Page 11 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)

AFTER HIS MEETING with Miss Mifford - or Eudora, as he now liked to refer to her in his mind - Rob had spent the afternoon attempting to investigate Lord Albermay’s murder. Unfortunately - apart from a frosty luncheon - the other guests had mostly retreated to their rooms.

The only opportunity he’d had to question one of the suspects was when he had stumbled across the new Lord Albermay in the library. Alas, the viscount had been so inebriated that he was almost unconscious, and Rob had given up on the task.

Now, as he dressed for dinner, he idly wondered what - if anything - Eudora had discovered. From a brief chat with Lord Crabb after lunch, Rob had gathered that the finger of blame was pointing quite squarely at Lord Albermay’s son.

“What’s this?” Higgins, Rob’s valet, queried as he tidied away the jacket Rob had worn earlier.

Rob turned and found the valet holding the old silk doll which Lady Albermay had taken from the bed in her husband’s room.

“That was found in Lord Albermay’s room,” Rob quickly clarified, lest Higgins thought it his, “I forgot that I’d taken it.”

“I can return it to his man when the time is right,” Higgins offered, “He’ll know what to do with it.”

Rob nodded, then paused thoughtfully, “While you’re there, might you press him on who he thinks the murderer might be? No one knows more about a gentleman than his valet.”

Higgins nodded in agreement. A valet washed, dressed, and took care of their employer’s most intimate tasks—Higgins probably knew more about Rob than he did himself.

“Though I doubt the man will suggest someone other than the main suspect,” Rob continued as Higgins handed him a brush to lather his shaving oil.

“Oh?” the valet raised a brow, his tone suspiciously innocent. Higgins was many things, but he was not a man who liked to miss out on a morsel of gossip.

“Lord Albermay’s son,” Rob informed him, “Though it goes without saying that that’s between us.”

“Of course, my lord,” Higgins solemnly swore as he took the brush from him and replaced it with a freshly sharpened blade.

As he removed the shadow on his jaw, Rob’s concentration was trained on the mirror, so he did not realise Higgins’ disquiet until he had finished shaving.

“What is it, man?” he queried as he noted that the valet’s mouth was twisted into a frown of worry.

“Nothing, my lord,” Higgins assured him, taking the blade and handing Rob a warm towel.

Rob wiped away the excess foam from his chin, and Higgins gave a discreet sigh of worry. He wanted, Rob realised, to be pressed on the matter again - perhaps it was some silly valet ritual where one couldn’t answer on the first attempt.

“I shan’t ask you a third time,” Rob cautioned him, lest he attempt to evade his question again, “What’s the matter?”

Higgins sighed again, though this time it sounded apologetic.

“I do hate to burden you with this, my lord,” he began, so that Rob understood clearly that if he was upset by what he heard, it was his own fault, “But I have learned something which makes me wonder if Lord Albermay’s son is the true culprit.”

Rob blinked; he had not suspected that, along with the Mifford sisters, Northcott, and Lord Crabb, another sleuth lurked in their midst. It was a wonder the murder hadn’t been solved before luncheon, such was the number of people investigating it.

“What did you learn,” he pressed, tossing the towel he held aside, “And how?”

Higgins squirmed uncomfortably before- haltingly- he began to tell his tale. “During my stay here, I have become acquainted with Lady Albermay’s lady’s maid,” he said, earning himself a raised brow from Rob.

“All completely appropriate,” Higgins clarified, with a haughty sniff, “We were seated together at the servants’ table for meals and struck up a friendship given our shared positions of importance.”

“Of course,” Rob hastily assured him; Higgins was a stickler for manners, rules, and etiquette, far more so than Rob, “You are the epitome of chivalry, my good man. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions; I was simply wondering if a wedding was on the cards.”

“I am married to my duties, my lord,” Higgins replied, his tone more than a little dry.

“Your duties won’t warm your bed,” Rob jested, earning himself another pained look from his long-suffering valet.

Rob supposed he’d much prefer to attend to a gentleman with more grace than he - not that he could blame him.

Rob was hardly a Corinthian, and despite being surrounded by women all his life, his manners were still a little rough around the edges.

“Er, as you were saying?” Rob prompted, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“After the fracas had died down this morning and the footmen had removed the body,” Higgins continued, his tone troubled, “I passed by Lady Albermay’s suite.

The door was ajar, and I could hear Miss Reid - her ladyship’s maid - fretting within.

Naturally, as I was concerned for her wellness, I knocked. ”

“Of course,” Rob said solemnly as Higgins waited for his reaction. Assured that he would not be accused of any impropriety, Higgins continued.

“Miss Reid ushered me inside; she was quite overwrought,” the valet continued, “When I asked if her upset was on account of Lord Albermay’s unfortunate passing, she said that it was and led me to the adjacent dressing room.

There, she showed me the dress Lady Albermay had worn the night before; it was sodden, as though hand washed, but even washing had not removed all of the rust-coloured stains from it. ”

“Blood?” Rob gasped, truly shocked.

“I would not like to speculate,” Higgins cleared his throat, “I suppose there are many ways a lady might stain her dress on her way from the drawing room to the bedroom.”

“Not in my mind,” Rob snorted, “Have you told anyone else?”

“No,” Higgins admitted, his eyes wary, “And as Miss Reid shared her suspicions with me in confidence, might I request that you tread carefully before accusing her ladyship of murder? As you said, Lord Albermay is the most likely suspect in the death of his father.”

“And the dress?” Robert asked, thinking that if Lady Albermay was the murderess it could be used to shock a confession from her.

“I suggested a mix of two parts bicarbonate of soda and one part white wine,” Higgins admitted, “A concoction I devised for the frequent grass stains you accumulate whilst riding.”

