The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(28)

The maid nodded once. “Even against their own will. Well, they can’t help it, can they, poor dears? It’s just the way they’re made.”

“I see.” George rose and impulsively hugged the other woman. “You have the most interesting knowledge, Tiggle. I can’t tell you how helpful this conversation has been.”

Tiggle looked alarmed. “Just so you’re careful, my lady.”

“Oh, I will be.” George sailed out of her bedroom.

She hurried down the mahogany staircase and entered the sunny morning room where breakfast was served. Violet was already drinking tea at the gilt table.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” George crossed to the sideboard and was pleased to see that Cook had made buttered kippers.

“George?”

“Yes, dear?” Kippers started the morning so nicely. A day could never be all bad if it had kippers in it.

“Where were you last night?”

“Last night? I was here, wasn’t I?” She sat down across from Violet and reached for her fork.

“I meant before you came in. At one o’clock in the morning, I might add.” Violet’s voice was a wee bit strident. “Where were you then?”

George sighed and lowered her fork. Poor kippers. “I was out on an errand.”

Violet eyed her sister in a way that reminded George of a long-ago governess. That lady had been well past her fiftieth decade. How did a girl hardly out of the schoolroom manage so severe an expression?

“An errand at midnight?” Violet asked. “What could you possibly have been doing?”

“I was consulting Mr. Pye, if you must know, dear. About the sheep poisoning.”

“Mr. Pye?” Violet squawked. “Mr. Pye is the one poisoning the sheep! What do you need to consult him about?”

George stared, taken aback at her sister’s vehemence. “Well, we interviewed one of the farmers yesterday, and he told us that hemlock was the poison being used. And we were going to inquire of another farmer, but there was an incident on the road.”

“An incident.”

George winced. “We had a bit of trouble with some men attacking Mr. Pye.”

“Attacking Mr. Pye?” Violet pounced on the words. “While you were with him? You might have been hurt.”

“Mr. Pye acquitted himself very well, and I’d brought the pistols Aunt Clara left me.”

“Oh, George,” Violet sighed. “Can’t you see the trouble he’s causing you? You must turn him over to Lord Granville so he can be properly punished. I heard how you sent Lord Granville away the other day when he came for Mr. Pye. You’re just being contrary; you know you are.”

“But I don’t believe he is the poisoner. I thought you understood that.”

It was Violet’s turn to stare. “What do you mean?”

George got up to pour herself some more tea. “I don’t think a man of Mr. Pye’s character would commit a crime like this.”

She turned back to the table to find her sister gawking, horrified. “You’re not infatuated with Mr. Pye, are you? It’s so awful when a lady of your age starts mooning over a man.”

Mooning? George stiffened. “Contrary to your opinion, eight and twenty is not actually in one’s dotage.”

“No, but it’s an age when a lady should know better.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You should have some sense of propriety by now. You should be more dignified.”

“Dignified!”

Violet slapped the table, making the silverware rattle. “You don’t care what others think about you. You don’t—”

“What are you talking about?” George asked, genuinely confused.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Violet wailed. “It’s not fair. Just because Aunt Clara left you piles of money and land you think you can do anything you want. You never stop to consider those around you and how your actions might affect them.”

“What is the matter with you?” George set down her cup. “I simply don’t believe a tendre I may or may not have is any of your concern.”

“It’s my business when what you do reflects on the family. On me.” Violet stood up so abruptly her teacup overturned. An ugly brown stain started migrating across the tablecloth. “You know very well it isn’t proper to be alone with a man like Mr. Pye, and yet you’re having sordid assignations with him at night.”

“Violet! That’s quite enough.” George was startled at her own anger. She hardly ever raised her voice to her younger sister. Quickly she held out a hand in appeasement, but it was too late.

Violet was beet red and had tears in her eyes. “Fine!” she shouted. “Make a fool of yourself over some baseborn yokel! He’s probably only interested in your money, anyway!” The last words hung horribly in the air.

Violet looked stricken for a moment; then she spun violently and ran out the door.

George pushed her plate aside and laid her head in her arms. It wasn’t a day for kippers after all.

VIOLET POUNDED UP THE STAIRS, her vision blurred. Why, oh why must things change? Why couldn’t everything stay the same? At the top, she turned right, striding as fast as possible in her voluminous skirts. A door ahead of her opened. She tried to duck away but wasn’t quick enough.