And Then She Fell(81)
Greetings, exclamations, and explanations started all over again. Angelica’s older sisters, Heather and Eliza, and their husbands, had arrived with the earlier troops, but both ladies had left with the company that had gone forth to assess the ton’s knowledge of the latest incident, and their absences, too, had to be explained. . . .
James cast a long-suffering look at Devil, seated across the table. The Duke of St. Ives, a nobleman powerful enough to command instant obedience in many other spheres, merely shrugged and looked resigned.
Eventually, at last, everyone was seated, and eating, and the gathering finally quieted.
From the faint frowns in most eyes, the distracted expressions, while they ate most were thinking. Reviewing all they knew, and thinking of what next they might do—of how to identify the blackguard who had so nearly claimed one of their own.
James glanced at Henrietta, seated alongside him, then looked back at his plate. He had no difficulty comprehending, indeed, fully shared, the barely restrained aggression emanating from all the Cynster males; had the ball passed one inch to the right, Henrietta would have been dead.
He was, now, perfectly ready to do murder himself.
But first he—they—had to identify the madman.
Gradually, discussions started up, here and there down the long table. What if . . . ? Perhaps . . . ? Maybe if . . . ? The cold collation was whisked away and replaced with fruit, nuts, and cheeses, served with a fruity white wine. As the platters were passed along the table, the swell of speculation rose.
“It’s not going to be easy.” Henrietta glanced up and met James’s eyes. “Is it?”
He hesitated, then replied, “I can’t see any simple way to learn who he is.”
From across the table, Devil asked, “What did the grooms find? Anything?”
James shook his head. The two grooms had returned half an hour after he and Henrietta had reached the house. “They hunted high and low, but while they found the place where the man had been—in that dense stand of bushes about fifteen yards from the end of the tan—they didn’t see anyone about. They think he must have had a horse waiting.”
Devil grimaced. “At that hour, once he was away from the immediate area, there’d be no reason for anyone to pay any attention to him. He’d be just another gentleman out for an early morning ride.”
“True, but that wasn’t a bad shot.” Seated beside Devil, Vane Cynster said, “Think about it.” He met Henrietta’s eyes. “You must have been a good twenty yards away, and riding away from him.”
Henrietta thought back, then felt what little color she’d regained drain from her face. “I leaned forward just as he shot. . . .” She met Vane’s eyes, then glanced at James. “He wasn’t aiming for my head.”
Devil growled, “He was aiming for your heart.” Abruptly he reached out, seized a salt cellar, and rapped it like a gavel on the table. “Quiet!”
All the discussions cut off. Everyone looked at Devil.
Lips thin, he smiled, not humorously. “Let’s go back to the drawing room. We need to pool everything we know and decide what steps we’re going to take to bring this blackguard down.”
No one argued with either the directive or his tone. Everyone seemed in a belligerent mood as they found seats or took up positions around the drawing room.
Feeling a trifle unsteady emotionally as well as physically, Henrietta drew James down to sit on the arm of the chaise, the corner of which she—as the lady most likely to be feeling frail—was instructed to take.
Devil claimed his usual position before the fireplace, flanked by his cousins Vane and Gabriel. Her father sat in an armchair alongside; his brothers, George and Martin, occupied chairs next to his. The other males ranged around the walls, or leaned against the backs of chairs and sofas. The ladies, not the full complement as the others had yet to return, disposed themselves around the circle of available seats.
Henrietta watched as Devil scanned the faces. This was just the family, all of them connected directly by blood or marriage. The connections weren’t present. What was discussed in this room would be family business, and unless agreed otherwise, would be restricted to the family only.
“Let us assume,” Devil began, “that the rest of the ton don’t know about the shooting this morning. Given there’ve been no inquiries made at the door here, I suspect that’s a reasonable assumption, but the rest of our number will return shortly and bring confirmation. So . . . the question we currently face is what to do next, specifically how we can identify the gentleman who, quite aside from already being a double-murderer, apparently thinks it’s wise to take aim at a Cynster.”