The house thrummed with activity; maids and footmen darted to and fro from the kitchens to the front door as Simon attempted to sneak outside for the second time that day. He’d crept down the servants’ staircase to avoid notice only to be obstructed by a procession of tea urns. He had retreated immediately. He cringed to imagine the scolding he would receive if he spoiled Ravenna’s first official affair.

When Aunt Glynnis had announced at her supper party that Her Grace the Duchess of Rochecliffe was ready to see and be seen, Society had listened.

It seemed to Simon that the whole of the bon ton had descended on the house to sip Souchong and nibble cakes with his wife. He glimpsed her sitting on the red tufted sofa of their first-floor drawing room. She looked so angelic surrounded by her aunt and numerous other ladies that he had to admire her. Who would guess that she brought him to his knees with the merest effort?

He leaned against the door to listen to her musical voice. Her guests were examining the sapphire bracelet he’d given her last night. Enamored as he was of her changeable charms, he could not spend the day eavesdropping, however. His priority was to visit a livery stable to buy a suitable mount for Ravenna to ride in London, as well as a traveling coach for their country trips.

On the way to the stable he planned to stop at Tattersall’s auction house, an establishment that dealt in select bloodstock and the business of horse-racing. Rhys had offered to attend the afternoon showing of a new stud on the premises. As a former cavalry officer, he had an interest in all things equine.

En route, they spied Heath’s trim carriage traveling at high speed in the opposite direction. Simon slowed his Arab. “We should ask whether there is an emergency,” he said to Rhys. “Pray heaven it does not involve Julia.”

“It is nothing of consequence,” Heath said from his window as the two men trotted alongside his carriage. “I’m in a rush to Grayson’s hothouse. Julia craves cucumbers. Sprinkled with sugar and salt.”

Simon grinned. “Couldn’t you send a servant on this errand?”

“I could,” Heath said. “But I want to handpick an orchid for her. I can’t order a footman to choose a flower for my wife. It wouldn’t be the same.”

Rhys shook his head. “The evidence grows stronger by the day.”

“What evidence?” Heath said. “The fact that we’re holding up city traffic? The menace to Simon and Ravenna, or my wife’s delicate condition? What case are you building?”

Rhys pulled up his collar against a gust of wind. “The one against matrimony. Marriage has reduced you and Simon to a pathetic state. It saddens me.” He squinted at Simon as a raindrop hit his forehead. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not in the mood for a horse auction. But do summon me if there is a genuine problem. I’ll ride to Covent Garden.”

Heath laughed. “Doesn’t a certain ballet dancer live in that neighborhood?”

“She might.” Rhys turned his mount. “To be honest I’d rather join a dance troupe than run about picking out cucumbers and ponies.”

“Are you coming with me to Audrey Watson’s tonight, should I decide to go?” Heath called after them.

Rhys froze. “Was I invited?”

“Her door is always open to an eligible Boscastle male,” Heath replied. “Just remember we would visit her only to seek information and not for entertainment.”

“I’m not the one Simon has to convince,” Rhys said.

“Which is a reason for you to join us. You can report back to your sister that Simon was faithful to his vows. He needs you as insurance.”

Rhys looked skeptical. “And Julia? Does she know about this?”

“I would not ever deceive her,” Heath said. “She’s entertained Mrs. Watson at our table more than once. Consider it a family favor.”

Simon smiled at Rhys’ reluctance to accept. “You’re the one who reminded me that you and I are family now.”

“I shall carry that uplifting thought in my heart for the rest of the day,” Rhys said, backing up his horse. “Yes. I shall stand as an eyewitness if you decide to go. But don’t forget I’m still a bachelor. I wouldn’t want you to keep me out of trouble should the opportunity arise.”

Thus alone, Simon continued to the auction house. He missed Ravenna’s company and wondered how she was faring at her tea party. He contemplated Heath’s invitation to visit Mrs. Watson’s brothel.

Ravenna would fly into the boughs. Not that any courtesan could compare with her. Would there come a day when his wife did not preoccupy his thoughts?

Soon the excitement in the air, the whicker of horse and conversation of gentlemen dealers in tall hats and polished boots, engaged his attention.

Many of them were in the market for race horses. Simon had no plans to establish a breeding stable at his country seat, an endeavor that Bruxton had undertaken shortly after marrying Susannah. It pained Simon to recall how he and Bruxton had once discussed the venture over a bottle of port in an atmosphere of what Simon had mistaken to be trust.

Damn the murdering bastard.

He wandered to the enclosure to watch a handsome grey trotted out for viewing. The threat of rain had passed.

“Rochecliffe, is that you?” a gruff voice queried over the low thud of hoofbeats. “It is. Good to see you alive and well.”

Simon turned to the gristle-haired gentleman who had spoken, a former commander of Light Dragoons who frequented his father’s club. “Am I believed to be dead?” he asked with a laugh, clasping the man’s hand.

“You haven’t been sighted in weeks, although I have to say you look in excellent health. Married life must agree with you.”

“It does.”

“Your papa would approve of the choice you made. A solid family, if scandal-prone, but that’s in the blood. Excellent match, indeed.”

“Thank you. I value the suggestion of my father’s blessing.” He took a pause. “On the subject the family, is Bruxton here today, by chance?”

