When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

Trent’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands. “Lawrence. Call me Lawrence, or Trent, if you prefer.”

Cassandra’s countenance brightened. “When the groom told you the matron returned to the ball, did he say if the carriage remained in the mews?”

It was an important question. Lady Murray may have been acting benevolently, providing a safe place for Cassandra to rest while unwell. Someone else might have drugged her drink and waited for an opportune moment to strike.

Trent shook his head and looked thoroughly annoyed with himself. “I assumed the carriage left the mews but did not think to ask for confirmation.”

Silence descended, though Benedict could almost hear Trent’s mental cursing.

“Murray has an alibi until midnight,” Benedict said, “so someone else must have been inside the carriage with Cassandra.”

A sudden knock on the door brought Slocombe. The butler advised Benedict that Miss Atwood had come to call. The news brought a smile to Cassandra’s downturned lips, and so he invited the lady to join them for tea. With luck, she might have remembered something important about that fateful night.

Dressed in a black pelisse, and an equally dull bonnet that covered most of her vibrant red hair, the lady bid them good morning. Slocombe drew a chair from the far side of the room and placed it next to the sofa.

“Thank you.” Miss Atwood dropped into the seat with a relieved sigh, as if she had raced a mile and needed a moment to fill her lungs. Her nose and cheeks were flushed, drawing attention to the sprinkling of freckles.

“Forgive me, Miss Atwood,” Wycliff said, inclining his head respectfully, “are we to offer our condolences?”

The lady frowned. She glanced down at her morbid attire and laughed. “Oh, you speak of my mourning clothes. No, no one has died, Mr Wycliff. This is my disguise.”

The comment roused excitement amongst the ladies, and they all shuffled to the edge of their seats.

“A disguise?” Scarlett said, intrigue flashing in her eyes. “May I ask why you feel the need to conceal your identity?”

Miss Atwood shrugged. “It’s not a secret. The more people who know, the more likely I am to discover the necessary information.” She leaned forward, and everyone in the room followed suit. “I have been stalking Mr Daventry this morning and wished to blend in with the crowd.”

Wycliff arched a cautionary brow. “Lucius Daventry?”

“Indeed.” Miss Atwood beamed. “Don’t tell me. He is reputed to be a devious devil, and I should have a care before I go poking my nose into his affairs.”

“Exactly so,” Wycliff replied, though he seemed rather amused.

Scarlett gave a knowing grin. “There is only one reason why a lady would stalk a gentleman, Miss Atwood. I kept abreast of my husband’s whereabouts for years before I married him.”

Miss Atwood snorted. “I am not obsessed with the man if that is your understanding. I simply seek knowledge of the auction he is holding, the auction to dispose of my father’s possessions.”

Cassandra gave everyone a brief insight into Miss Atwood’s problem. “And so, Mr Daventry has refused to grant her a seat at the sale.”

“Oh, he’s done more than refuse.” Miss Atwood’s jaw firmed. “He informed me by letter that an auction is no place for a woman. He did not even have the decency to greet me in person. I would call the man a walking monument to misogyny if he hadn’t bedded half the ladies in the ton.”

“Daventry certainly has a love for women,” Wycliff countered.

Miss Atwood caught Wycliff’s assessing gaze and said, “Yes, and what a shame he finds me disagreeable, else I might have seduced the information from his disreputable lips.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

“Wycliff is right, Miss Atwood,” Benedict began. “I speak purely out of concern for your welfare when I say you should approach Daventry with caution.”

While the lady might not be considered attractive in the usual sense, there was something fascinating about her character, fascinating enough to be of interest to a gentleman who’d grown bored with insipid beauties. And Daventry might look to seduction as a means to rid himself of a pest.

“You don’t know Sybil,” Cassandra said with a hint of pride. “Determination is a trait she aspires to.”

Miss Atwood nodded in agreement. “Mr Daventry has had me traipsing across town and back again, but I am determined to prove that some women insist on having a voice.” She shivered visibly as if an image of Lucius Daventry plagued her mind. “But that’s enough talk of the devilish rogue. And you must forgive me for interrupting your tea.”

“We’ve come together this morning to discuss new information regarding what happened to me at Lord Craven’s ball,” Cassandra said before relaying their findings. “Despite the mounting evidence, we have no solid proof Lady Murray has behaved deviously.”

Miss Atwood pursed her lips. “I see. Then pressing for a confession seems your only course of action.”