Page 32

An hour before teatime

Felix had largely been left to his own devices most of the day, for Lady Beckham had purposefully kept him from Caroline.

In fact, she had both of her daughters close, perhaps as a way to keep an eye on them after recent events.

To make certain Caroline couldn’t access him, the viscountess took a party of ladies to the village for shopping while other guests went walking or took a wagon to the seashore to enjoy the unexpected sunshine.

What was more, Lady Beckham had told the housekeeper and cook not to expect them back until dinner, and even then, that meal might need to be put back an hour.

With nothing else to do, he’d spent some time with his sister and niece.

They’d walked through the rear gardens and strolled through the hedge maze.

Then they’d shared luncheon together, but when they suggested he participate in parlor games, he politely declined, citing a return to the investigation.

Which wasn’t a lie.

As he came into the orangery, where he’d seen Mr. Lockhart enter, he followed. If the man thought to keep an assignation with Miss Perkins, it would need to wait.

“A moment of your time, if you please, Mr. Lockhart.” Where the hell did he think he was going? There was nothing except plants and furniture in the room.

The younger man startled then turned about to glance at Felix. His eyes rounded. “Uh… Certainly, Major. Anything you need, I’ll help if I can.”

“Excellent.” Felix motioned him away from the end of the main path and showed him into a rattan chair. “I’m nearing the end of my investigation into Mr. Blythe’s death, but I had a few follow-up questions for you.”

“Of course.” Though the other man nodded, he appeared rather green about the gills. “What might I help you with?”

“Were you meeting someone in here this afternoon?” Because it was damned odd that he came straightaway to the back of the orangery when there was no one there.

“No. Just thought to stroll amidst the plants. However, I am going to meet Miss Perkins at some point before dinner. There’s a particular folly on this property she wants to see, says it’ll be romantic at that time of evening with superior views.

” He shrugged. “She says our troubles will soon be over, so we should celebrate there in that secret spot.”

“Mmm.” He rather doubted the soon-to-be duke was a budding horticulturalist. Especially after the interview he overheard that Caroline had conducted with Miss Perkins last night. And what was he blathering on about a folly for? “Where did you say you were when Blythe was killed?”

“Oh, I was here, in the orangery, waiting for Miss Perkins.”

“Ah, interesting, because I seem to recall you said you were in the maze waiting for her.” He frowned. “Which is it?”

Mr. Lockhart cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I misspoke when you talked with me earlier. It was a difficult time, and I wanted to leave, but Whitmore got me back ‘round to common sense.”

Now that he did believe. Yet both of those locations were too far away from the icehouse where Blythe died. He couldn’t have run from either to the icehouse and then back again in time or without anyone seeing him. “Do you own a pistol, Mr. Lockhart?”

“I do not, but my valet has one. If I need it for protection, I’ll sometimes borrow it when traveling. It also sets my fiancée’ s mind at ease.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You know how it is when you’ve vowed to protect a woman in your life.”

That he agreed upon, for he’d promised the same to Caroline. “When was the last time you borrowed it?”

“I asked for it right after Blythe’s murder, but Whitmore told me someone had stolen it.”

“Interesting.” That meant the missing pistol had probably been the one used to kill Blythe. “Have you decided if you’ll accept the ducal title?”

“My first instinct is to decline and let my cousin have it. He’ll be much better as a duke than I would, but my fiancée says I shouldn’t waste such a boon, that I can do far more good as a duke than a mere baron’s son.

And I would be more powerful than most in the beau monde , so people would have to listen to my opinions. ”

“That is true to a point, but only if becoming a duke is something you want for yourself.” He leveled a look on the other man. “She’s quite insistent that you become a duke. Have you ever wondered why?” Felix had but couldn’t understand it other than she was a social climber.

“Samantha only wants the best for me. And I want the same for her. She deserves it after the life she’s led.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning her father’s shipping outfit has suffered a few setbacks the past couple of years and he’s struggling. From what she’s told me, he’ll be taken to debtor’s prison soon, and with me a duke, I can halt that.”

“Ah.” There was the answer. She needed a huge favor, and seducing a man who was far too polite for his own good was the easiest way forward. Did she even have affection for him? It was anyone’s guess, but she would never show her hand.

