"Other collectors like Horatio?"
Lucifer nodded. "I know most of them. Covey will have the addresses. I'll write and ask if they can shed any light on what might be in Horatio's collection that could have led to his murder, and also if they know of any special item he might have recently discovered."
"Would you like me to help?"
"If you would, we'd get the letters out faster. There must be someone who knows something to the point."
Phyllida looked at him, so large and darkly handsome he dominated the room. "I should help Mrs. Hemmings with the church vases-I didn't clear them yesterday."
"Mrs. Hemmings can take Sweetie-they'll be delighted to relieve you of the burden." Lucifer returned her gaze steadily; he reached out and closed his hand over hers. "I don't want to keep you locked inside like some maiden in a tower, but until we have this man in keeping, you should not go out on your usual errands. No church flowers, no Colyton Import Company. No visiting Mrs. Dewbridge or any of your other old ducks. No excursion that anyone could predict or anticipate."
She stared at him. "What does that leave?"
Later that afternoon, she found herself on the box seat of his curricle with the blacks trotting smartly along the lane. Despite her position, she was surrounded by male-Jonas to one side, Lucifer on the other, and as Jonas was handling the ribbons, Lucifer had stretched one arm behind her along the seat. There was absolutely no doubt she was safe from the murderer. As she watched Jonas work to keep the blacks in line, she wasn't so certain she was safe from her twin landing them all in a ditch.
Lucifer seemed much more sanguine, issuing instructions and explanations in a relaxed tone. Phyllida watched and listened. When they reached the end of the lane and Lucifer took back the reins and wheeled his pair, she held out her gloved hand commandingly. "My turn."
They both looked at her. Their jaws set.
She ignored that and all other evidence of masculine disapproval, along with all their arguments. She drove th
e curricle back into Colyton and felt a great deal better for the outing.
The days that followed settled into a rhythm-an uneasy one. After penning missives to all Horatio's known associates, they refocused their attention on the large number of books not yet inspected.
"It's amazing how long it takes to do just one shelf."
"Indeed," Lucifer returned without looking up. "I don't want to know how many shelves there are."
The activity ate the hours; visits from others punctuated the sessions and, in some measure, relieved the tedium. Her father stopped in, bright and surprisingly sprightly-all for show, she could tell. Worry and deep concern lurked in his eyes, permanent residents; she wished she could send them away. All she could do was smile and squeeze his hand, and let him know she was happy. That, at least, seemed to honestly cheer him.
Jonas was frequently on hand, but she didn't count him a visitor. He was like a shadow, simply there; she didn't need to entertain or even consider him. Others, however, proved much more distracting.
Her aunt Eliza called with her brood, a noisy invasion. She was guiltily grateful when Lucifer, abetted by her aunt Huddlesford, shooed the children across the lane to the duck pond. Eliza remained to squeeze her hand, comment on Lucifer's handsomeness, and set her mind at rest; they were remaining at the Grange for only eight days.
Lady Fortemain was an early caller. While shocked by the attempt on Phyllida's life, she clearly believed fate had made some monumental mistake in having Lucifer, rather than Cedric, save her. Beyond that, however, she was cloyingly solicitous, insisting she would send a footman with some of Ballyclose's damson jam.
Cedric and Jocasta, Phyllida had expected; their newfound happiness radiated from them and made her smile. They were concerned, but not smotheringly so-their visit was a definite success.
Not so Basil's. He called when Lucifer had, at her insistence, gone to have a word with Thompson. Basil's concern for her health was clearly genuine, but he found her presence under Lucifer's roof difficult to comprehend. Luckily, Lucifer returned before she lost her temper; he clarified matters-Basil departed with no false illusions.
They were just the first. Mr. Filing visited regularly, as did the Farthingales. Henry Grisby called twice, bringing daisies; he spoke reasonably and made no unwelcome protestations. Phyllida thought better of him than she previously had. Wednesday brought a deluge-all the older ladies and women Phyllida visited came to call, to hear how she was faring, to press their advice and cast measuring glances at Lucifer. All brought gifts, little tokens of affection-a crocheted pot warmer, a sprig of broom tied with ribbon, a pot of salve for her scorched skin. When old Mrs. Grisby herself stumped up the front path, Phyllida felt overwhelmed.
The ladies fussed and fretted and clearly enjoyed it immensely; she could not find it in her to push them away. When they finally left, all pressing her hands and beaming their approval, she slumped back in an armchair and looked at Lucifer. "What on earth has got into them?"
He smiled and sat on the chair's arm. "You have."
"Me? Nonsense! I'm the one who takes care of them, not the other way about."
Lucifer put an arm around her and hugged, then dropped a kiss on her hair. "True, but unless I miss my guess, this is the first time in recent memory that you've needed to be taken care of. They're seizing the opportunity to let you know how much they-to borrow Lady Fortemain's phrase-treasure you. They want to pay you back."
Phyllida humphed. Beneath his arm, she wriggled. "It was uncomfortable, being the object of their… care."
Lucifer's arm tightened, then eased. "For some, it is difficult-sometimes very difficult-to let someone take care of them. Yet sometimes that's precisely what the other person needs most. Caring for them means letting them care for you."
Phyllida turned her head and looked up at him. His dark blue eyes met hers without guile. Then his lips curved, not teasing but inviting her to laugh with him-the joke, after all, was on them.
There was a bustle in the hall, Mrs. Hemmings coming to clear the tea tray. Lucifer lifted one hand, tapped a finger to the tip of her nose, then rose and left her.