Chapter 42
Emily could not contain her joy at being reunited with her maid. “Oh, Iris, I have missed you more than you can ever know.”
Iris’s eyes misted up as Emily drew her into the spacious dressing closet. They sat down at the same moment on the chaise lounge. “I have so much to tell you, except that certain details have to be omitted because they are too private. All I can admit is that I never want to be without you again.”
“Well, I have plenty to tell you, too, miss—I mean, my lady.” Iris swiped her knuckles under her eye to catch a tear. “The things that Winthrop has said to me—”
Emily felt her blood chill. “Has he insulted you in any manner? Tell me, and I will insist that my husband punish the varlet.”
“Valet,” Iris said absently.
“Varlet. Valet. If he has dishonored you, there is no point in making a distinction.”
Iris sniffed. “But he hasn’t dishonored me. He ignored me during the journey here until I convinced myself I was unworthy of even a kiss. I have never felt so lacking in my life. And then to have the nerve to call me a—a—”
“The prissy upstart,” Emily said feelingly. “How dare he offend you by—by doing exactly what, Iris? I’m not certain I understand what you’re trying to say.”
“He called me a temptress,” Iris blurted out. “A temptress.”
Emily blinked, too stunned to respond.
Iris nodded vigorously. “Yes. You heard me. I did not misspeak. He accused me of leading him into temptation. He said that I made him forget why he had come to the castle in the first place. He accused me of muddling his brains.”
Emily hesitated. “Did you?”
“Only in my thoughts. But that doesn’t count, does it?”
“It might if he could read minds.”
“I must say that you aren’t being helpful at all. Oh, I should have kept this to myself.”
Emily took Iris’s hand. “You were right to tell me. I’ll take the matter to my husband and insist he put Winthrop in his place.”
Iris looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”
“Well, why not?”
“It might jeopardize our investigation. It would be disloyal of me as a citizen to allow my feelings to interfere with justice.”
“Perhaps you could work with Hamm instead.”
“You mean the bean-stalk giant?”
“He’s intimidating at first impression, but it’s rather reassuring to know he’s on our side.”
“You’ve forgotten one thing, my lady. Winthrop and I are supposed to be man and wife for the duration of the assignment. If I left him for another footman, the guests might not notice, but the domestic staff would. I’d lose their respect, if not my position. And where would I stay until the earl is ready to leave the castle? I have to abide by the rules if I don’t want to cause a stir.”
“I see your point, Iris.” In fact, Emily saw more than her maid had intended to reveal. Iris had fallen for the earl’s valet, and Winthrop, from the sound of it, had been fighting against the same affliction. It was a blessing in disguise, really. She had finally moved past her feelings toward Michael. Emily’s brother would never have married Iris, if he married anyone at all.
“And what should I do about it?” Iris asked.
Emily frowned as though giving the matter grave thought. “I suspect that my husband would urge you to carry on as usual until after his assignment is over.”
“So you are advising me to continue living with Winthrop as his wife?”
“I’m afraid that all of us have been forced to make sacrifices,” Emily said, although so far the rewards of marriage had surpassed whatever she had sacrificed.
“But what am I to do if Winthrop accuses me of being a temptress again?”
“The way I see it, Iris, is that you can insist you have no feelings for him and that he must put you out of his mind, or—” She paused to reconsider her advice.
“Or what?”
“Or you could turn into a temptress and call his bluff.”
Iris’s cheeks turned pink. “Never did I expect to hear that sort of advice from you. I couldn’t be a temptress if I tried. Could you?”
“Neither of us ever thought I would marry,” Emily said carefully. “Now I have a little more experience to offer than when we lived in Hatherwood.”
“It hasn’t even been a month,” Iris retorted. “I don’t see how you could have gained enough experience to consider yourself the Encyclopedia of Love and Marriage.”
“Let us just say that my husband is an intense tutor and I have been a rapt student.”
“But you are married. I am not.”
“And we both know why he married me. Only time will tell how strong our union will become. If it lasts at all.”
“Do you want it to last?” Iris inquired after a pause.
“Oh, yes. Very much so.”
Iris gave a nod of approval. “To be honest, I never cared much for Mr. Jackson. He was a fine cricketer, but he always seemed to be—I don’t know—more a boy than a man.”
“I assure you, my husband is mature in all the ways that matter.”
“So is Winthrop,” Iris said. “You’d never know it to look at him.”
“I take it that you look at him often.”
“Perhaps.”
They lapsed into silence. Emily detected the murmur of male voices coming from Damien’s dressing room. She decided it would be wiser to steer her conversation with Iris toward more neutral ground. “I heard that there has already been one attempt on the viscount’s life.”
