Penny kept her light smile in place. “So I believe.”
Heaven help her! Harriet had spoken of widowers, and here was Yarrow, eyeing her far too measuringly for her liking.
To her relief, Millie turned to her, linking arms. “You’re just the person I most hoped we’d meet.”
Millie waited, beaming, until Charles, who’d turned to address Yarrow, had him engaged, before tugging Penny more her way and lowering her voice. “I’m expecting again—isn’t that wonderful?”
Penny looked into Millie’s bright brown eyes, aglow with wonder and delight; she smiled warmly in return. “How lovely. David must be thrilled.” She glanced at Millie’s husband, whose proud presence at her side was now explained; he was chatting to Julia. “Do pass on my best wishes to him, too.”
“Oh, I will! I’m so happy…”
Fondly, Penny listened as Millie burbled on. This would be her third confinement; her first child had been stillborn, but the second, a sturdy two-year-old girl, was thriving. Although untouched by any maternal streak, Penny was truly pleased for Millie and found no difficulty in sharing her joy.
Eventually, she and Charles parted from the group, she promising to call at Essington Manor in the near future. The words were dying on her lips as her gaze reached Mr. Yarrow. His eyes met hers and he nodded, very correctly, in farewell. Somewhat less enthused, she nodded politely back.
“The others aren’t here.” Charles steered her toward the King’s Arms.
“Well, I don’t think Yarrow’s our murderer, either.”
“Just because he was making cod’s eyes at you doesn’t mean he doesn’t dabble in murder on the side.”
“He was not making cod’s eyes at me—and anyway, I thought it was sheep’s eyes.”
“Cod’s—fishy.”
She humphed. “There wasn’t anything fishy about him.”
“Nothing fishy about inviting you to show him the local sights, then asking your opinion on sending his son to the grammar school?” He snorted back. “Spare me.”
That last didn’t sound like the Charles she knew at all. She turned to stare at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. Lips set, he gripped her elbow and escorted her into the inn’s stable yard.
Their mounts were fetched; he lifted her to her saddle, then swung up to his and led the way out. Once they’d cleared the narrow, cobbled streets, he slowed until she came up beside him, then let his big gray stretch his legs; side by side, they cantered up the road to the Abbey.
At that pace, it wasn’t easy to converse; she didn’t try, but let her mind range over the afternoon, over all she’d heard, seen, learned.
They reached the Abbey; the grooms came running as they clattered into the stable yard, to take their horses and impart the news that a courier had arrived from London at midday.
“Good.” Charles closed his hand about hers and set off for the house. He didn’t exactly tow her behind him, but she had to lengthen her stride to keep up. She looked at his hand, wrapped about hers, felt the strength in his grip. She was not so much amused as intrigued.
Filchett met them in the front hall, confirming the courier’s arrival. “I placed the packet on your desk, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Charles turned for his study, her hand still in his.
Limpidly innocent, Filchett’s eyes met hers as he cleared his throat. “Shall I bring tea, my lord?”
Charles halted, glanced at her.
She met his gaze, then nodded to Filchett. “Please. In the study.”
Filchett bowed. “Indeed, my lady.”
Charles looked like he was suppressing another snort; turning, he continued to the study.
He released her hand only as they reached his desk.
Subsiding into the chair before it, she watched as he picked up the sealed packet, glanced at the direction, then, dropping into the deep chair behind the desk, reached for the letter knife.
Breaking the seal, he smoothed the three sheets, then started reading.