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“Yes. I just need to get her leash.” Amy retrieved the leash from a hook hanging by the door and snapped it onto Persephone’s collar. “There. Now we’re ready.”
They made their way down the steps, and Amy took William’s arm as they began their stroll.
“How is your new book coming along?”
She scrunched her nose. “It was just fine, but I need one more red herring, and I cannot come up with someone.”
He patted her hand. “I’ve no doubt that you will do it. I am still amazed that you write such fearsome stories.”
Amy waved her hand. “It’s not so terrifying when you’re writing it. I mean, I know who is going to get killed and how.” She studied Persephone as the little dog moved from one side of the pathway to the other, sniffing and pulling on her leash.
“I will tell you, it is much more fun than when I was the suspect in a murder myself.” She shuddered. “I dread to think what would have happened had we not stepped in and figured out who killed Mr. St. Vincent.”
“I like to think that our police department would have eventually come to the same conclusion.”
Amy looked at him sideways. “You have much more faith in Detectives Carson and Marsh than I do.”
They were silent for a few minutes. Then William said, “I received some rather interesting news today.”
“What is that?” Amy tugged Persephone’s leash. The dog was getting much too close to another dog’s leavings for her comfort.
“Lady Wethington is moving from London to Bath.”
Amy frowned. “Who?” She tugged again, this time dragging her dog away from a dead bird. Why must Persephone find all the unpleasant things to entertain herself with?
He sighed. “My mother.”
Amy almost broke into laughter at the look on his face. William reminded her of a young boy who had just discovered that his tutor was about to pay a visit to his parents.
“Is that a problem?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. She is everything most mothers of my rank are not. She took daily interest in me and my sister. She nursed us through illnesses and made sure our lessons were done. She read us stories and took us for long walks.”
Thinking of her own mother, whom Amy had lost when she was only ten years old, she couldn’t imagine anyone finding fault with such a woman. “I believe I hear a but in there.”
“Yes. You do. The involvement in our daily lives did not stop when we reached adulthood.”
“Oh my.”
“Indeed. I think if I permitted it, she would read me a story every evening before bed and ask if I had cleaned my teeth and scrubbed behind my ears.”
Amy burst out laughing. “I can see your dilemma. Unless, of course, you do not scrub behind your ears.” She smirked at him.
William stopped their walk as they approached the end of the pavement. They waited for the traffic to clear, then continued.
“Tell me about your sister,” Amy said. “You rarely speak of her.”
“Valerie is five years my senior. She married the Earl of Denby about twelve years ago. They have managed to reproduce themselves seven times.” He winced.
“Good heavens, they’ve been busy,” Amy said.
“Indeed. I visited her last year before the last one was born, and it was like living in a foundling home. She has plenty of help, but everywhere I turned, there was a small child staring at me. It became quite alarming.”
Amy hadn’t given a great deal of thought to having children of her own. She’d imagined that if she ever did marry, there would be a child or two. But seven? Now it was her turn to shudder.
“There is also something that you need to be aware of about Lady Wethington, since you and I have become … fast friends.”
Fast friends. Was that what they were? He’d kissed her a few times since that first occasion, but he always seemed to pull back just when it became interesting.
