Page 21 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford (Regency Murder and Marriage #4)
AS MUCH AS Eudora wanted to attend to and protect her wounded heart, her plan for an evening of self-pity met with an immediate stumbling block.
This came in the form of Lord Delaney, who Eudora could not discreetly ignore, for he sat himself right beside her.
Although her wounded pride longed to pretend she had not noticed his presence, manners—and his sheer size—could not allow her.
“My lord,” Eudora said stiffly, irritated now by his broad shoulders and tall frame. It was rude, really, for a man to take up so much space.
“Miss Mifford,” he answered, his tone equally solemn but his eyes dancing.
Eudora bristled with annoyance. All the other guests were listless, their collective energy depleted, yet here was Lord Delaney exuding near bonhomie.
Perhaps he’s thinking of his lady love, awaiting him in London, Eudora thought, prodding again at the pain in her heart. It had subsided somewhat in his presence, but Eudora was reluctant to let its flame die out—for it protected her from further pain.
Across the room, Emily and Highfield were attempting to draw the other guests into a game of charades.
“Highly improper,” Mrs Cannards whispered loudly to her companion Mrs Weakling, “A man is dead.”
Her smug smile turned to a frown as her eyes landed on something across the room.
Eudora followed her gaze to where Mable, the housemaid, was discreetly clearing away the last of the tea trays.
Eudora wasn’t certain what the poor maid had done to earn Mrs Canard’s ire, but Mable seemed unaware of the glares directed her way. She was busy glowering darkly herself in the direction of Lord Albermay.
So many secrets everywhere, Eudora thought. Her brow began to ache, not least because Highfield—for some inexplicable reason—seemed determined to extract some gaiety from the evening and was now encouraging Mrs Mifford toward the pianoforte.
“I think I shall retire,” Eudora decided aloud; the walls were beginning to close in on her.
She longed for Primrose Cottage, for the sound of Nora humming in the kitchen, and the freedom to take off down the garden path for a long walk by the riverside.
Would that this interminable snow would melt, and the house party end!
“So soon?”
Lord Delaney, the only person to have noted her words, sat up, startled.
“I fear that another evening of listening to my mother play might lead to my early demise,” Eudora replied, careful not to allow herself to be touched by his obvious disappointment.
Lord Delaney nodded, all good manners, but Eudora was alarmed to feel his hand slip into hers as she rose to stand.
“Shall I meet you in the usual place?” he whispered, his tone urgent.
“Oh,” the tiny smidgen of hope that had fluttered in her belly died as she realised he wished only to discuss the murder. “Yes, I suppose. Do wait for a spell before you follow me; we wouldn’t wish to start any gossip.”
Feeling rather pious for wanting to save Lord Delaney’s imagined lover the trauma of hearing untrue gossip about a love affair between them, she left the room with a hasty goodnight to her family.
“Going so soon?” her father called, his tone mischievous, “Why, you’ll miss your dear mother regaling us all with a little Bach.”
“Yes, you can’t leave now,” Highfield interjected, panicked for some reason by her departure, “The fun is only starting.”
His statement would have held sway had it not been accompanied by Mrs Mifford ‘warming up’ with some very flat, ominous notes.
“Perhaps tomorrow night,” Eudora promised, fleeing from the room before her mother began to play in earnest.
She did not make straight for The Long Room; instead, she went first to her bedchamber to find a shawl. Lord Delaney might take a half-hour to arrive, and she did not wish to freeze while waiting.
The quiet of the manor echoed as she walked.
She guessed all the servants were downstairs taking their supper.
In her bedchamber, Eudora grabbed a shawl—borrowed from Mary and threw it over her shoulders.
The dress she wore—borrowed from Jane, was from a fine modiste in London, but it did little to ward off the cold.
Not wishing to leave Emily out, Eudora rummaged through the pockets of her pelisse, which hung on the back of the door and extracted a pair of gloves that belonged to her nearest sister.
It was fanciful, but she thought that if she wore something from each of her sisters, she wouldn’t feel so alone when she faced Lord Delaney.
With the shawl wrapped around her shoulders for protection, both from the cold and anticipated disappointment, Eudora slipped away to The Long Room.
She found it empty, as usual, but much darker than on previous nights. There was little light, for the night sky was clouded over, and she instantly regretted not bringing a candle.
