The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(77)

“Let’s hurry,” Emma muttered, casting a backward glance at her large spouse, who stood next to the carriage with his arms crossed, his pale green gaze tracking her every move. “I wouldn’t put it past His Grace to carry out his troglodytic threat.”

Her sisters looked back at their looming husbands, and all of them hastened to the front door.

Once inside, they were ushered by an ancient butler into a sitting room. The space was dated, the dark and faded brocade fashionable several decades ago. Flanked by the Misses Fossey, the dowager countess came over to greet them. In the background, Mrs. James rose but kept her distance.

Introductions and greetings were exchanged.

“Please make yourselves comfortable.” The dowager waved them toward the seating area. “And do call me Charlotte: we are family after all. Indeed, the girls and I had planned to call upon you, Lady Daltry,”—she cast a flustered glance at Rosie—“but we did not wish to intrude upon your privacy.”

Looking into Lady Charlotte’s plump, pleasant features, framed by silver curls and a lace cap, Rosie could not imagine that this mother hen would want to harm her.

So she smiled and said, “You are welcome to visit any time, Lady Charlotte. And please call me Rosie.”

“Rosie, then.” Clearly relieved, Lady Charlotte smiled back at her.

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” Miss Sybil ventured shyly from beside her aunt.

“And you as well,” Rosie said warmly.

Sybil flushed to the roots of her dull blonde hair. Rosie thought the girl could be pretty if she chose more flattering clothes (the loose-fitting grey gown did nothing for the other’s figure) and a more stylish coiffure than the scraped-back topknot. As Rosie was wondering how she might subtly dispense some fashion advice, Sybil’s younger sister pushed forward.

“May I say how much I adore your ensemble, Rosie?” Miss Eloisa gushed. “Your widow’s weeds put the most fashionable gowns to shame. The work of Madame Rousseau, I believe?”

“Why, yes, it is.” Although Rosie was surprised by the turnabout in Miss Eloisa’s manner, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Madame is a favorite of mine as well.” Eloisa linked arms with her, drawing her toward the sitting area. “You must sit by me for I’m certain we have so much in common to discuss.”

The countess and Miss Sybil followed behind, as did Emma and the clan.

When everyone was settled and tea had been poured, Mrs. James spoke up.

“As charming as this is,” she said—truly, she’d be an attractive woman if not for her sneer, as unsightly as a mustache would be on her face—“I’d prefer we get to the point. Why was I summoned here today?”

“Now, Antonia, you were not summoned,” Lady Charlotte said hastily. “The duchess merely wrote that she hoped to meet with all the ladies in our family during her visit today.”

“I don’t have your appetite for niceties,” Mrs. James retorted. “I call a spade a spade.”

“I, too, prefer directness,” Emma said. “The truth is, we are here on an urgent matter.”

“Oh?” Lady Charlotte’s forehead pleated beneath her frilly lace cap.

“A week ago, someone tried to murder Rosie.”

At Emma’s declaration, Rosie observed the reactions of her new relatives. Papa had warned Mr. Theale and Mr. James not to speak of the matter for their own good, and apparently the men had taken his caution to heart. The ladies appeared shocked by the news. The dowager and Miss Eloisa gasped, Miss Sybil’s hand flew to her mouth, and Mrs. James’ face drained of color.

“Goodness,” Lady Charlotte whispered. “You are unharmed, I hope?”

Having rehearsed the story with her papa, Rosie knew what to say. “I was fortunate that my driver chased off the attacker.”

“How brave you are!” Miss Eloisa’s sapphire eyes were unblinkingly wide. “I’m certain I wouldn’t have half your composure under such circumstances.”

“She wouldn’t need the composure if she’d practiced more caution.” Recovering from her shock, Mrs. James said with cold hauteur, “A lady has no business traipsing about at night. She’s lucky the groom chased the shooter away.”

“Hold up.” This came from Violet, whose tawny gaze had honed in upon Mrs. James’ face. “How did you know this happened at night? No one has mentioned when the attack occurred.”

Tell-tale red appeared on Mrs. James’ sharp cheekbones. “I… I just assumed… that is, don’t most attacks happen in the evening?”

“And how did you know I was shot at?” Rosie said. “I didn’t specify the method of attack.”

Mrs. James’ tongue touched her upper lip. “I just thought that cutthroats used firearms…”

“I find the accuracy of your assumptions fascinating,” Emma said.

Drawing herself up, Mrs. James glared at the room at large. “Are you accusing me of trying to harm Lady Daltry?”

“No, ma’am,” Thea said in her gentle yet resolute way, “but in order to protect Rosie, we must talk to all those who would benefit from her death.”

“Well, I never.” Mrs. James shot up, the jet beads on her bodice quivering. “I refuse to stay and be subjected to these insults!”