Page 24 of A Duchess of Mystery

Chapter Eleven

On their return from their ride, Richard went straight into breakfast, while Isabella went upstairs to change into a day dress. He found that delicate flower of London society, Lord Rupert Wyndham, already ensconced in the breakfast room consuming a large plate of devilled kidneys. This morning Lord Rupert sported a coat of a delicate pale blue over a matching waistcoat and had a cravat tied with the most intricate of designs. Unimpressed by this vision of beauty, Richard eyed the absurd height of the fellow’s collar points. If he tried turning his head, he risked taking an eye out on them.

Wyndham rose to his feet with consummate elegance. “Stourbridge. I hope you don’t mind, but I was famished and couldn’t wait. That butler of yours told me you and Bella had gone off for a morning ride, and I thought I’d have fainted from starvation if I’d had to wait for you to return. I know Bella all too well and her liking for long rides.” A frown of past memory furrowed his brow. “One early morning ride with her was enough for me. Never again. The early morning is not a time of day at which I function properly.”

“She’s gone to change,” Richard said, spooning kedgeree onto his own plate. “I don’t think she’ll be long, but like you, I’m hungry, so please sit down and we’ll eat together.” He waved a hand at the footman waiting by the sideboard. “You may go. We’ll serve ourselves.” A little private conversation with Lord Rupert would not go amiss.

The footman bowed and departed, and Richard took his seat at the head of the table, still awkward at the thought of occupying what he mainly remembered as his uncle’s place, while Wyndham regained his. For a few moments they ate in silence before Richard set down his fork and fixed Wyndham with a penetrating stare. The one he’d used when one of his riflemen was brought before him for a supposed misdemeanor.

Wyndham stopped eating, a furtive expression on his face. Much like one of the guilty riflemen. “Anything wrong with the kedgeree?”

Richard shook his head. “Nothing. I was just engaged in thought. In wondering about something. And I wondered if you might enlighten me.”

“Be my pleasure to.” Wyndham didn’t sound overly confident this was true. He, like everyone else here, seemed inclined to nervousness when questioned. And reticence.

Richard leaned forward. Plain speaking was called for here, or, before they knew it, Isabella would be downstairs again. “Did she do it?”

Wyndham’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Did who do what?” It was plain he knew exactly what Richard meant, though.

“Did Isabella kill her husband?” No point in hedging around the subject. If he were to live in close proximity to Isabella, to trust her with helping him find a wife, then he needed to know if she was guilty of what rumor said she was, and if possible exonerate her—for the Prince of Wales. And besides which, he rather liked her. The thought that if he discovered she had killed her husband he might still be prepared to like her surfaced. A bit more than liked her, as well. Even though she had departed upstairs, he was finding it hard to remove the image of her face from his thoughts.

Wyndham swallowed, color rising to his cheeks. “Of course she didn’t kill him. What kind of a question is that?” He sounded offended. “You’ve been listening to too much gossip.”

“Maybe I have. But gossip is often founded on fact. And as far as I’ve gathered, the facts are not explicit in clearing her of involvement.”

“Rubbish,” Wyndham managed, now sounding as though he were blustering. “Anyone who knows her would know she couldn’t have done it.”

“So, you are basing your opinion on the fact that you know her, not on any evidence you might have seen?”

Wyndham’s eyes shot from side to side as though he were seeking a means of escape. “There is no evidence that she had anything to do with it.” He was doing a very good job of making Richard more suspicious.

“I hear there is some evidence that might suggest she did.” This wasn’t strictly true, but he wanted to see Wyndham’s reaction to this statement.

Wyndham shook his head with vigor. “Total nonsense. Gossips have been putting it about. No evidence whatsoever.” He poked his devilled kidneys in a less than enthusiastic manner. Perhaps his claimed hunger had fled under Richard’s catechism.

Richard persisted. “I gather it was she who found him.”

Wyndham nodded, maybe thinking he was on safer ground here. “She did, the poor thing. Such a shock to her system. Horrifying, I’m told. I was so glad I wasn’t here when it happened.” He shuddered. “Nothing would induce me to go into the library now, even though there’s a new rug there. By chance, I was away from home and didn’t receive her invitation to visit.”

“Her invitation?”

Wyndham took on the expression of a man who has just realized he’s said too much. If he’d not been holding his knife and fork he might well have clapped his hand to his mouth. “Oh, er, I, well, the, er, the one to stay here for a few days to escort her to the ball…” The words squeezed between his teeth as though he’d far rather have kept them in.

“She had invited you here for a few days? Why?” Richard raised his brows. “I rather was under the opinion that you only visited when her husband was away.”

More hot blushing from Wyndham. “Oh, good heavens, no. Well, I mean yes. But not in the way you’re implying. No, not at all.” He set his knife down and dabbed at his shiny forehead with his napkin. “I mean, I was only friends with Isabella, not with Marcus.”

Enjoying making Wyndham this uncomfortable, Richard merely raised his brows a second time. A lot could be conveyed by such a simple move. He’d done it a good few times when interrogating recalcitrant riflemen.

“I mean,” Wyndham said with some determination, “that we were just that. Friends. Nothing more. And I was not friends with Marcus. So when Isabella had a local ball or dinner to go to, she would invite me to stay and I would act as her escort. As I did two nights ago when we went to the Brocklebank’s ball at Bembridge House.” He began to assume a more confident mask. “I’ll have you know that my opinion carries a great deal of weight in society. I have been able to advise Isabella on many aspects of being a duchess.” He glared at Richard. “But on this occasion when she sent me an invitation, as I have already explained, I was not at home, so did not receive it.”

“You implied she only invited you if Marcus was not here?”

He nodded, seemingly glad to be on solid ground, and pushed away his half-eaten breakfast.

“So why, in that case, was Marcus here? Do you know?”

“I have no idea. He must have come down unexpectedly. It would have been most unfortunate had I been here at the same time as him. I would not have enjoyed the ball they attended. Marcus did not like me.”