Perhaps Robert will bring one, she thought as she stared idly out the window at the grounds below. It was only after a moment that she realised how easily she had called Lord Delaney by his given name, and she felt a jolt of irritation—both with herself and the baron.
It was he who had made cow-eyes at her at the end of last season, he who had insisted she call him by his given name, and he who had called her his partner with such solemnity that it had caused an eruption of butterflies in her stomach…
“A cad, that’s all he is,” Eudora whispered, her breath leaving a fog on the window-pane.
She lifted a gloved finger to trace her initials unto it—a childlike impulse, but one she could not control—when she heard the sound of voices from behind the far door. Female voices.
Aghast, Eudora stepped backwards toward the door through which she had entered, glad of the darkness and the length of the—aptly named—Long Room.
She opened the door quietly, thankful that Ivo and Jane’s servants kept the hinges well-oiled, and stood out into the corridor.
Curiosity, however, got the better of her, and she did not close the door entirely. Instead, she left it open a crack and leaned her ear close to better hear who had intruded upon her.
“Empty, Mrs Wickling,” she heard Mrs Canards’ voice say. “I could have sworn they’d be here. I have heard comings and goings from this room the past two nights.”
“Are you certain he followed her?”
“I’d bet my house upon it,” Mrs Canards replied before sniffing with distaste, “If I was the type of lady to stoop so low as to gamble, that is. She left the room, and he followed immediately after. They must think us all fools.”
Eudora held a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, then stepped back from the door, seeking to put distance between herself and the two town gossips. However, instead of stepping back into empty space, she collided with something warm, hard, and very firm.
“Eudora?”
Lord Delaney sounded as winded as Eudora felt.
Alarmed, she whirled on her slippered feet to face him, both glad and slightly disappointed to break the frisson of connection their colliding bodies had caused.
Robert, his cheeks a little red, opened his mouth to speak again. Before he could utter a word, outing their presence to the two harridans nearby, Eudora reached up on tip-toe and placed a gloved hand over his mouth.
She felt him tense at her touch, and Eudora’s earlier magnanimity toward Lord Delaney’s imagined London lover flew out the window—for she, too, found the unusual intimacy rather exciting.
“Shh,” she commanded before dropping her hand from his lips, “Follow me. Quietly, please.”
Drawing on reserves of composure she hitherto hadn’t known she possessed, Eudora took off down the corridor with the baron at her heels.
Much like the previous night, Eudora took the first turn she chanced across, followed by the servants’ stairs, where she found the doorway leading to the mahogany-paneled corridor in the west wing.
It was here she had heard the argument between Lady Albermay and Captain Ledger, but she would have to wait to explain that tale to Lord Delaney for first—
“Would you care to explain the cloak and daggers, Eudora?” Robert asked his expression a touch amused.
Unsure of how to reply, Eudora stepped so far back from his towering frame that her behind brushed against the wall.
Willing herself not to become flustered—which only made her more so—Eudora haltingly explained how Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling had followed them to The Long Room.
“They said it was obvious to everyone that you were following me,” she finished, mortification causing her cheeks to burn.
“But that’s impossible,” Robert exclaimed with a bewildered laugh.
The embarrassment she had felt before was nothing compared to the sheer humiliation which coursed through her veins at his reply. The very idea that he might pursue her romantically amused him.
“Of course, how silly of them.” Eudora cleared her throat—which was now terrifically dry—as she willed the ground to open and swallow her whole.
“I didn’t mean that—”
It was the baron’s turn now to be discombobulated. He floundered for words for a moment, his ears pink.
“What I meant to say is that they could not have thought that I was following you, for they left before I did,” he finally explained, his brown eyes warm and sincere. “I did not mean to insinuate that…that the idea I was pursuing you was impossible.”
Eudora stilled, unsure how she should respond to his statement.
Hope fluttered in her breast, accompanied by a sudden awareness of his proximity.
He was so tall that she had to tilt her chin to look up at him.
His dark hair was curled at the collar, and—at this late hour—his strong jaw was shadowed in a way that made Eudora long to run her finger along it.
He was, Eudora realised with a gulp, an exceptionally masculine man.
Lord Delaney watched her watching him, his brow drawn into a thoughtful frown.
“For I am,” he continued, breaking the tense silence, “I am pursuing you, Eudora.”