Page 30 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

"He is to be admired," I said politely.

"Very much so."

The conversation drifted back to the evening's performers.

I waited for an opportunity to return to Crane, but none presented itself. Instead, the ladies compared sopranos, debated whether Mr. Bellweather had taken the final movement too quickly, and lamented the decline of proper accompaniment.

None of it brought me any nearer to discovering who had wished Crane dead.

After a few courteous remarks, I excused myself and continued my circuit of the room. As I did, my gaze strayed once more toward Sir Reginald.

He had begun coughing again, one hand pressed lightly to his chest.

A footman approached with a cup of tea.

Sir Reginald thanked him kindly as he accepted it.

Then he looked up, and our eyes met.

He smiled at me. I smiled back.

Poor man.

Chapter

Twelve

A Duke Comes to Call

The walk across Grosvenor Square to Rosehaven House took scarcely two minutes, leaving me no time at all to compose what I meant to say—and no inclination to turn back and compose it. Rosalynd’s note lay in my breast pocket, in the swift, slanted hand I would have known anywhere. She had not asked me to call. She had, in fact, taken some care not to. A man may nonetheless be forgiven for treating such a note as a summons.

A footman answered my knock.

Before I could so much as remove my gloves, Honeycutt appeared behind him. Butlers of his caliber do not materialize by accident. The footman withdrew at once, with visible relief.

Honeycutt looked at me. I looked at Honeycutt. Neither of us spoke.

Behind me, Grosvenor Square went about its morning. Somewhere a housemaid beat a carpet with more energy than the carpet deserved.

“The Duke of Steele to see Lady Rosalynd,” I said at last.

A pause.

“Indeed.”

Another pause.

I had faced down armed men with less discomfort. “I should be obliged if you would announce me.”

Honeycutt did not move. “Are you quite certain that is wise, Your Grace?” The words were perfectly civil. The tone could have frozen the Thames.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You wish to see Lady Rosalynd?”

“I had thought I had made that plain.”

“I merely wondered whether, upon reflection, you might prefer to leave your card.”