they’re mistaken in this regard. Don’t take me wrong, Anthony—I’m not in the least bit happy about Miss Smith’s deceit. Be that as it may, I can’t deny that I enjoyed her company—she’s a very likeable young lady.”
“She’s engaged,” Anthony muttered, then added, “almost engaged.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Louise asked. “Is she or is she not? It makes a big difference, you know.”
A moment ago, he’d been off to bed. Now he had some explaining to do. Resuming his seat, Anthony said, “I believe there’s a long-standing agreement, though the gentleman in question—whoever he may be—has not yet proposed.”
“Well then,” his mother said with a determined set to her jaw, “it’s not too late if she’s the one you want, though I can’t say I approve of a woman who sneaks around behind the back of the man she’s meant to marry, regardless of whether or not their attachment is formal.”
“She doesn’t wish to marry him,” Anthony said. He was tired, and now that they’d embarked on this topic and he was forced to address all that he had learned about Miss Smith during the course of the evening, he was beginning to feel discouraged. “But in spite of that, she kept saying that she had to and that anything else would be impossible. I think it’s a match arranged by her parents, and for whatever reason, she believes it to be final.”
“Whatever the case,” Winston said, “you’re a determined fellow. You also know how to seduce a woman. If I were you—”
“That’s enough,” the duchess said, her head turning toward her youngest son in dismay. “That you would even suggest such a thing is reprehensible, and in front of ladies no less. It’s so unlike you, Winston, whatever were you thinking?”
“Merely that my brother might consider drawing on some of the experience he garnered before he reformed,” Winston said, looking mildly uncomfortable. He’d always been the one to do as he was told and never stray from the dictates of Society, making his career choice all the more surprising. “I’m sure he can manage to charm both her and her parents into accepting a courtship. He is a duke after all.”
“My social standing didn’t seem to sway her opinion when I brought it up earlier this evening,” Anthony muttered. His eyes were beginning to hurt—he really ought to get some sleep. “She still insisted that I should dismiss any ideas I might have of seeing her again, courting her or marrying her. In truth, I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered a woman more bent on turning me down.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps it would be wise to do as she asks and stay away,” Huntley said.
“That’s impossible. Especially now that the Deerfords are involved. No, I have to find her, if only for their sake.” But he knew he was lying to everyone, including himself, as he said it. The Deerfords were just an excuse. Once he saw Miss Smith again, it would be impossible for him to walk away from her without a fight. The sort of connection they’d shared, however brief it had been, could not be ignored. He’d been with countless women, so he knew—knew as well as he knew his own name—that there was something special between them, something most people never had the fortune to experience. He’d be damned if he was going to let it slip through his fingers.