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“Look here! That is no way to speak to me! It’s your brother that has gone and got himself mixed up in the blackest scrape ever I’ve seen, not I,” Alfred retorted, much incensed.
Ned was at his cousin’s throat, but Mandy managed to pull him off and away all the while her twin spluttered furiously, “Fiend seize your shriveled soul, you puling noddy,” Ned shouted at him as Mandy gripped his arm.
Alfred announced that he would not be spoken to that way and said he was going home to confer with his father. He must have remembered the Bolton Abbey Ruins and turned to Sir Owen to inquire, “Do you come, sir?”
“If only to keep you from distorting the facts to your father,” Sir Owen returned, and bowed low as he took Mandy’s hand.
She removed her fingers from his and stared coolly at him.
His voice was sincere as he said, “Believe me, your obedient servant in this and all things, my sweet.”
She wanted to slap him. How dare he pretend to be a friend while he held her brother in suspicion! “Good night, gentlemen,” she responded, dismissing them both.
Brother and sister waited only long enough for them to be gone, before they looked at one another and Mandy said, “Ned, I don’t like the insinuations behind everything both Sir Owen and Alfred said.”
“Nor do I. What’s more, m’girl, this is too smoky by half.”
“Indeed, someone has killed Celia and knows enough about us, that they have managed to cast suspicion your way. We need help and there is but one person I know that can offer it. In the morning, we’ll ride over to Skippendon,” Mandy said grimly.
“Skippy?” Ned brightened. “Certes, Mandy, you’ve hit upon the very thing. Skippy will see us through this.”
Abovestairs, Celia’s stepmother paced. This would be a dreadful ordeal ahead, but not as dreadful as the one she would have endured had Celia lived.
The last few months had been a horror for her.
Now Celia was dead. Thank goodness, because with Celia gone, so too were her fears for the future. Now, she had to make certain no one looked her way!
Chapter Four
VISCOUNT JOHN SKIPPENDON’S home lay some five miles southwest of the Sherborne estate. The extensive Wharfdale Manor grounds skirted a narrow channel through which the waters of the Wharfe poured its silver rills.
Mandy had always admired the viscount’s lovely estate grounds, but this morning, she could see nothing past the worry in her mind. How would she convey her concerns to Skippy? What would he think? What would he do?
Skippendon’s holdings, his fame, and his heart were known to be vast and wide open. He was a favorite both in and out of London, though recently, he seemed to prefer his home in the wilds of Yorkshire than his townhouse in London.
He had always been a beloved friend, despite the five years seniority he had on them. For years they had looked upon him as they would have an older brother. He seemed knowledgeable in all things and Ned was certain now, he could straighten out this entire mess. Mandy, however, was not so certain. Murder was quite a different matter than the ins and outs of the social mores of the beau monde.
“Good thing, Skip is in residence, don’t know what we would do with this mess if he weren’t,” Ned said with a heavy sigh.
“Indeed, yes, but I am worried, Ned. I don’t like what is happening up at the Halls. Aunt Agatha behaved most oddly this morning and I am worried about Alfred and his father. I don’t trust them, either of them, especially in this matter.”
“Aye, I quite agree…but, Mandy…I never bedded Celia. You must believe me. I simply can’t be the father.”
“I do believe you. Ned, you don’t have to keep repeating it. I know you were not the father of her child, and I also know that if you were, you would have done the right thing by her in a heartbeat. I know you, Ned.”
He sighed and kept quiet then, but Mandy knew he was seriously worried.
They had slowed their horses to a walk and Mandy flung the long pale blue scarf that banded her dark blue top hat away from her face. She set down her reins and tied it at a bow at the back of her hat and complained, “I shall remember to think less about fashion and more about practicality the next time I purchase a riding hat.”
“Hats? This is no time to be bothering about hats,” retorted her brother. They had reached the viscount’s stables. Two young grooms had come running to take their horses as they dismounted.
Mandy took to smoothing the tight fitted blue velvet riding jacket over her matching skirt and pinch the white lace of her blouse while he fidgeted about and finally demanded, “Come on, girl. Lud, you look just fine.”
She pulled a face but fell hurriedly into step beside him. They were welcome visitors at the Manor and taken immediately down the dark hall of the Tudor styled manor to the open doors of the morning room.
The viscount looked up from the coffee he was sipping in time to hear Mandy squeak.
He set down his cup and turned, bright-eyed and smiling as she exploded into the room. He grinned as he stood to take the full force of her onslaught, his arms held open for her.