Rob nodded silently, his mind a million miles away from grass stains. His toilette now complete, Higgins began helping him dress into fresh clothes for dinner. As he shrugged his shirt over his head, Rob thought about Lady Albermay.

He had conversed with her only briefly during the previous season in town and not at all during the house party, yet from what he knew of her, she did not seem the type to carry out murder.

Yes, she was a little louder than most English ladies, in both manner and dress, but just because she did not conform to the rules of English society did not make her a murderess.

“The green or the blue?” Higgins asked, interrupting Rob’s thoughts. He held two waistcoats up for inspection, each as adequate in Rob’s mind as the other.

“The blue?” he suggested, earning himself an almost imperceptible frown from his valet.

“Not the blue,” Rob guessed, “It will not match with the jacket we have chosen.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say,” Higgins demurred as he quickly stored the offending blue waistcoat away.

“You didn’t need to,” Rob jested; just as the valet knew his every thought, so too did Rob know his.

Rob endured a few minutes more fussing as he waited for his cravat to be tied into an elaborate knot. Once that was done, he donned his dinner jacket and declared himself ready.

“I wish you an enjoyable feast, my lord,” Higgins said as Rob left the room.

Rob gave a nod in reply, though he secretly suspected that, given the circumstances, the only enjoyable part of dinner would be the food - and Eudora.

Despite the four feet of snow which trapped them inside, the staff at Plumpton Hall still managed to prepare a fine feast for their guests.

Dinner consisted of several courses; stuffed pheasant, roasted fowl, duck à l’orange, and lamb chops, all finished off with a variety of soufflés, tarts, and custards.

Lord and Lady Crabb had also seen fit to accompany each course with lashings of wine, so the strained atmosphere which permeated the first course had all but evaporated by the last.

Eudora, to Rob’s dismay, had been seated miles away from him at the other end of the table, next to Lady Albermay. The viscountess’ colour was still rather pale, but she appeared much steadier than she had at breakfast.

Lord Albermay sat at the other end of the table, wearing a black armband to signify that he was in mourning - a good job, for his behaviour gave no indication that he mourned his father.

He had tucked into his food with gusto, liberally partaken of the wine, flirted outrageously with a well-endowed maid, and when it was clear that the dinner was ended, was the first to suggest that the gentlemen retire for a cheroot.

The ladies retired to the drawing room for tea, and Robert followed the men as they streamed toward the library. Lord Crabb poured them all a healthy measure of brandy from a crystal decanter and passed around a box of cigars from Fribourg and Treyer in Haymarket.

The host provided his guests with a taper and they each lit their cigar, barring Lord Percival who sat upon a leather Chesterfield sniffing snuff and the duke, who was anxiously watching the door.

“Are you certain you don’t want one, Northcott?” Lord Crabb queried as he made to tuck the cigar box away.

“I’m afraid the smell upsets the baby,” the duke answered, earning himself a guffaw of amusement from Lord Percival.

“How soft new fathers are these days,” he cackled as he wiped at his nose with a stained hankie, “In my day, one checked on the child once to make certain they resembled you, then handed them over to the nurse-maid until they were old enough to make conversation.”

“My father shared a similar view to you, my lord,” Lord Albermay replied, raising his glass in a mock toast, “How glad I am that your generation’s grip on power is slipping.”

Lord Percival, who had just sniffed a large pinch, spluttered and coughed in outrage. Mercifully, Captain Ledger was quick to step in to smooth things over.

“Each generation believes their way of doing things was the best, while the next believes they can improve upon perfection,” he said, as he raised his glass in another toast, “I believe in the end it’s called progress.”

“To progress,” Lord Albermay called in hearty agreement with the captain, “My father was old-fashioned and set in his ways; I have big plans for the estate and my fortune - starting with investing. Tell me, how have you found working with Mr Lowell, Crabb? I spoke with him in the library, and he assures me that the cotton industry is a safe bet.”

Under normal circumstances, such talk might be considered gauche, but as Mr Lowell was seated on the Chesterfield opposite Lord Percival, it was the height of rudeness.

“Mr Lowell and I have only just begun working together,” Lord Crabb replied, gesturing to the industrialist to remind Lord Albermay of his presence, “This is our first meeting; I can say that I am happy thus far, but I am loath to offer investment advice to a friend.”

“If it all goes wrong, financial advice is a surefire way to turn a friend into an enemy,” Highfield called out cheerfully as he sidled across the room to come stand beside Rob.

“Lud, but this is all terribly awkward,” he whispered as the gentlemen instigated forced conversations with those beside them to take the attention away from Lord Albermay.

“Perhaps we can chalk his indiscretion up to shock?” Rob murmured in response.

“Or the eight glasses of wine he drank at dinner,” Highfield replied with an amused snort.

His expression turned somewhat serious, and he turned to Rob with puzzlement in his eyes, “It’s odd, isn’t it?

He doesn’t appear at all interested in finding out who murdered his father - he’s more preoccupied with his fortune. ”

“His fortune won’t last long if he continues to seek investment advice whilst in his cups,” Rob shrugged, though he was inclined to agree with his friend that the viscount’s behaviour was most unusual.

If his father - or any member of his family, for that matter - had been brutally murdered, then Rob would not rest until he had found the culprit and pummeled him straight into the next life.

It was strange that Lord Albermay was not similarly inclined; even if he had not liked his father, surely he cared somewhat that he had been murdered?

More than ever, Rob found himself convinced that Lord Albermay had murdered his father, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind would not allow him to forget Higgins’ earlier confession.

Was it possible that Rob’s dislike of Lord Albermay was blinding him to the other most likely suspect?

He took a deep sip of his brandy, hoping that it would clear his head, but it did nothing to relieve his confusion.

The only thing that would help, he decided, was talking matters out with Eudora.