The ploy worked. Iris gave one final sniff and lifted her head, returning to her standard form. “He was shot at twice as he was going off to hunt. The castle steward ordered a search of the castle and grounds for evidence, but neither the culprit nor the weapon used was found. I’ve got an idea who the suspect is, though.”
Emily leaned in closer. “Who?”
“It might sound far-fetched, but I have an uncanny feeling it’s one of the housemaids hired for the party. I’ve caught her at least twice under questionable circumstances.”
Emily mulled over this information. With Iris so upset, now wasn’t the time to remind her that she’d also had an “uncanny feeling” that Camden would propose to Emily on the night of Lord Fletcher’s party. “What precisely did you catch her doing?” she asked.
“She was giving Winthrop the eye.”
“As in handing him the spectacles he misplaced?”
Iris scowled. “The eye, Emily. The eye. The look that a female gives a man to indicate she is open to flirtation.”
“And on this basis you are convinced that she is a paid assassin?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“It’s harder to understand,” Emily said bluntly. “What does Winthrop think of your theory?”
“He disagrees with it, naturally. For all I know, he’s flattered by her attention. The other odd thing is that I’ve seen her sneaking up to the guest rooms late at night. Sometimes she is carrying a tray or a crystal decanter.”
“Have you reported her to the housekeeper?”
Iris shook her head. “Winthrop is adamant that we not bring undue attention to ourselves. He has another suspect in mind.”
“Do you know who it is?”
Iris made a face. “Yes. It’s an architect named Sir Norman Finch, and he’s probably the most pleasant guest at the party. If you and I had not been buried all our lives in Hatherwood, we might have heard of him. He’s designed cathedrals and town houses in London and Brighton. He tips well, too.”
“I met him at supper tonight,” Emily said, reviewing the conversation in her mind. “I thought he was perfectly charming, but he did go on about flying buttresses and— I do remember hearing Lord Fletcher mentioning his name before. He is respected in his field.”
Iris turned unexpectedly to examine Emily’s hair and wrinkled evening gown. “I can see that you have suffered without my assistance. Why are you wearing your hair in that unflattering knot?”
Emily tried to think of an excuse for her unkempt appearance. Lady’s maid or not, Iris did not need to know that Emily had been cavorting on the sofa with Damien a short while ago, or that she was fortunate she’d managed to put on her clothes at all, let alone worry about her coiffure before Iris arrived.
? ? ?
Damien felt on edge whenever Emily was not in his sight. Obviously he could not sit at her side while she and the other ladies at the party took afternoon tea and discussed the latest French fashions. Nor could she join him and the other male guests in an after-dinner smoke and game of billiards. Yet his instincts said that the viscount would be at his most vulnerable to attack during those times that the guests were engrossed in an amusement.
How, when, would the assailant strike again? He pondered these questions late into the night, only to hear Emily sigh in her sleep or to feel her roll against him, seeking his comfort. He’d put his arm around her and his thoughts would scatter. Time and time again he forced himself to review the guests he had met, their mannerisms and possible motives for murdering an eccentric old man.
Could the motive be money? Loyalty or the absence of it could be bought. Lord Ardbury had the riches to purchase an assassin. Could the Crown buy information from one of the rebels? Was one of the guests a gambler mired in debt?
The first person who came to mind was the young wastrel lord who had been seated across from Damien at the table. He might be desperate for cash. Then there was that architect who had with his eyes devoured Emily as if she were the dessert course.
The suspect did not have to be a man. A married woman named Mrs. Batleigh had smiled at him invitingly more than one since his arrival. Her husband had appeared to be more interested in one of the other ladies present than in his wife’s potential infidelity. For all Damien knew, the couple swapped bed partners at every affair they attended.
And the domestic staff, especially the temporary servants, should not be excused from suspicion simply because they carried letters of reference. Signatures could be forged.
He would have to wait again to ask Winthrop and then Hamm their opinions on the matter. Winthrop had a talent for detail. Hamm had the experience of working for Damien’s cousin in London, Lieutenant Colonel Lord Heath Boscastle. As a footman to a high-ranking agent, Hamm would undoubtedly have noticed anything that merited investigation. The men would put their heads together. Perhaps the castle steward had a few suggestions to share.
At any rate the assailant would presumably have to make a move in the next three days, when riots had been planned to break out across England. Would he choose poison, another shooting, a shove down the stairs to take the viscount’s life? That was unlikely to occur when the viscount had a bodyguard with him at all times.
But as Damien had learned, even a guard could be distracted from duty.