Interesting. Many men would have handed that difficult job to the magistrate. Either he knew them well or had he wanted to see their distress?
The earl answered the question himself. “Sir Hector isn’t exactly…a sympathetic sort. And I got Mr Risley the job as schoolmaster in the village. He was a friend of my own tutor so I felt a certain amount of responsibility.”
“Do you know if there was any evidence of despoilment?”
“None. And no bruises, broken fingernails or any sign of a fight. It’s as though Miss Risley just stood there and let him do it.”
“Him?”
“A figure of speech.”
“But no physical strength would have been needed in your opinion?”
Stonebridge frowned. “No, I suppose not. Except the maid Bridget, I remember, was not a small woman. Surely she would have fought back?”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“I don’t believe so. I have organised a small dinner for Thursday evening.” Lucas realised he must have pulled a face at that idea as Stonebridge smirked at him. “I can see we will get on. Tomorrow, I will introduce leading members of our little village personally, but I thought it would be easier to introduce others all in one evening. Saves a lot of time.”
“That is most thoughtful.”
Suddenly, the earl glanced at the mantelpiece clock. “We will talk more over dinner as I have to look in on the horses before dark. We have two ladies in the house – my ward and Mrs Mereworth, another relative cum chaperone, so unfortunately, we have to dress for dinner. Stops me from becoming slovenly, though.”
Stonebridge abruptly stopped as if he wasn’t used to giving such long speeches.
Lucas merely nodded, and Stonebridge did the same – the universal language of men.
“By the way,” Stonebridge said as he headed to the door, “if you need anything, just ask my ward. I would’ve introduced you, but she seems to have disappeared. Her name is Miss Rosalind Trewent. Until dinner.”
Making a man choke on an expensive whisky was a cruel thing to do. It stuck in his gullet, making him look like he couldn’t hold his drink as he spluttered and coughed.
Fortunately, Stonebridge had left the room, and only the enormous stag’s head mounted on the wall was testimony to his embarrassment.
Miss Trewent. Jasper never mentione–
The sneaky bastard.
In life, Lucas had often found that coincidence was too commonplace to be, well, coincidence. Many a soldier could tell a tale of turning at exactly the same time that a bullet would have killed him or of meeting a village friend on the battlefield amongst the thousands of men.
Would Miss Trewent faint again? Would she hide the entire time he was here?
All at once, he remembered the bed and the earl mentioning that his ward had chosen the chamber. She must have retained the information about his size, if nothing else. Probably should be grateful to her, otherwise he’d have found himself on a half-tester bed, done out in pale-blue silk.
The dainty chair let out a groan of relief as he hauled himself up and peered outside. It was dusk, as Stonebridge had said, but his scars fancied the fresh, cool air before dinner and so he wandered to the door, whisky tumbler in hand.
With twilight settling prettily on the landscape, all Rosalind could hear were the sounds of the horses, softly whinnying, and the faint call of ducks on the lower lake. The clouds broke, and the early-rising moon attempted to peep out in the gaps, giving the sky a pearly candescence.
It really was quite beautiful, but Rosalind was aware she was…stalling…tarrying…hedging even.
Benedict had disappeared somewhere into the woods and presumably left their guest alone. Now was the time to apologise. She would not speak of their childhood meeting in the nursery unless he recognised her and asked; there was no point dredging up the past. He obviously hadn’t taken her advice from that dream to turn left…
A faint gust blew across the garden, wafting Rosalind’s skirts around her ankles as she sat on the wooden bench; mayhap she should go and change first? Damn, give her an intruder in the night and she’d fight them with everything she had, but face Lucas Mainwaring and apologise? She became a dithering chit.
At the sound of footfall from the garden, she noticed a shadow moving slowly through the gloom. The tall shape was unmistakable.
Lucas. Good. Yes.
The figure stopped at the sculpture of Ares and he seemed to sigh as he placed his tumbler on the plinth. For such a brawny man, he was endowed with a soft tread and barely made a sound on the gravel path as he circled the sculpture. In fact, his whole demeanour was of muscular grace and agility.
