“It is, but that doesn’t mean that people should just wander around alone at all hours making inviting targets for every passing footpad.”
“It wasn’t a footpad who shot my coat,” he said quietly.
Louisa and Emma both looked at him.
“What on earth do you mean?” Louisa whispered.
“I’m almost certain it was Hastings.” He paused, reflecting. “Although I suppose it could have been Easton.” He shook his head. “I believe that Easton was too drunk to follow me in the fog, let alone aim a gun. However, given that I could not be absolutely positive, I held my own fire.”
“Dear heaven,” exclaimed Louisa, eyes widening. “You’re carrying a gun?”
“Bought it when I was in the American West. Guns are quite common there. In the wake of Thurlow’s unanticipated demise, it seemed prudent to keep it on my person.” He shrugged. “Not that I would have been likely to hit a running target tonight, not in that fog. One of the things I learned in my travels in the Wild West was that revolvers are notoriously inaccurate except at close range.”
“Oh, my,” Emma said. “This is a most disturbing development.”
“What makes you think it was Hastings?” Louisa demanded.
Anthony reflected briefly. “Right height. Something about the way he moved. I believe he followed me from the club, waiting for an opportunity.”
“An opportunity to murder you.” Louisa sank down onto a chair, appalled. “Dear heaven. He knows we are investigating him.”
“Not necessarily,” Anthony said. “I think it is more likely that he has reasoned out that I was the one who took the necklace and the blackmail items from the safe. That’s all he knows at this point, but it is more than enough to make him extremely worried. He has no way of knowing what I intend to do with the extortion evidence or the necklace.”
Louisa’s brows snapped together. “Why did you come here at such a late hour tonight?”
“I wanted to warn you that there are some unfortunate wagers going down in the club books.”
Emma looked up, eyes sharp with concern. “What sort of wagers?”
Anthony tightened his grip on the brandy glass. “The gamblers are betting on the name of the married woman with whom I am supposedly intimately involved.”
Emma frowned. “I thought everyone believes that you and Louisa are engaged in a romantic liaison.”
“Easton is putting it about that I am using an innocent lady, namely Louisa, to conceal an affair with some other gentleman’s wife,” he explained quietly.
“Ridiculous,” Louisa said briskly. “I am hardly an innocent lady.”
Anthony looked at her. So did Emma. Neither spoke.
Louisa raised her chin. “I am a journalist.”
Out of the corner of his eye Anthony saw Emma lift her eyes to the ceiling and then take a healthy swallow of brandy. He followed suit.
“If we might return to the more pressing matter of the shooting?” Louisa said with a quelling glare.
“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “I think it is safe to say that it is a good sign.”
“A good sign?” Louisa gasped. “Someone just tried to murder you.”
“And he failed.” Anthony contemplated the logic of the situation. “He took a wild chance and blundered badly. He will be much more cautious the next time because he knows that I am now on my guard.”
“The next time?” Louisa was beyond horrified now.
“Cheer up, my sweet.” He savored the little rush of satisfaction that flashed through him. “I believe we are making progress.”
“How can you call nearly getting murdered in the park progress?” she demanded, outraged.
Emma gave Anthony a considering look. “If you are right about Hastings being the one who tried to kill you tonight, I think it is safe to say that you have shaken his nerve. He must be feeling quite anxious, indeed, if he took the risk of attempting to murder a Stalbridge.”
He swirled the brandy in his glass. “I certainly hope so. Anxious men make mistakes.”
33
“I must tell you that we were all vastly relieved to hear the gossip about you and Anthony,” Clarice confided cheerfully.
Louisa tripped over a small stone on the path. She staggered a bit and nearly lost her grip on her parasol before she caught her balance.
“You were relieved?” she managed to say, aware that her mouth was probably hanging open in a most unbecoming fashion.
She and Clarice were strolling through the extensive gardens behind the Stalbridges’ large house. Anthony had remained inside with his parents.
This was not the first time Louisa had been flummoxed by a statement from one of the Stalbridge clan. It had been like this since Anthony had escorted her into the family’s elegant drawing room an hour ago and made introductions.
Nothing had gone quite as she had expected. In spite of Anthony’s reassurances to the contrary, she had been braced for grim disapproval. Instead she was welcomed with unsettling enthusiasm. No one seemed the least bit horrified by the gossip that implied that she was having an affair with Anthony. Neither did anyone show any indication of being shocked by her career as a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer. Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Stalbridge and Clarice had been all that was charming and gracious. They seemed fascinated rather than appalled by her.
The discovery that Mrs. Stalbridge and Clarice were both devoted adherents of the rational dress movement had come as another pleasant surprise. Then again, she thought, why had she anticipated that the members of Anthony’s family would be any less out of the ordinary than he was? Emma had warned her that the Stalbridges were considered to be eccentrics, one and all.
She remained cautious, of course. Given her dark past, she could not afford to become too close to anyone. Nevertheless, she had been unable to resist taking an instant liking to Clarice. It had been so long since she’d had a friend who was close to her own age. Navigating the waters of friendship was a treacherous proposition when one carried a terrible secret.
“We are happy to see Anthony taking an interest in you because we have been so worried about him,” Clarice explained. “Last year, after his fiancée died, he became absolutely obsessed with the notion that she was murdered. It affected his mood for weeks. We all became quite alarmed, to be honest.”
“I see.”
Clarice absently twirled her parasol. “We thought he had gotten over it after he was forced to abandon his inquiries last year, but when he suddenly renewed his investigation a couple of weeks ago we realized that he was as committed as ever to his theory that Fiona was murdered. Then we heard the rumors about the two of you. Mama and Papa became extremely hopeful. Indeed, I did, as well.”
“Good heavens.”
“Now that we have had occasion to see the two of you together, it is obvious that the gossip is true and that is why we are all so delighted to make your acquaintance today.”
“I’m not sure I follow your reasoning,” Louisa said warily. “My connection to your brother actually is founded upon a business arrangement. As he explained to you, I am assisting him in his investigation. When it is concluded, I plan to write a report for the Flying Intelligencer.”
“Yes, of course.” Clarice gave her a warm smile. “I’m sure that it will be an excellent piece of journalism. But it is also obvious that you and Anthony have formed an intimate connection, and we couldn’t be happier. It is good to see him looking at a woman the way he looks at you.”
Louisa sighed. “You feared his heart was broken when Fiona died. Now you believe that he is at least willing to allow himself to be distracted by another female, but I really don’t think you should leap to any conclusions about the nature of his feelings for me.”
“Rubbish.” Clarice laughed. “There is no other obvious explanation for the improvement in his mood.”