On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"True. But I've never heard a whisper about murder before. It's always been something about his amorous propensities."

"Indeed, but given those are real enough, it's possible the murder was always there, but those warning us declined to sully our delicate ears with the tale."

"That, unfortunately, is perfectly likely."

"So I need to learn the truth as society sees it. I can't pretend I'm willing to throw my cap over the windmill regardless of his status-he won't accept that." Amanda looked around. "The question is: who to ask?"

"Aunt Helena?"

"She'll see straight thro

ugh me, and might warn Mama."

"I should think Honoria would be difficult for the same reason."

"And it was ten years ago-I don't think Honoria would know."

Amelia joined Amanda in assessing the company. "Not so easy. You need someone who would know the details of such an old scandal-"

"Details that would have been at least partly suppressed."

"And they need to remember accurately."

"Indeed…" Amanda stopped, her gaze resting on the one person who might well be the perfect source.

Amelia followed her gaze, nodded decisively. "Yes. If anyone can help, she's the one."

"And she's far less likely to thrust a spoke in my wheel." Amanda set off across the ballroom, evading all those who wanted to chat. She had to wait, hovering beside the chaise, until a matron who'd been seeking support for her daughter's come-out departed.

Quickly, Amanda took her place, skirts swishing as she sat.

Lady Osbaldestone bent her obsidian gaze upon her, regarding her with considerably greater interest than she had the earnest matron. "Well, gel? You ain't pregnant, are you?"

Amanda stared, then stated, commendably evenly, "No."

"Ah, well-daresay there's hope yet."

Amanda grabbed her courage with both hands. "As to that… I wanted to ask if you recalled the details of an old scandal." The black eyes fixed on her face with unnerving intensity.

"How old?"

"Ten years."

Lady Osbaldestone's eyes narrowed. "Dexter," she pronounced.

Amanda jumped.

"Good God, gel! Don't tell me you've succeeded where all others have failed?"

She was torn between claiming the crown and denying all knowledge. "Possibly," she temporized. "But I was wondering about the scandal. All we ever heard was he seduced some girl who then killed herself, but I've learned there was a murder involved."

"Learned that, have you? From whom, I wonder? There wouldn't be many ready to bandy that fact about."

"Oh?" She made her expression as innocently inquiring as she could.

Lady Osbaldestone snorted. "Very well-the real tale, then, as you seem to have a need to know. What the ton heard was that Dexter seduced a local girl-the family estate is in the Peak district. The gel fell pregnant, but rather than send to Dexter, she told her father, a religious sort. The father hounded her-she ended taking her own life. Dexter heard of it on his next visit home. He set out to look for the gel's father, and, so we heard, murdered him, then stupidly stood around until the villagers found him.

"Old Dexter-the present one's father-was horrifed. He would have disowned his son, but the title and estate would have reverted to the crown. Add to that, the countess doted on her son-her one and only chick-and Dexter doted on his countess. Letting the lad stand his trial was out of the question, at least, it was in those days. So he was banished while his father lived. That was what we in London heard." Lady Osbaldestone folded her hands over her ample waist. "What we believed… that's another matter."