"Who is?"
"Sir Basil Smollet's sister."
"And Sir Basil is?"
"The gentleman approaching us. He owns Highgate, up the lane past the Rectory."
Lucifer studied the gentleman in question; he was neatly, even severely dressed, and of an age similar to Cedric. But where Cedric's expression had been choleric yet open, Basil's was guarded, as if he had a lot on his mind, but was above explaining himself to anyone.
He tipped his hat in greeting. Introduced, he shook hands with Lucifer.
"Dreadful business, this. Sets the whole village on its ears. No rest for any of us until the villain's caught. Pray accept my condolences on the death of your friend."
Lucifer thanked him. With polite nods to them both, Basil continued on his way.
"Punctilious," Lucifer murmured.
"Indeed." Phyllida stepped out again, looked ahead, and slowed. "Oh. Dear."
The words were uttered through her teeth; she might as well have cursed. Lucifer considered the cause of her consternation. Red-haired, in his late twenties, the gentleman strode toward them with a purposeful air. Only just taller than Phyllida, he was plainly dressed in corduroy breeches and riding boots, topped by a loose, flapping coat.
Phyllida's chin rose; she moved forward decisively. "Good day, Mr. Grisby." She inclined her head, her intention plainly to continue on her way.
Grisby planted himself directly in front of her. Phyllida halted and smoothly turned to Lucifer. "Mr. Cynster, allow me to present Mr. Grisby."
Lucifer nodded coolly. Grisby hesitated, then curtly responded. He returned his gaze to Phyllida. "Miss Tallent, please allow me to escort you home." The glance he shot Lucifer brimmed with poorly concealed dislike. "I'm surprised Sir Jasper hasn't forbidden you to roam, what with this knife-wielding murderer on the loose."
"My father-"
"One never knows," Grisby sententiously continued, "from what direction danger may come." Pugnaciously, he reached for her arm.
Phyllida reached for Lucifer's.
Bending his arm, covering her hand with his, Lucifer drew her closer. He caught Grisby's gaze, all humor flown. "I assure you, Grisby, that Miss Tallent is in no danger from knife-wielding felons, or any others, while in my care." He'd only been waiting for some sign from Phyllida before stepping in; if he hadn't been feeling his way, Grisby would already be flailing in the duck pond. "We're on our way back to the Grange. You may rest assured I will see Miss Tallent safe into Sir Jasper's keeping."
Grisby flushed.
Lucifer inclined his head. "If you'll excuse us?"
He gave Grisby no choice, solicitously steering Phyllida, censoriously haughty, down the lane. He kept her close, her skirts brushing his boots. Under his hand, her fingers fluttered. They strolled on; eventually her fingers relaxed under his.
"Thank you."
"It was entirely my pleasure. Aside from being an insensitive clod, who, exactly, is Grisby?"
"He owns Dottswood Farm. It's up past the Rectory, beyond Highgate."
"So he's a prosperous gentleman farmer?"
"Among other things."
Her disgusted tone gave him his clue. "Am I to understand Mr. Grisby is another aspirant to your fair hand?"
"They all are-Cedric, Basil, and Grisby."
Her tone wasn't improving; Lucifer raised his brows. "You have cut a swath through the local ranks."
She cast him a repressive glance, one his aunt, the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, could not have bettered, then, head high, looked forward.