Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

The following day, the men set off early for their shooting, and the women rose late. Maria brought Tina a tray with tea and toast and then began to prepare her clothing for the morning at Arlington Hall. Outside it was turning into a sunny day, despite Sir Henry’s fears the weather might turn nasty, and Tina sat up in bed on a mountain of soft pillows and gazed at the view from her window.

Irrational as it might seem, she had a sense that this day was going to be important to her, that there was something momentous fast approaching, and she’d best prepare for it.

After she’d washed and dressed in a cream-colored day dress with a pastel print, Maria brushed her hair and pinned it up. Satisfied with her appearance, Tina went downstairs to breakfast.

Lady Isabelle greeted her cheerfully enough, but she looked weary, and her spirits were clearly not as high as they had been the night before. A couple of times she lapsed into silence, staring at nothing, and smiling to herself. As if she was replaying some memory in her head. When it happened Tina exchanged glances with her friends and couldn’t help but wonder what pleasant thoughts Lady Isabelle was indulging in.

Eventually it was decided that those who wished to could come on a stroll in the gardens and down to the river, while the less active guests could remain in the house to read or doze or whatever else took their fancy.

By now it was a glorious day, the sun warm but not yet hot and the air clear and pure. As they walked, Lady Isabelle spoke, and she appeared to know the names of all the plants in her garden and waxed quite lyrical about them. It was an unexpected side to her.

“When I married Sir Henry and came to Arlington Hall the garden was very overgrown. I replanted the entire garden and restored many of the stone walls and pathways. Sometimes we allow the public in to visit and they picnic on the lawns or stroll about the borders. Only when we’re not in residence, of course. Sir Henry grumbles about my spending so much time out here in the garden, but I know he’s glad I’ve found something with which to occupy myself. We had hoped for children, but I am beginning to lose hope.”

She looked sad for a moment but then seemed to shake it off. Turning to the other women, who were lagging behind, she called rather testily, “Come along, ladies. Catch up. Do you see this shrub?” The shrub was covered in purple flowers, and the perfume was beautiful and exotic. “It comes from India. And this one over here, with the red flowers that look rather like brushes? All the way from Australia. Can you imagine?”

While they were admiring these specimens a familiar voice interrupted their tour.

“My dear Lady Isabelle, here you are!”

Signor Veruda was striding purposefully in their direction, smartly dressed in beige trousers with a well-tailored chocolate brown jacket and a matching brown waistcoat with gold-and-beige swirls. His starched white cravat was high beneath his chin, and his jet-black hair shone in the weak English sunshine while his black eyes glittered with mischief and warmth.

Suddenly Lady Isabelle was all aflutter. “Signor! I thought you might join the gentlemen for shooting?”

He pulled a face. “I am not one for the bang-bang.”

The women tittered, but Lady Isabelle could only gaze at him with adoring eyes. It was quite embarrassing really, Tina thought afterward. And it was becoming very clear that Lady Isabelle and her Italian baritone were more than just friends.

They turned back, meandering along the paths, chatting and laughing and keeping an eye on their hostess and the signor. He was certainly a fascinating character, every bit as exotic as the plants in the garden, and every woman there was drawn to him. The house was in sight when suddenly they could hear dogs barking and voices shouting, and Tina could see Charles hurrying toward them. Something in his manner struck her with fear—was this the momentous happening she’d been expecting? Lady Isabelle’s face went white, and Signor Veruda held her arm to support her.

“Lady Isabelle.” Charles was breathless and flustered. “Beg pardon. There has been an accident. Sir Henry . . .”

Lady Isabelle swayed and clutched at the signor’s coat. “What has happened?” she cried.

Charles, belatedly realizing he should have put things less bluntly, opened and closed his mouth.

“Charles, what is it?” Tina said sharply, stepping up to him. “What’s happened?”

“Oh. Tina? There you are. Eh, someone tried to . . . no, no, I’m quite sure it was an accident, it must have been.”

“Charles, for goodness’ sake!”

“Tina, Sir Henry was very nearly shot! The bullet made a groove across his scalp above his ear. He hit his head when he fell, and now he’s

unconscious. We carried him back to the house, and Eversham has sent posthaste for the doctor.”

Lady Isabelle was already hurrying to the house, her skirts rustling furiously about her, Signor Veruda at her side, whispering in a mixture of English and Italian. Tina took Charles’s arm, about to follow, when Anne came up to them, her blue eyes wide.

“How awful, Charles,” her gentle voice was trembling. “Will he . . . do you think he might . . .”

“Steady on, Anne,” Charles said. “Sir Henry is a tough old bird. It’d take more than a bullet and a fall to finish him off.”

Tina thought her brother’s reassurance rather rough-and-ready, but Anne was gazing at him as if he were perfection itself. She left them to it, going ahead to the house, where she found Horace standing alone in the vast entrance hall, staring thoughtfully into space.

“Horace? Charles has just told us what happened.”

Horace pulled a face. “An unpleasant business. He’s unconscious. Not a peep out of him. They’ve sent for the doctor, and Eversham’s thrown us all out of the room.” His face darkened, but Tina hurried on before he could start down that particular well-worn track.

“I don’t understand how anyone could shoot Sir Henry by mistake. He doesn’t look like a pigeon.”