The Bennington ladieshad retired to the drawing room, leaving the earl, Darden, and Van Doren to their port.
Juliet scribbled a new ode, Viola added various touches to her painting of Bess and her pups, Miss Mayton went above stairs to retrieve her book, and Cordelia arranged candles for her portrayal of Desdemona.
Rosalind and Beatrice sat in front of the tea tray.
“Tell me everything you would not say in front of Papa, Darden, and my dear husband,” Beatrice said, clasping Rosalind’s hand. “Tell me of this gentleman you saw out of a carriage window. I know you held something back.”
Rosalind was not at all surprised to be questioned so. After all, who knew one better than a sister?
“The gentleman was Conbatten. I am in love, Bea,” she said.
“Conbatten!”
“It has not been as it was for you and Van Doren—a sort of growing realization. No, I knew the moment I saw him out that carriage window,” Rosalind said, her voice all contentment. “It is Conbatten.”
“The duke? Goodness, and what does he say about it?”
“He has not dared say anything yet,” Rosalind said. “He knows of my requirement for courage and bravery and is biding his time until he can rescue me from danger.”
Beatrice’s forehead wrinkled just a bit over that idea. “But how is that to occur? That you would suddenly need rescuing and he would happen to be there?”
Rosalind had wrestled with that same question. She and her sisters had concluded that they must help the fates along and arrange something, but they had also decided that Beatrice could not know of it. Not yet. There was too much of a chance that she would tell Van Doren, who would go straight to their father.
“I am trusting the fates to make it so,” Rosalind said. “By the by, do you suppose Shrimps would enjoy a visit with the pups? He is so fond of Oyster that I must think he would like it.”
“I am sure he would,” Beatrice said. “How considerate of you to think of him.”
Rosalind nodded, though she wished she could tell Beatrice the real reason Shrimps had been thought of—they needed to hire a pickpocket in time for the charity picnic. She must be accosted and robbed within sight of Conbatten.
Miss Mayton returned with book in hand and not another moment passed before the gentlemen followed.
“Van Doren hurried us along,” Darden said, smiling.
“I do not see why I should be separated from my wife overlong,” Van Doren said. “She has had a very tiring journey.”
“At home, as it is just the two of us, I stay at table,” Beatrice said. “Sometimes I even have a glass of port.”
“No harm in it, I do not think. What shall we do first?” the earl asked. “Now, Iaskit, though I think you will all know what I would wish.”
“The Awful Happenstances of Grimwood Hall, Papa,” Cordelia said.
“You know me well, child,” the earl said. “I just cannot get it out of my head—is he or is he not a murderer?”
Miss Mayton nodded graciously. She opened the book and said, “Chapter three.”
As her aunt related the happenings at Grimwood Hall, Rosalind watched Beatrice and Van Doren. It was always so interesting to observe them these days.
Beatrice patted his arm when Miss Mayton read of the moonlit walk between the gentle governess and the duke as he listed all the reasons he was not a murderer.
Van Doren pressed his lips together in a grim line and gripped Beatrice’s hand while Miss Mayton read of the gentle governess listing all the reasons hemightbe a murderer.
“Finally,” Miss Mayton said, “they came to the well. The very well where the late duchess had made her final adieu.”
The duke seized his gentle governess and picked her up. “You see? I could throw you right over the side, and yet I do not. That must be ultimate proof that I am not a murderer!”
The gentle governess was confused. What he said was true—he could murder her this very minute, and yet he did not.
But then, why would the housekeeper tell her that she’d seen the duke murder his duchess? The housekeeper said she must never reveal what had been told to her and she must leave the estate quickly, to save her own life.
