A Study in Murder (Victorian Book Club Mystery 1)

He shook his head. “No. No. I don’t expect you to apologize. It was all my fault. While I don’t consider this an excuse, I had a bit too much to drink that night and oftentimes have a problem controlling my tongue.”

“Very well, Mr. Harris. I accept your apology.” She stood, and he jumped up.

“I thought perhaps we might visit for a while.” He held out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

Force of habit and years of good breeding had her reaching out and taking the flowers from his hand. “Thank you.” She laid them on the small cherrywood table next to the settee. As much as she wanted the man out of her house, if they chatted for a while, she might gather more information. She settled back on the settee. “Would you care for a brandy?”

His eyes lit up at what she supposed was his glee at her acquiescing to his request. He had just admitted to being a bit loose-tongued with drink, so a brandy or two might be to her benefit. She nodded in the direction of the sideboard along the wall. “You may help yourself.”

With more confidence than he’d shown since she entered the room, he strode across the space and poured a brandy. “May I fetch something for you, Lady Amy?”

She needed to keep a clear head; it would not pay for her to be chatty. “No, thank you.”

Once he settled back into his seat, he leaned back and rested his foot on his knee. A bit improper in the presence of a lady.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable as he studied her, she said, “I understand you only recently returned to Bath. I assume you lived here before your travels?”

“Yes. I lived here for the years of my youth, then attended school in London. I only returned on occasion to spend time with my uncle.” He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward. “We were not very close, you know.”

Since Amy had been engaged to his uncle and had never heard Mr. Harris’s name pass his lips, she had no doubt this was the case. She wanted to ask him about the will, but it would be much better if Mr. Harris brought it up himself. Had they held the reading? Harris seemed much too cheerful to be aware of the financial state in which Mr. St. Vincent had left him.

“Are you planning on making Bath your home, then?”

He swirled the liquid in his glass and studied it for a few minutes. Then he looked up at her. “That depends.”

It was time for a nudge. “Will you be running Mr. St. Vincent’s shipping company now?”

He shook his head and let out a huge sigh. “That also depends on several things.”

Goodness, she was tired of this cat-and-mouse game they were playing. He was much cleverer than she’d thought him to be. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Harris, I have accepted your apology, and since I see no other reason for you to visit with me, I will ask you right out why you are here. I doubt it is to deliver flowers, since the shops do that quite expediently.”

He downed the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table in front of him. “You are right. The time has come.”

To her absolute horror, he crossed the distance between them and got down on one knee. Before she could gain her thoughts, he took her hand and said, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me, Lady Amy?”

CHAPTER 15

Amy’s jaw dropped as she stared at Mr. Harris in complete astonishment. He smiled up at her as if he’d just offered her the world.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harris, although I am many years from my dotage, it appears my hearing has left me. Did you just ask me to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t even know you. Why would I marry you?”

She hoped his explanation would be a lengthy one so she could reengage her brain. She’d been so stunned by his request, it seemed everything in her body had shut down. Staring stupidly at her, he shifted on his knees, squeezed her hand, and smiled.

His hand was sweaty.

“You are not getting any younger, Lady Amy. I imagine my uncle’s proposal was your last opportunity to secure a husband. Since I am his heir, I feel it is my duty to step into his place.”

Dear God in heaven, the man was mad. However, the anger that flowed through her veins was enough to wake her body up. To be certain it was not all a dream, she flicked the inside of her wrist with her fingertip. This man, this horrid cretin, had just insulted her while trying to get her to marry him.

No one had ever accused Amy of being stupid. Should she marry him, her money would be there to prop up the bankrupt business. Also, a wife could not be compelled to testify against her husband. This was all the more reason to keep Mr. Harris on their list of suspects.

The question arose, however, whether she should be a lady and thank him for his offer and then refuse, or do what she really wanted and push her foot against his chest, knock him on his arse, and leave the room.

Manners won out. “I am sorry, Mr. Harris, but while your offer is … interesting, I am afraid I must refuse.”