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Chapter Thirty-Seven
When Arabella went down to breakfast the next day, her father was already seated at the table. He held the paper in his hand. He angled it away from her so that she couldn’t see the headline.
“What’s the matter, Pappa?” she asked. He looked pale.
“The Earl of Mowbray was murdered last night,” he replied.
“Oh, dear,” she said, her hand going to her chest. “I danced with him at Lord and Lady Danstall’s ball.” Lord Mowbray had been a kind gentleman. His loss was grievous.
When is this going to end? How can no one know who is doing this?
“I saw him at the Club, only about an hour before he…” Her father trailed off. He so rarely spoke of any of the goings-on at the Millgate Club.
“Did he seem scared at all?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.
“No, he—seemed rather jolly,” her father replied. “Not a care in the world.” He was silent for a few moments. He folded the paper up decisively, then stood up pushing his chair back.
“Where are you going?” Arabella asked, as she mixed her sugar and cream into her tea. Her fear was for Charles, who had promised her that he had a solid alibi at all times.
“To speak with the constables. They won’t suspect the man who is to be my son-in-law after all. I won’t have it.”
Arabella smiled at him. “Thank you, Pappa,” she said.
“Of course,” he replied. “There will be no stain of false accusation upon my family.”
Arabella smiled at him, watching as he left the room. She took a slice of toast from the rack, buttering it. She took a bite then washed it down with a sip of tea.
After she ate, she decided to go and see Charles. She collected Annette to accompany her. As they both walked to the door she ran into her mother who was just coming down the stairs.
“Where are you headed?” the Duchess asked.
“To see Mr. Conolly,” she replied. “I have some questions for him in regards to the wedding.”
“Tell him that he must go and see your father’s tailor. Will you take the carriage?” she asked.
“No. I’ll take Isis,” she replied.
“The poor Duke of Longmire,” her mother said. “He cared for you very much to have given you such a gift.”
“It was very kind,” Arabella agreed, even though she doubted his affections. He had given her a present simply because he could afford it and he wanted her to know that he could. “I certainly didn’t wish him ill.”
“But you didn’t love him,” her mother said, sadly.
“Unfortunately for him, no.”
“I am glad that you are going to be happily married,” her mother said. “At eighteen, too.”
Arabella smiled. Her heart felt light for the first time in what felt like an age. She was concerned—her father had been receiving those letters. That couldn’t bode well.
* * *
Charles was at his office, with Lord Dunsmore. They were both seated across from each other, the desk in between them. Lord Dunsmore had arrived shortly after the office had opened, clutching a newspaper.
“Another killing,” Charles said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that they haven’t found the perpetrator. I can’t believewehaven’t found him.”
“Whoever he is, he’s escalating. He’s getting far more confident,” Lord Dunsmore said. “That means he’s likely to make a mistake. Anyone could’ve seen him last night.”
The front door opened, the bell above it ringing. “Let me go and see who that is,” Charles said.
