A Daring Liaison(4)

“I have been over it in my mind endlessly. I did not know of anyone who wished them ill, nor can I think of anyone who would wish me ill. There is simply neither rhyme nor reason to it all, and that, I think, is the reason it took me so long to see the unlikelihood of mere coincidence.”

Grace Hawthorne put her teacup aside. “Has there been a threat to you personally, Mrs. Huffington? A note or a warning? A near call, an unaccountable accident, odd occurrence?”

“Nothing. I vow, each time it came without warning. One moment, all was well, and the next...”

“Disaster,” Gina finished for her.

“The most troubling was my betrothal to Mr. Booth. Our engagement had not even been announced, and he was dead. We—Aunt Caroline and I—were assured that the matter was quite unrelated to our betrothal, but...”

“But?”

“The facts speak for themselves. And, to be blunt, I would almost rather think there is something or someone else behind these things than to think of myself as being cursed. I’ve heard it whispered in the ton that only a madman would propose to me now. And I’ve heard there are some who are speculating that I hastened my husbands’ ends.”

“Do you want to be married again?” Lady Sarah asked with a note of wonder in her voice.

Georgiana shuddered. “I’ve had quite enough marriage and mourning, thank you.” Not again. Never again. Marriage and men were not for her.

Lady Sarah sat a little straighter. “Then the worst that could happen is that we are unable to get to the bottom of this and that the rumors persist. But if you do not wish to marry again, those consequences are not so very dire.”

“No,” Lady Annica corrected. “The worst that could happen is that we stir the pot and it somehow comes to a boil and implicates Mrs. Huffington and she is arrested.”

Arrested? If she was found guilty, she would hang. Dare she risk that?

“Is there anything—anything at all—that you have not told us, Mrs. Huffington?”

Georgiana shifted in her chair. Should she mention the little items recently gone missing? The occasional uneasy feeling that she was being watched or followed? Or that something was not quite...right? No. She needed these women to help her, not think she was confused or mad. Clara, her maid, had said it was merely her imagination, brought on by the circumstances of her husbands’ deaths. Even Aunt Caroline had told her she was seeing things that were not there.

“I can think of nothing important. Truly. Nothing.”

“Were you terribly in love, my dear?” Lady Charity asked.

“Love? I... Lady Caroline assured me that love follows marriage. She approved of my husbands and was as distressed as I over their deaths—perhaps more so. She desperately wanted to see me settled.”

Gina filled the gap for her. “Lady Caroline expired just before Christmas.”

“Then you are quite alone in the world, are you not?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked. “Such tragedy in your short life.”

Georgiana waved one hand in dismissal of the unwanted sympathy. “I only want to clear my name and reputation. And if my husbands were murdered, I want to find out who is behind it and obtain justice for them. That is the least I can do.”

Lady Annica clapped her hands. “Justice. The very thing we stand for, Mrs. Huffington—Georgiana, if I may? We are all on first names here.”

“We must ask you to think carefully about our next question, Georgiana,” Lady Sarah warned. “How closely do you want to be involved in the investigation?”

“Very closely, indeed,” she vowed. If someone was singling out the men she married, she wanted to know why.

“Excellent. I shall make all the arrangements and send you notice of where and when we shall meet next. Leave your schedule open, dear. We shall likely begin tomorrow.”

* * *

His hand raised, Charles was about to knock on his sister’s door when it opened and nearly caused him to stumble. Thank God he’d arrived in time.

“Charles! Heavens, you nearly frightened us to death.”

He looked over his sister’s shoulder to see her usual collection of friends—Lady Annica, Grace Hawthorne, Lady Charity MacGregor, Eugenia and, yes, the infamous Widow of Kent. His first love, his deepest cut and now his quarry.

Sarah followed the direction of his attention and smiled. “Charles, have you met Mrs. Huffington?”

“I believe I had that pleasure some years ago,” he said, removing his hat. “Refresh my memory?” He was rewarded by Mrs. Huffington’s little flinch at the slight.