“You think I’m a fool.” It wasn’t a question, and when Felix didn’t answer, he rushed onward.

“I’m not. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in this world, and she understands me when no one else would give me the time of day.

” A dark flush rose up into the other man’s cheeks and he jogged his gaze away from Felix’s.

“What wouldn’t you do for the woman you love? ”

“I wouldn’t know.” The last woman he’d given his heart to had betrayed him and stomped all over it.

“Well, when you find that woman, you’ll understand.” Lockhart stood. “Samantha has so many interesting ideas. Then she tells me I should do them.”

The hair on his nape quivered. “Do you follow her dictates?”

He shrugged. “At times, even if I don’t want to, but I’d rather not argue with her. She’s got a bit of a temper.”

“Many women do these days.” Felix’s mind went to Caroline and the fact he’d had a glimpse of her temper earlier when he’d tried to put distance between them. “How much do you trust your valet?”

“Whitmore?” Surprise jumped into the other man’s eyes. “Explicitly. Sometimes, I feel he’s the only one looking out for me. Beyond my fiancée, of course.”

“Of course,” Felix murmured. “One last thing. Do you believe Lady Lillian capable of falling victim to jealousy that she might have lashed out and killed Mr. Blythe, thinking he was you?”

“Lillian?” Horror etched itself upon Lockhart’s face. “I don’t know. I suppose anyone is capable of anything, really. It’s merely a matter of thinking it through… or not.” He gasped. “Do you think she was the one who did this?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Again, he needed time to think.

Except Lillian didn’t appear strong enough to haul both him and Caroline from the orangery into a gig then dump them into a vault.

Perhaps she’d enlisted help, but again, why?

And merely because she’d been jealous? Furious that a would-be duke chose someone else?

“One last question. Do you own a black cloak?”

Lockhart frowned. “I don’t. Whitmore would berate me for having such a garment in my wardrobe. He says a proper gentleman goes about in inclement weather clad in a greatcoat. ”

Well, at least there was that. “You may go, Lockhart. Thank you for your time.”

The other man fairly fled from the room.

As his bootsteps faded, Felix rested his hands on his hips and frowned.

The knot regarding who the murderer was hadn’t unraveled.

In fact, it might have drawn tighter. More annoyed than ever, he slowly walked the length of the orangery on the main path until he came to the back wall.

What the devil was so interesting here that Lockhart had gone directly to it?

For all intents and purposes, there was nothing there, except a wall covered in wallpaper with a clever scrolling vine print that gave the illusion of a jungle or plant-filled backdrop.

As he stepped closer, he roved his gaze over a shallow work bench that contained a couple of empty ceramic pots and a spade.

Was it possible?

For the next few moments, he slipped his fingers over the wall, feeling for a knot or button that might spring a secret panel.

Then he found it, the small nodule hidden by the pattern of the wallpaper.

When he pressed it, a clicking sound echoed in the space.

Seconds later, a portion of the wall popped free; there had been no way to see the break in the wallpaper.

After pulling open the panel on silent hinges that spoke of regular oiling, Felix entered the passageway beyond, being sure to close the secret door behind him. Drat the darkness, but he hadn’t wanted to chase down a candle and possibly alert someone to his find.

Eventually, the passageway ended at a set of stone steps set into the ground.

The door at that point was a wooden hatch that he was obliged to push upward in order to gain access to what appeared to be a gardener’s shed filled with implements such workers would need to perform their duties.

There were also burlap bags of sand, soil, and smallish pebbles, but the most damning thing there, as Felix climbed fully into the shed and let the hatch door slam closed, was a stack of empty burlap sacks of various sizes resting in a corner.

The source of the sacks he and Caroline had been bundled into for transport to the vault. When he slid his gaze around the gloomy illumination of the shed, his lips thinned, for sitting atop a stack of boxes was a silver pistol with an ornate silver and pearl butt—no doubt belonging to Whitmore.

The murder weapon.

As he let himself out of the shed, a soft curse left his lips, for not twenty feet away was the icehouse where Blythe had met his demise.

And easy access to the scene of the crime.

Now he knew how the killer had made such a quick getaway and was never spotted at the scene .

It was time to concentrate, and to do that, he needed away from everything.