“Ah, talk of marriage again.” Michael joined them, taking the seat next to Aunt Margaret and across from Amy. “Is a wedding finally planned for my sister?”
“There is to be no wedding!” Amy snapped. Three pairs of eyes swung in her direction—Michael’s teasing, Aunt Margaret’s sympathetic, and Papa’s determined.
Here she was, trying to convince Papa that she deserved the accolades for her books, and he, as usual, was turning it into another attempt to marry her off.
“If you recall, Papa, you tried last year to push me to the altar, and that didn’t exactly work out well, did it?”
“I agreed at the time that St. Vincent was not the best candidate for your husband. I acknowledged my mistake.”
“Cheers, Father. I never thought to hear you say you made a mistake.” Michael held up his coffee cup. Papa growled in his direction.
“However, Amy, there is nothing wrong with Lord Wethington,” Michael said. “He is a fine, upstanding man with a good head on his shoulders.”
And accused of two murders.
Since Aunt Margaret was around the house much more than her papa and brother, she was up-to-date on the happenings with Harding’s—and now Mrs. Johnson’s—murder. Amy had told her about the latest murder victim the night before when she returned from the book club meeting.
Papa, on the other hand didn’t need to know what was going on, since he’d warned her last year to stay out of the investigation into St. Vincent’s death, which of course, hadn’t deterred her in the slightest. No need to have him glowering at her again.
“Franklin, leave her alone. If anything develops between Amy and Lord Wethington, that is up to them. They don’t need you pushing at them.” Aunt Margaret never held back her opinion from Papa.
Since nothing had been settled regarding the threat of a lawsuit from Amy’s publisher, she finished her breakfast and retired to her bedchamber to once again tackle the ledger.
Today she was determined to do the best she could to get the name that had been muddied.
Two hours later, she sat back and stared at the name on her pad. It was not quite a guess, since she had been able to decipher some of the letters, and by playing with them, she had come up with one name she recognized.
Mr. George Davidson.
She did not know Mr. Davidson’s first name, and there were probably numerous Davidsons in Bath, but her heart pumped a bit harder when she looked at the results of her attempts to use the code on the letters she had been able to make out.
Then she chastised herself, because she had never particularly liked Mr. Davidson, so it was possible she was filling in letters just to make them fit his name. He was very condescending to women and managed to suck the life out of any event.
Despite her misgivings, she had to get this information to William. If it was Mr. Davidson, they had to turn their investigation in his direction.
She quickly pulled a piece of paper from her drawer and wrote a note to William.
* * *
William sat with his arms crossed over his chest, playing chaperone to his mother and Mr. Colbert. It was ludicrous, given the situation, but he wanted to make sure Mr. Colbert made no untoward suggestions to his mother.
William hoped the man would leave soon, because he had just received a note from Amy telling him she had made an interesting discovery that she did not want to send by way of the missive. She asked for him to call as soon as possible.
William pulled out his timepiece. “My goodness. Look at the time.” He shook his head, placed the watch back in his vest pocket, and looked directly at Colbert.
They had already drunk two pots of tea and eaten a tray of sandwiches and sweets, and now William was about to ask the man if he would like to have a bedchamber readied for him. With a lock on the outside.
Mother, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself. She and Colbert laughed and laughed, sharing stories of their youth and the challenges of raising children.
In fact, William had not seen such a glow on Mother’s face since she’d taken up residence in his home. Why it bothered him that she was enjoying the company of a man was confusing.
The devil take it, if he ever married and had daughters, he would most likely be a tyrant when it came to their beaux.
Married.
That word had been popping up a great deal lately and had turned from being a disturbing idea to a quite pleasant one. He imagined him and Amy married and in his home in Bath, or even at his estate in Suffolk County. Even, perhaps, with a child or two.
That vision was quickly replaced with a picture of him swinging from the end of a rope and Amy crying at his feet. He shook his head. He needed to keep a positive attitude. It was time to visit with Amy and see what she had come up with.