The commander hesitated. “You’ve missed your brother-in-law by minutes. I barely spoke to him. He bought the stud that is the talk of the Jockey Club and took off in a rush to meet his -- ” He coughed in embarrassment. “Pardon me. I sound like an old gossip. What the earl does is not my concern.”

“He has a paramour. It is fine. I know of her. I hope to see you again soon, sir.”

“Visit me soon, your grace. I think often of your parents.”

The confirmation that his father would approve of his marriage pleased Simon. He’d already learned that Bruxton had a new love interest. Still, as far as Simon knew the earl had not betrayed Susannah during their marriage.

Why had he killed her?

He rode from Tattersall’s to Pennant’s private livery stable on Oxford Street, not far from Grayson’s house. It was here he purchased Ravenna’s horse and a sturdy coach for their country travels. He trusted the stablemaster and bought on sight the gelding brought out.

A young man with sable hair stuffed under a cap approached him from another stall. “He’s a fine choice for a lady, your grace. Dependable but not a dray.”

Simon turned slightly. The Earl of Bruxton’s head groom stood between a pair of coaching hacks. He doffed his cap in respect. Kieran Healy … wasn’t that his name? He had been employed at the earl’s house before Susannah had taken residence there.

The younger man bowed stiffly, adding, “You’ll not remember me, perhaps.”

“I do. We spoke after my sister passed.”

“Aye. There aren’t enough words for that sorrow.”

Simon lapsed into thought. The groom had obviously been eavesdropping on Simon’s exchange with the stablemaster. It was considered inappropriate for a servant to initiate a conversation with a noble, not that Simon minded. But hadn’t Susannah often praised Kieran’s dedication to his job in the flood of letters that Simon had neglected to answer?

If Kieran had made a favorable impression on Susannah, then Simon would not disregard him. “Is your master in the stables?”

“His lordship is out of town until Sunday, your grace. He’s only just gone.”

“You have served him for how long?”

“Over ten years.”

“That’s half your life.”

“My family has trained horses for a hundred years back,” Kieran said with pride.

“I could use a man of your expertise on my estate.”

The groom’s eyes flashed with interest then quickly dimmed. “It would be an honor. However, I am indebted to his lordship. And I’m training a colt for the earl to race at Newmarket in October.”

“I understand. You are good at what you do, aren’t you?”

“It’s not for me to boast.”

“Go on.”

Kieran half-smiled. “Well, a few bookmakers have sought my advice and offered to pay me for racing tips.”

“Valuable knowledge, indeed.”

“I’ve never accepted their money.”

The livery stablemaster had returned to show Simon a small traveling coach that had been driven into the yard for inspection. “Fast and compact, your grace. Perfect for your needs.”

Simon eyed the dress chariot in rueful silence. The coach boasted gilded handles and globular lamps that resembled glass pumpkins. The windows provided an all-encompassing view of the road.

The stablemaster opened the door with a flourish and motioned inside. “As your grace can see, the panels are fashioned of mahogany and lined in heavy damask. The coachmaker is happy to add a crest and include matching livery in any metal and material you choose.”

Would a gentleman disclose that he sought a spacious carriage in which he and his wife could cherish each other in comfort? That he wished a specific conveyance built so that he would not inadvertently bang his head on the roof in the heat of passion?

“It’s of excellent quality,” Simon conceded. “But I had something more spacious in mind. I have numerous relatives.” That, at least, was a complete truth.

“Ah, yes,” the stablemaster said. “You prefer an equipage with the capacity for sleeping on the road and warming a small meal?” The man nodded. “I’ve an aging cousin who travels with us. She takes up plenty of space with her dogs and such.”

Heaven help him. Aunt Glynnis dozing on Simon’s shoulder was not what he anticipated, but it was a consideration.

“As it happens,” the man continued, “I have on my other premises a carriage that was originally ordered by a royal customer whose ill-health prevented travelling outside London. With a few alterations by our joiners and upholsters, I believe we can craft the perfect vehicle for your grace. May I ask you a few fine points as to the nature of the design?”

By the time Simon finished explaining his specifications to the stable owner, the Irish groom had disappeared. Simon realized he had let an opportunity escape.

He resolved to locate Kieran in the next few days for a lengthier conversation. In a quieter setting, the young servant might be prompted to recall an important detail about the day Susannah died.

Throughout their childhood Susannah had often begged Simon to ride with her in the woods. He had usually been too busy at other sports, fencing, shooting, learning estate matters even at a young age. Their brother had joined the military. And so it seemed that his younger sister had married a man who had ignored her. Had anyone paid her attention?

Her courtship with Bruxton had been subdued, respectable. The earl maintained a rambling estate, a six-mile ride from Simon’s stately villa.

Bruxton had traveled on the country roads that connected the two holdings to woo Susannah. On the rare occasion, Simon had acted as their chaperone. The earl had been enamored with her, smitten, or so Simon had assumed.

Still, she had pleaded quietly to Simon for release from the betrothal. Simon thought he knew better. He wanted to secure her future. What better prospect for his shy well-born sister than another aristocrat who shared Simon’s political persuasions and had never been involved in scandal? Bruxton was young, attractive to boot.

Kieran Healy had been in the background from the start. What part had he played in Susannah’s life? Or perhaps in her death?