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Charles and his friends all walked away. He turned to Alistair. “Thanks,” he said.
“It’s my job to assist those who are being wrongfully accused,” he replied. “I would make sure that you have alibis going forward. At least until the killer is caught.”
Charles nodded. He had a bad feeling about all of this. He was supposed to have met Lord Diggar at his office that week.
* * *
“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,” Arabella said, dropping into a curtsy.
“And you, My Lady,” Lord Alexander Sutton, the Duke of Longmire replied. “I’ve heard much about you.” He smiled at her. He had brown hair, which did a bit of a wave as it fell over his leonine eyes. She noted the straightness of his aquiline nose and the shape of his lips—how they twisted in disapprobation.
She watched his eyes take in her cream-colored silk dress with its blue ribbons and French lace trim. Her hair had been arranged in a high elegant bun.
“Only good things, I hope.” She raised her eyebrow. The Duke was certainly attractive. She knew why he had been invited to her mother’s intimate little luncheon—her father approved of the Duke of Longmire.
Simply because he was an eligible bachelor and a Duke.
“Mostly. I’ve heard that you ride astride, My Lady.” He was frowning a little.
“And do you disapprove, Your Grace?” she asked arching her brow. This conversation was tiresome. She’d had it often, ever since she was a child, and she’d learned how to ride in this manner. It was her opinion that a side-saddle was useless.
He sputtered a little bit, like an elderly gentleman. His frown deepened and even then he was still handsome. “Well, um…”
Arabella smiled serenely folding her hands in front of her. She knew how to get rid of him. “Have you also heard that I am skilled at archery, as well as swordplay?”
“Are you really?” His eyes widened as his finely-shaped eyebrows shot upward.
“Indeed. I am also skilled at needlepoint, dancing, drawing, and can speak four languages, fluently.”
“How truly impressive,” he said. He was recovering, relaxing in to the conversation.
“Interesting,” she mused.
“What is that?”
“It sounded like you were all set to disapprove of me,” she replied. “Your Grace.”
“Apologies, My Lady,” he said. “I have never met your like.”
“I can tell.” She scowled at him, briefly, then beamed angelically. The Duke of Longmire blinked at her.
“If I may ask, why have your studies included so many masculine pursuits?” he asked, clearly preparing to fight for her.
Has Pappa already granted him permission?
The Duke of Tiverwell, the Duchess, and Arabella had only made Lord Longmire’s acquaintance the other day, at Lord Drysdale’s engagement party.
She opened her mouth to speak, when she was cut off.
“Because, Your Grace,” Arabella’s father said, cutting in. “My wife and I were only blessed with one child. My daughter has been raised as both son and daughter to us. She was interested in all of her pursuits. We decided to acquiesce.”
Her father beamed at the Duke of Longmire in a way that confirmed Arabella’s suspicions.
“My father can explain further,” Arabella said, curtsying. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”
She made her way over toward the table, where a large pot of hot coffee rested. She helped herself to a cup. It smelled divine.
At the other end of the table, just beside the plates of tinypetits-fours, two ladies were talking in low voices. “Did you hear?” Lady Linton, the Dowager Countess, was saying. “Constables stopped Mr. Charles Conolly last night. They questioned him out in the street.”
