"Yes." Raising his glass, he sipped, his gaze never leaving her. "I've decided Colyton suits me."
"Excellent!" Sir Jasper beamed. "Could do with a little new blood around here." He went on at some length, extolling the benefits of the area; Lucifer let him ramble while he tried to understand the irritation in Phyllida's brown eyes. Her expression calm, she sat watching her father, but her eyes… and a downward quirk at one corner of her lovely lips…
Sir Jasper wound to a halt; Lucifer stirred and faced him. "One point I wanted to mention. I consider Horatio's bequest a gift, one I couldn't comfortably accept if I hadn't done everything I could to bring his murderer to justice."
Sir Jasper nodded. "Your feelings do you credit."
"Perhaps, but I'd never feel at ease in Horatio's house, owning his collection, unless I'd turned every stone."
Sir Jasper eyed him shrewdly. "Do I take it that's a warning you intend turning every stone?"
Lucifer held his gaze. "Every rock. Every last pebble."
Sir Jasper considered, then nodded. "I'll do whatever I can, but as you doubtless appreciate, it won't be easy to lay this murderer by the heels. The bare fact of the matter is no one saw him."
"There may be other proofs." Lucifer drained his glass.
Sir Jasper did the same. "We can hope so." As Phyllida collected the empty glasses, he added, "You may investigate as you wish, of course. If you need any formal support, I'll do all I can." He stood. "Horatio was one of us. I suspect you'll find you'll have any number of people willing to help you find his murderer."
"Indeed." Lucifer rose, his gaze resting on Phyllida. "I'm hoping that will be the case."
He wanted her help in catching Horatio's murderer. He'd all but asked for it.
She wanted to help him. Even if he hadn't asked, he would have received her assistance.
Unfortunately, the promise of the morning, when she'd hoped to be able to tell him all soon, had given way to the frustration of the afternoon, which was now to be crowned by the disaster of the evening. For some ungodly reason, and she used the term advisedly, her aunt had decided to host an informal dinner for a select few who had attended the funeral. A funeral dinner. Phyllida wasn't impressed.
She'd had a good mind to wear black, but compromised with her lavender silk. It was one of her most flattering gowns and she felt in need of the support.
She was the last to enter the drawing room. Lucifer was there, startlingly handsome in a midnight-blue coat the exact same shade as his eyes. His hair appeared black in the candlelight; his ivory cravat was an exercise in elegance. He stood with her father and Mr. Farthingale before the hearth; from the instant she'd stepped over the threshold, his gaze had remained fixed on her.
Regally inclining her head, she went to join the Misses Longdon, two spinsters of indeterminate age who shared a house along the lane to the forge.
They were sixteen at table. After checking with Gladys, Phyllida took her seat. Lucifer was at the table's other end, at her aunt's right and flanked by Regina Longdon. Regina Longdon was all but deaf, which left Lady Huddlesford with little competition. Mary Anne and Robert were both too far away to engage in conversation. Or persuasion. With nothing else to do, Phyllida applied herself to overseeing the meal.
Her father never dallied long over the port; he led the gentlemen back into the drawing room a bare fifteen minutes after the ladies had settled themselves. Those fifteen minutes had been spent listening to Mary Anne play the pianoforte. As soon as the gentlemen appeared, Mary Anne closed the instrument and came forward to join the conversing groups. Phyllida closed in on her.
Mary Anne saw her coming; agitation instantly filled her blue eyes. "No!" she hissed, before Phyllida could say a word. "You must see it's impossible. You have to find the letters-you promised!"
"I would have thought that by now you'd see-"
"It's you who don't see! Once you find the letters and give them back to me, then you can tell him, if you're so sure you must." Mary Anne literally wrung her hands, then her gaze flicked past Phyllida. "Oh, heavens! There's Robert-I must rescue him before Papa comers him."
With that, she all but fled across the room.
Phyllida watched her go, not entirely able to hide her frown. She'd never seen Mary Anne so overset. "What on earth is in those letters?"
Swinging to face the room, she scanned the guests to see if any needed her hostessly attention, only to discover Lucifer crossing the room toward her, the look in his eye signaling that he required precisely that. She waited; he halted beside her, and joined her in considering the room.
"Your bosom-bow, Miss Farthingale-what's the situation between her and Collins?"
"Situation?"
He glanced at her. "Farthingale looked ready to have an apoplectic fit when Collins arrived with Crabbs. Mrs. Farthingale looked thoroughly taken aback, and then grimly, tight-lippedly, resigned. I've been following your father's lead in stepping in with distractions all evening-it would be helpful to know what game we're all playing."
Phyllida met his eyes. "Star-crossed lovers, but we're hoping this version will end without tragedy." She looked across the room to where Robert Collins was speaking with Henrietta Longdon, who happened to be sitting beside Mary Anne on the chaise. "Mary Anne and Robert have been sweethearts since they first met. That was six years ago. They'd be perfect for each other but for one thing."
"Collins has no fortune."
"Precisely. Mr. Farthingale forbade the connection, but despite Robert living in Exeter, meetings always seem to occur, and Mary Anne has remained absolutely adamant."
"For six years? Most parents would have yielded by now."
"Mr. Farthingale is very stubborn. So is Mary Anne."
"So who'll win?"
"Mary Anne. Luckily, quite soon. Robert will shortly complete the requirements for registration. Crabbs has already offered him a place. Once Robert is practicing, he'll be able to support a wife, and then Mr. Farthingale will capitulate because he won't have any choice."
"So Farthingale's apoplexy is all for show?"
"In a way. It's expected, but it's not as if Robert isn't presentable." He might be too meek, too conservative, too nonassertive, but his birth was acceptable. "That said, the Farthingales wouldn't have expected Robert to be here this evening. Everyone hereabouts knows the situation; we all avoid doing anything to exacerbate it."
"What happened tonight?"
Phyllida looked at Lady Huddlesford, holding court by the hearth. "I'm not sure. It's possible my aunt, who spends two or three months here every year, forgot and innocently invited Robert along with Crabbs."
"But…?"
Phyllida's lips twitched. "Under that careworn exterior, she's rather a romantic. I suspect she imagines she's easing the star-crossed lovers' path."
"Ah."
The syllable was heavy with worldly cynicism. Phyllida glanced up-and saw Percy bearing down on them.
He nodded to Lucifer, his gaze fixed on her. "I wonder, cuz, whether I could have a private word with you?"
About what? Phyllida swallowed the ungracious reply. "Of course."
Percy smiled at Lucifer. "Family business, don't y'know."
Lucifer bowed.
Inclining her head in reply, Phyllida put her hand on Percy's sleeve and let him escort her through the open French doors and onto the terrace. Withdrawing her hand from his arm, she walked to the balustrade.
"Not there." Percy gestured along the terrace. "They can see."
Phyllida heaved a mental sigh and obliged, hoping Percy would cut line, tell her what he wanted, and let her return to the drawing room. If she got Robert alone, she might be able to salvage something from today. Robert might be meek, but he was also stultifyingly conservative, and as an almost solicitor, he should be law-abiding. Perhaps she could convince him-