All About Love (Cynster 6)

"Yes, but…" Phyllida searched for a polite way to point out that Mrs. Grisby, at present, was not pleased with her. Mrs. Grisby, who rarely ventured beyond Dottswood Farm and therefore relied on Henry for her view of village life, was intractably opposed to Phyllida marrying Henry. Being Henry's mother, it had not occurred to her that Phyllida was of a similar mind. In

the end, Phyllida simply looked Henry in the eye and said, "You know perfectly well your mother would not be pleased if I called."

"She would be pleased if you accepted my proposal."

Another lie. "Henry-"

"No-listen. You're twenty-four. It's a good age for a woman to marry-"

"My cousin informed me just yesterday that at twenty-four, I was firmly on the shelf." Percy might as well be useful for something.

Henry scowled. "He's got rocks in his head."

"The pertinent point you fail to grasp, Henry-you and Cedric and Basil, too-is that I intend to cling to my shelf for all I am worth. I like it there. I am not going to marry you or Cedric or Basil. If you could all regard me as an old maid, it would simplify matters considerably."

"That's nonsense."

Phyllida sighed. "Never mind. I'm prepared to wait you out."

"Ah, Mr. Grisby."

Phyllida turned to find Lucifer almost upon them. His dark blue eyes met hers; a rush of prickling warmth washed over her skin. Halting beside her, he looked at Grisby and smiled-like a leopard eyeing his next meal. "I understand," he purred, "that you've been agisting on some of the Manor's fields."

It was clear Henry would have preferred to scowl; instead, he nodded stiffly. "I keep part of my herd on some of the higher fields."

"The fields overlooking the river meadows? I see. Tell me, how often do you shift the herd?"

Despite Henry's resistance, Lucifer extracted the information that Henry's herds had been rotated last on Saturday; on Sunday, both Henry and his herdsman had worked in his barns. The questions were sufficiently oblique that Henry didn't recognize their intent.

He still glowered; he had not expressed any great joy at the news that Lucifer was to join their small community.

Henry's visual daggers bounced harmlessly off Lucifer's charm. He glanced at her. "I wonder, Miss Tallent, if I might avail myself of your understanding of the village. A small matter of traditions." He looked at Henry. "I'm sure Mr. Grisby will excuse us."

Left with no choice, Henry gave an exceedingly stiff bow and pressed her fingers too fervently. Phyllida tugged her hand free and placed it on Lucifer's sleeve. He led her away, strolling easily. She glanced up at him. "On what subject did you wish to ask my advice?"

He smiled down at her. "That was a ruse to whisk you away from Grisby."

Phyllida wondered if she should frown. "Why?"

He stopped before the French doors that opened to the terrace. "I thought you might be in need of some fresh air."

He was right; the night air outside was wonderfully balmy, warm against her skin. The terraces at Ballyclose were handsome and wide; they ran around three sides of the house. Lucifer and Phyllida strolled through the twilight.

"Are there many who were not at church last Sunday?" she asked.

"More than I'd expected. Coombe, Cedric, Appleby, Farthingale, and Grisby, and they're just the ones here tonight. If I included those not of the gentry, the list would be longer, but I'm concentrating on Horatio's peers."

"Because whoever it was struck from so close to him?"

"Precisely. More likely someone he regarded at least as an acquaintance."

"Why were you after Pommeroy? I thought he accompanied Lady Fortemain to church."

"He did. I wanted to ask if he'd spoken to Cedric or Appleby when he returned. It seems they were both out."

"Out?" Phyllida slowed. She looked at Lucifer.

He raised a brow. "What?"