And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

Barnaby leaned forward, speaking to Henrietta, James, and Simon. “There’s been discussions aplenty at the highest levels about how to handle this case. The excuse of not wanting to cause panic in Mayfair, at the height of the Season no less, is true enough, but that’s a more minor consideration. The truth is that laying hands on this villain is not going to be easy—we knew that after investigating Lady Winston’s death and finding nothing to identify him—but when he murdered her ladyship’s dresser, he told us one thing we hadn’t known before.”

Barnaby met James’s and Henrietta’s gazes. “To wit, he intends to stick around. He intends to remain a part of the ton—the haut ton, almost certainly—and has no intention of quitting the scene. That’s why he’s now turned his sights on you—and, more, is trying to make your death look like an accident, or at least the result of an attack not specifically aimed at you. He doesn’t want to create more noise within the ton, or to focus attention on you—on why someone might want you dead. But if, at this point, we raise a hue and cry and openly try to pursue him . . . we have nothing. He simply has to sit tight and wait us out, and if he’s wary of you, simply avoid you for a time—which, all in all, would be easy enough.”

“But ultimately he wants to be able to move freely among the upper echelons of the ton,” Stokes said, “so at some point, when he feels safe again, he’ll come after you again. He isn’t going to let you live, even if he has to be careful for a time.”

James held Stokes’s gaze. A moment passed, then he said, “What you’re saying is that the only way to keep Henrietta safe—permanently safe—is to conceal the fact that we’re aware of this gentleman-villain, aware of his intention to kill her, and to . . . what? Let him have a chance at her?”

“Not exactly,” Barnaby said. “We need to keep Henrietta safe and thoroughly protected—that goes without saying—but we need to play our hand quietly, stalk this man silently, and let him think it’s safe enough to have another try at her. But when he does, we’ll be there, and then we’ll have him.”

“As it stands,” Stokes said, “regardless of what any of us might wish, the only way we can permanently ensure Miss Cynster’s continued health is to identify and catch this man. And the only way we can do that is to let him think it’s safe enough to step out of the crowd and show us his face.”

Chapter Eleven

They spent the rest of the morning discussing the most pertinent question, namely how to keep Henrietta safe. To James’s relief, his lady love, once she’d recovered her composure and her customary poise, deigned to agree with him and the others; they were given to understand that, in light of the seriousness of the situation, she was willing to suspend her usual independence and endure being guarded, essentially twenty-four hours a day.

After defining ways to achieve that, and agreeing over who needed to be apprised of the situation, Stokes and Barnaby departed.

Along with James, Simon stayed for luncheon. As luck would have it, both Lady Louise and Lord Arthur were also lunching in; over the dining room table, James, Henrietta, and Simon shared all they knew, and, after the inevitable shock and exclamations, outlined how they all needed to proceed.

Lord Arthur wasn’t happy, but he accepted that their plan was the only sure way forward.

Lady Louise was eager to support any move by Henrietta to repair to the safety of the country—to Somersham Place, perhaps—but was reluctantly persuaded by Henrietta, who most effectively capped her argument by reminding her mother that, aside from avoiding being murdered, she had an engagement ball coming up, and a wedding shortly thereafter.

Mary, also present, listened to the tale wide-eyed, then, in typical Mary fashion, swung the discussion to the subject of how best to organize everyone into doing what they needed to do.

While James would normally have found Mary’s bossy nature trying, in this case, he was grateful. She soon had her mother and father organized to spread the word; they’d decided to limit the information, at least in the first instance, to members of the family and the staff of the Upper Brook Street house. Between those two groups, along with Charlie Hastings, Barnaby, and Penelope, Henrietta could be sure of always having others about her. That she readily accepted the need for being so constantly guarded was balm to James’s soul.

He, of course, was designated as Henrietta’s most frequent guard, a role Mary glibly assigned to him and with which he had no argument at all. In that capacity, once luncheon was over and Lord Arthur left to hunt down his brothers and his nephews, Simon left to find Charlie and later speak with Portia, and Lady Louise and Mary set out for Somersham House to speak with Honoria and from there to spread the word, to keep Henrietta amused James suggested that he and she do something useful with their afternoon and visit his house in George Street. “You can take a look around and see what you might like to have changed.”

With very real gratitude, Henrietta agreed. Although James’s house was only a few blocks away, she bowed to his request and ordered the smaller town carriage, the one she usually commandeered, to be brought around.

As Hudson, and via him the rest of the staff, had already been informed of the need to keep her constantly guarded, she wasn’t surprised to discover not only Gibbs and the coachman on the box but also Jordan, one of the footmen, up on the step behind.

She merely nodded at the trio, all stern-faced and looking watchfully around, and allowed James to hand her up into the carriage.

The house in George Street was a surprise; she’d expected a narrow town house, but instead James led her up the steps of a substantial older house with wide windows on either side of a porticoed front door. The front door itself was painted to a high gloss, and the brass knocker gleamed; James opened the door with a latchkey and held it wide . . . stepping over the threshold, eyes widening, she looked around, drinking in the elegant sweep of the staircase, the detailed moldings around the doors and arches, the oak half-paneling, and the paintings—lush landscapes—that hung on the green-papered wa

lls.

“My grandaunt Emily’s, but I rather like them.” Closing the door, James came to stand by Henrietta’s side. Head tipping, he tried to see the scene through her eyes. “The paintings have grown on me.”

“They suit the place.” She swiveled in a circle. “This has a nice feel, a nice sense of balance. Elegant, but not overdone.”

He smiled, then the door at the rear of the hall swung open and his butler, Fortescue, came through.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Fortescue saw Henrietta, and his ageing eyes lit.

James introduced Fortescue; his staff knew of his betrothal and were eager to meet the lady who would be their new mistress.

Somewhat rotund, but turned out in impeccable style, with a regal demeanor and an innate stately air, although well past his prime Fortescue had forgotten more about butlering than most butlers ever learned; his low bow was nicely judged. “Welcome to this house, miss. The rest of the staff and I look forward to serving you in whatever way we may.”

“Thank you, Fortescue.” Henrietta looked questioningly at James.

“I’m going to take Miss Cynster on a tour of the house, but I suspect, this time, we’ll restrict ourselves to the principal rooms.” Meeting Henrietta’s gaze, James reached out and twined his fingers with hers. “We’ll start with the reception rooms on the ground floor, and then head upstairs.” He looked at Fortescue. “Perhaps you would warn Mrs. Rollins—we’ll have tea in the drawing room when we come down.”

“Indeed, sir.” Fortescue bowed to them both, then walked back to the staff door.

Retaining his hold on her hand, James drew Henrietta to the double doors to the right of the hall. “Mrs. Rollins is the housekeeper. Like Fortescue, I inherited her. Indeed, other than my man, Trimble, all the staff date from Grandaunt Emily’s day.”