Page 41 of A Whisper at Midnight

They walked through the study and made their way to the entrance hall, where they came face-to-face with Beryl and an exceptionally attractive woman in her early-thirties with gleaming blonde hair and the most exquisite heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes sparkled with a pleasing spirit that instantly made one want to befriend her. Or perhaps take her to bed.

Hadrian made that observation objectively. He was not attracted to her in that way. But he imagined many gentlemen were.

“There you are,” Beryl said. “I was waiting for you to come so I could introduce you to Mrs. Styles-Rowdon.” She turned her head toward the stunning woman. “Gillian, this is Lord Ravenhurst and Miss Wren.”

“Ravenhurst,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon murmured. She almost sounded as if she were purring. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Beryl has told me all about you.” She smiled alluringly. Flirtatiously, even. Then she moved her gaze to Tilda. “And Miss Wren, I’m equally delighted to meet you. Beryl has told me you are helping her, and I am so glad a woman has come to her aid. She says you’re an investigator. I confess I am agog. How absolutely wonderful!” She spoke with great animation, her hands moving and her features creasing with genuine interest.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Tilda said. “I’m happy I can be of service to Beryl. Now, you must excuse us, for we need to be on our way.” She looked to Beryl. “We’ll see you tomorrow before the inquest.”

“Thank you. With you and my new widow’s weeds from Gillian, I will be ready to face the coroner.” Beryl smiled, but there was an underlying tenseness to her expression.

“I’ll be there too,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said. “For moral support. You need all the help and friends you can have at this time.”

Beryl sniffed. “Thank you, Gillian. Could I trouble you to bring a batch of your cinnamon biscuits? It’s been too long since I’ve had any.”

Gillian gave Beryl a warm, sympathetic smile. “Of course, my dear.”

Hadrian and Tilda bid them farewell and left. The cool breeze outside eased Hadrian’s headache. He closed his eyes briefly as Tilda guided him toward the coach.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. Don’t say anything in front of Leach. I don’t need my staff worrying over me.”

“But it’s fine for me to do so?” Her query was dry, her eyes glinting with humor.

“More than,” he said as they reached the coach. He met her gaze and saw a surprising heat in her eyes—a warmth he felt too.

Then she looked away as Leach opened the door and she climbed inside. Hadrian followed her and situated himself on the seat beside her. He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes immediately.

Tilda sucked in a breath. “Blast.”

He opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to ask Beryl what Martha Farrow looked like.” Her mouth turned into a deep frown. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.” Still, she looked very disappointed.

“We can go back,” Hadrian offered, though he was rather eager to go home.

Tilda shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I didn’t think to ask her because I was concerned for you, and that worry has not lessened. You must rest,” she added gently. “Close your eyes again.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, once again soothed by her.

As the coach rumbled along, Hadrian tried to think of the case and all they’d learned over the course of this incredibly busy day. But he only wanted to absorb the energy and warmth of the woman beside him and imagine her beautiful green eyes watching him with concern.

And wonder what may come in the future.

CHAPTER 9

After fetching her hat and gloves from her chamber on the first floor, Tilda went downstairs to await Hadrian. The inquest would begin at one o’clock that afternoon, and he would arrive to fetch Tilda at eleven. Tilda wanted to be sure they had time to answer any questions or soothe anyone’s nerves at Beryl’s house before they went to the Crown and Sceptre, the pub where the inquest would take place.

Tilda’s grandmother was seated near the window in the parlor at the front of the house, taking advantage of the morning light to read a magazine. Half-moon glasses perched on her delicate nose. She looked up when Tilda walked in and smiled, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Lord Ravenhurst is due to arrive shortly?”

Last night, Tilda had told her grandmother about Louis Chambers’ death and that she’d been hired to investigate the matter. However, she did not reveal that Hadrian was her client because she didn’t want to share that he was a suspect. Instead, she’d explained that Hadrian was once again assisting her, which was true.

“Yes.” Tilda set her gloves on a table and pinned her hat to her hair. “Did I get that right?” she asked her grandmother.Sometimes when she donned a hat without the aid of a mirror, she set it off-center or too far forward. Or too far back. Tilda was not as adept with feminine tasks as someone like Beryl probably was.

Grandmama removed her glasses and surveyed Tilda. “A little to the left. Your right, I suppose,” she added with a chuckle. Pursing her lips briefly, she ran her gaze over Tilda once more. “You really do need a new gown or two. I know you say we can’t afford that right now, but I believe you must prioritize your wardrobe, particularly since you are working with the earl again. What a coincidence that is.”

Tilda made the adjustment to her hat whilst ignoring her grandmother’s comments about purchasing new garments. They probably could afford at least one gown, but she did not need to spend the money.