And Then She Fell(62)

James grimly nodded. “If we’d still been under it when it reached the ground, without question.”

A long moment of silence ensued while Simon and Charlie digested the facts, then Simon said, “So . . . some unknown gentleman, a member of the haut ton, is trying to kill Henrietta and make her death look like an accident. We have no idea who he might be, or why he wants her dead.”

James lowered his glass. “Correct.”

“Clearly we have to expose this beggar and hand him to the authorities.” Charlie looked from James to Simon and back again. “So what’s our next move?”

“Our first priority,” James said, “is to keep Henrietta safe.” He looked at Simon. “I told your father all, of course, and he and I felt that if we can ensure that Henrietta is guarded whenever she isn’t surrounded by the females of your family, then this blighter, whoever he is, will find it difficult to approach her. He seems set on making her death appear an accident, so as long as there are others with her, she should be as safe as we can reasonably make her.”

Simon grunted. “Reasonably being the critical word—Henrietta will hate being ‘guarded.’ ”

“True, but as long as we’re not overly obvious about it, she’s unlikely to get her back up. Luckily, what with our about-to-become-public engagement, with our wedding to follow quickly thereafter, no one—including Henrietta—will think it odd if I’m constantly by her side when she’s in public, and on the few occasions I might not be there, for one of you two to be there instead.”

Both Simon and Charlie nodded.

“The timing of your impending nuptials is helpful,” Simon agreed. “We should be able to pull that off without abrading Henrietta’s feminine sensibilities.”

James nodded. “And your father is going to speak with your mother, so she will ensure that female members of your family are always around while Henrietta is with them, attending their various daytime entertainments. Enough people will know to ensure that she’s never left alone.”

Simon nodded. “All right—we’ve got Henrietta covered, as protected as we can make her in the circumstances.”

James grimaced. “Short of sealing her up in a tower, I can’t see what more we can do. And as she’s been quick to point out, whoever this madman is, we can’t be certain that he’ll try again.”

Charlie’s gaze sharpened. “But we need to find out who he is, just in case he does.”

“True,” Simon said. He met Charlie’s gaze, then James’s. “Any thoughts as to how we might do that?”

They revisited the three incidents again, trying to draw what they could from the facts, but that was precious little. Wine gone, they rose from the table and made their way out into St. James Street.

On the pavement, Simon halted and slid his hands into his pockets. “The incident in Upper Brook Street holds little hope, but I wonder if I can persuade Lady Marchmain to part with her guest list?” He met James’s eyes. “If you’re right about the incident at Marchmain House, then the villain was there, and almost certainly one of her ladyship’s guests.”

James slowly nodded. “It’s a place to start. There must have been a hundred or more there, but only half of those will be men, and from the incident at the ruins, we know we’re looking for a man.”

“More,” Charlie put in, “there’ll be a lot of gentlemen on Lady Marchmain’s list we can immediately exclude. You, Lord Marchmain and his cronies, and probably a host of others.”

“You’re right.” Simon nodded. “We’re looking for a reasonably strong, able-bodied, fit and healthy blackguard—”

“Who’s masquerading as a gentleman of the ton.” James met his eyes. “Exactly.”

After agreeing to share anything they thought of or learned that might help identify Henrietta’s would-be murderer, they parted, Simon sauntering off to see if he could locate Lady Marchmain and inveigle her guest list from her, while Charlie strode off to keep an appointment with his barber.

James headed back to George Street, strolling and wracking his brains, trying to think of what more he could do.

That afternoon, Henrietta was the toast of an impromptu gathering of all the Cynster ladies and the family’s close female connections presently in London. Eschewing the more formal setting of the St. Ives House drawing room, the ladies, one and all, crowded into the more comfortable back parlor, into which footmen had ferried additional chairs, love seats, and sofas.