A Daring Liaison(27)

Crosley knocked softly, knowing Charles preferred to read uninterrupted. “Sir, you have callers. Shall I ask them to come back at a more convenient time?”

Callers? On a Sunday afternoon? He glanced at his valet over his shoulder. “Who is it?” He prayed it wasn’t Georgiana Huffington demanding that he cease and desist. He’d expected something of the sort ever since he’d left her last night.

“Lord Wycliffe and Sir Henry Richardson, sir.”

Although Charles had sent for them, he hadn’t expected them so early in the afternoon. “Show them in, Crosley, and put on another pot of coffee.”

Reluctantly, he folded his paper, put it aside and pulled two more chairs in front of the fire. The day had turned gloomy with spring rains turning the streets into a maze of puddles and mud. His friends would appreciate a warm fire and a hot drink.

“Bless you,” Wycliffe said as he entered the room. Richardson was fast on his heels and rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm them. Crosley had taken their coats and they looked as if they were prepared to stay awhile.

Richardson glanced around the room, his gaze stopping on Charles’s cup.

“Crosley is bringing coffee,” he said and gestured to the chairs.

Wycliffe settled in with a sigh. “Have you any news?”

Richardson grinned. “She gave you a set-down, did she not?”

“I did not give her a chance. We will announce our engagement tomorrow night.”

“As the proverb says, Keep your friends close—and your enemies closer, eh?” Richardson raised his eyebrows.

Wycliffe folded his arms over his chest. “Does she know she is becoming engaged?”

“It was mentioned. She may have other ideas, but they will come to naught. She needs help, and she knows it. She is not foolish enough to refuse.”

“I am beginning to think I have done Mrs. Huffington a disservice in appointing you to this investigation.”

“I think you’ve made the very best choice possible,” Charles countered. “Why do you suddenly think I am not the man for the job?”

“You are starting from a presumption of guilt rather than innocence. Everything you uncover, everything you learn, is tainted by that perspective.”

“Are you afraid I will build a false case against her?” He couldn’t deny that, in the beginning, the thought had occurred to him. But he wanted to see the true killer of Adam Booth punished.

“I sense something deeper between you. Do you have a...history?”

“We flirted during her come-out year, then moved on. As you know, she was quickly engaged to Arthur Allenby.”

Wycliffe became contemplative. “You did not renew your flirtation after Allenby’s death?”

Annoyance tweaked Charles when he realized that Wycliffe had a bit more than a suspicion that he and Mrs. Huffington were something more than acquaintances. He was spared the necessity of a reply by the arrival of Crosley with a tray bearing cups and a coffee service. The awkward silence continued as Crosley served them and then departed, closing the library door behind him.

Richardson broke the silence as he settled back in his chair and sighed contentedly. “There is a subtle note of anger when you speak of Mrs. Huffington, Hunter. I propose you let me take over and you can chase clues.”

“Not a chance,” Charles growled. The very thought of Richardson cozying up to the woman in question caused a burning in his stomach.

Wycliffe reached inside his jacket and pulled out a packet. “We will stay the course. The last thing we need at this point is for Mrs. Huffington to hasten back to Kent before we can find an answer.” He handed the packet to Charles. “Here is Lady Caroline’s profile. It goes back to her presentation at seventeen.”

Charles took the packet and set it aside. “And Georgiana Huffington?”

“What we know of her is in that file—everything from the time she became Lady Caroline’s ward. She was barely three years of age then. I doubt there is anything worth knowing further back.”

“Give me a day to look this over.” Charles gestured at the packet. “These events, the deaths, may have nothing to do with Lady Caroline. We cannot ignore the possibility that the answer lies with someone in Mrs. Huffington’s past. I met her the year she came out. Something caused her to change that year. Perhaps there is a clue in that.”

Richardson finished his coffee and placed the cup and saucer on the tray. “She has no past beyond Lady Caroline. No family at all. Georgiana was the daughter of Lady Caroline’s friend. The woman’s husband, an officer in the Royal Navy, was lost when his ship went down off the coast of France, and she died within months.”