Richard caught the sidelong glance Rosalind threw his way. Their gazes met and held and, as had happened frequently over the past days, it seemed they were both thinking along the same lines…
Then, Regina and Alison walked on, and with what sounded like a half-stifled sigh, Rosalind looked ahead and followed.
Richard was wracking his brains to find some way of creating the moment it seemed both he and Rosalind desired when, after a whispered conversation, Regina and Alison turned, walked back, and halted before Rosalind and Richard.
“Alison and I need to stretch our legs rather more,” Regina said, “so we’re going for a stroll in the gardens.”
“Just for half an hour or so,” Alison put in. “It will be a relief to get out of the house.”
“You don’t need to worry—we’ll stay together,” Regina said. “And we’ll keep within sight of the house so we won’t get lost.”
It was plain that Alison and Regina did not want to be supervised. Over recent days, the pair had become friends, and Alison appeared to have a sound head on her shoulders.
Richard glanced at Rosalind and saw that she was debating whether or not to agree, torn between strictly following her mother’s injunction and allowing her sister reasonable freedom while also seizing some time for herself and him…
He murmured, “That should be safe enough.”
Rosalind slid a glance his way and met his eyes. After a moment, she returned her gaze to Regina and Alison. “Yes. All right. But make sure you’re back before morning tea, or Mama will fret.”
Regina beamed. “Yes, of course.”
Alison looped her arm with Regina’s. “We promise to be back by then.”
Rosalind inclined her head, and the pair rustled off toward the conservatory doors, heads already dipping close.
As they passed out of the room, the sound of their tinkling laughter drifted back to Richard and Rosalind.
She glanced at him. “In the circumstances, that’s a nice sound to hear, and truth be told, their burgeoning friendship is something of a relief. Alison’s a sensible girl, and I’ll be happy if Regina follows her lead.”
As Rosalind swung to face him, he arched a brow at her. “You’re sensible, too. And reliable and well-grounded.”
She blinked in surprise and met his eyes.
He smiled understandingly, but knew he had to seize the chance Fate had offered. “As it happens—as I think you know—I’ve been wanting to speak with you about”—on impulse, he opted for the shockingly direct—“whether you might be inclined to sensibly follow the direction suggested by your parents and my aunts and consider marrying me.”
She blinked again, then her lavender-blue gaze grew more intent, and she studied him unabashedly. After several heartbeats, she asked, “Is that a proposal?”
He tipped his head this way, then that, then confessed, “Actually, it’s more a straightforward question.” He held her gaze. “It’s simple, really—do you think that marrying me would be a good idea?”
She eased back a trifle, closely scanning his expression, his eyes, then her lips twitched. “I suppose that depends.”
“On what?”
More confidently, she tipped up her chin. “On what the boundaries of the role are, at least in your mind.” When she met his gaze, hers had turned challenging. “Perhaps, given we are—for once—blessedly alone, we might discuss your requirements?”
His grin was entirely genuine. “Yes,” he agreed. “Let’s.”
Once again, Penelope led Barnaby and Stokes into the front hall of Patchcote Grange. The tattoo of her heels striking the tiles reflected their determination to ask what they hoped would be their final questions, the answers to which would shine an unforgiving light on the murderer in the company’s midst.
The previous evening, they’d debated whether to return immediately and pose those questions, but as most would be directed to the staff, who would be frantically busy during the evening, they’d reluctantly decided against what might prove an unproductive foray. As Stokes had pointed out, they needed considered, accurate answers, not replies flung at a run.
Now, as the hall’s cool shadows embraced them, Penelope acknowledged that their forbearance had been wise. As Barnaby had remarked, there was an outside chance that they’d missed some vital clue and the killer was someone other than their three—really two—prime suspects. If so, then actively investigating literally under the avid attention of the entire company could well give the guilty party a chance to cover his tracks or even escape. Consequently, albeit reluctantly, they’d elected to play their cards close to their collective chest and arrive to pursue their investigations at a more normal hour.
They paused in the otherwise empty hall, and when a footman duly appeared in response to the sounds of their arrival, Penelope instructed, “Please fetch Gearing. We’ll be in the library.”
The footman bowed. “Yes, ma’am. At once.”
She turned toward the library. Stokes opened the door and held it, and she swept inside.
