“But . . . who is he?”
“I think he may very well be the killer.”
Sebastian arrived back at Brook Street to be met by Morey wearing a disapproving face.
“A lady to see you, my lord,” said the majordomo. “Miss Anne Preston. I told her both you and Lady Devlin were out, but she insisted on waiting.” His frown deepened. “I’ve put her in the drawing room.”
“Thank you,” said Sebastian, handing Morey his hat and walking stick as he headed for the stairs.
She was sitting stiffly upright on one of the cane chairs by the bow window, her hands clenched in her lap, her face a tight, unsmiling mask of control. At the sight of Sebastian, she thrust up from the chair, her arms held stiffly at her sides. “I’m here because of Jane—Miss Austen,” she said without preamble.
“May I offer you some tea, Miss Preston?”
“No, thank you; your majordomo already did.” She drew in a deep breath and said in a rush, “I—I’m afraid I haven’t been exactly honest with you about some things.”
Sebastian suspected she hadn’t been honest with him about a number of things. But all he said was, “Please, have a seat.”
“No.” She jerked away to stand at the window, looking out at the scene below. “Bow Street thinks Hugh killed Father. But Jane—Miss Austen—tells me you don’t agree with them.”
Sebastian studied her tightly held profile. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Miss Preston?”
She kept her gaze on the carts and carriages filling the street. “Hugh had this idea that if he could meet with Father—talk to him, man to man—then maybe he could convince Father to change his mind about our marriage.”
“Was this before or after your father stormed into the Shepherd’s Rest and threatened to horsewhip him?”
She sucked in a quick breath that flared her nostrils and caused her chest to jerk. “After.”
“So, Sunday?”
“Yes. I told Hugh he was mad, that Father would never agree. But Hugh said he was honor-bound to formally ask for my hand in marriage.”
“Admirable.”
She gave a small, ragged laugh. “Admirable, perhaps. But mad, nonetheless.”
“So what happened?”
She ran her fingers down the curtain beside her to smooth it, although it was already hanging straight. “A predictable disaster. It probably didn’t help that Hugh arrived at the house just after Douglas Sterling had been there. I don’t know what Dr. Sterling told Father, but whatever it was, it left him in an odd humor. He took one look at Hugh and flew into a rage—right there in the hall in front of Chambliss, our butler.”
“You obviously have very loyal servants,” said Sebastian. “None of them breathed a word of Captain Wyeth’s visit to the constables.”
“I begged Chambliss to keep it to himself. It was wrong of me, I know. But I feared Bow Street would put the worst possible construction on Hugh’s visit. I mean, Father was standing in the hall, shouting that he’d see me die an old maid before he’d allow me to align our house with some penniless vicar’s son.”
“You were present at their meeting?”
“Not at first, no; Hugh had thought they’d do better alone. But the way Papa was shouting, it’s a wonder they didn’t hear him in the next county. I tried to stay away, but I finally couldn’t bear it any longer and came downstairs. I told Papa that if I couldn’t marry Hugh, I would die an old maid, and that if he was opposing the match in the hopes that I would become Lady Knightly instead, then he was living in cloud-cuckoo-land.”
She paused, her face wan and tired. “That’s when Papa said the strangest thing. You must understand that he’d been wildly enthusiastic at the prospect of a match between Sir Galen and me. But when I mentioned Knightly’s name, Papa flew into such a rage, he was shaking. Said he’d rather see me married to some English chimney sweep than Sir Galen. He rounded on Chambliss, who was still standing there with a wooden face—it was most mortifying—and told him that if Sir Galen ever came to the door again, he was not to be admitted. Then Papa grabbed his hat and stormed off.”
“In the hackney?”
“Yes. Bow Street says he went to Fish Street Hill, although I can’t for the life of me imagine what could have taken him there.”
Sebastian now thought he had a fairly good idea what might have driven Stanley Preston to the streets surrounding Billingsgate Market. But all he said was, “When you quarreled with Captain Wyeth at Lady Farningham’s, was it over that morning’s confrontation with your father?”
“Not exactly.” A touch of color crept into her face. “If you must know, I wanted Hugh to agree to elope. I knew Father would fly into one of his rages over it, but I was convinced he’d eventually calm down and accept our marriage, particularly if for some reason he’d given up his dream of seeing me as Lady Knightly.”
“But Captain Wyeth refused?”