Chapter 3 #3
The room had remained silent since their arrival.
No one had spoken, each woman wrapped in her own thoughts, the terrible events of the morning forming an invisible weight over them all.
Lily winced inwardly, remembering that she had talked her way into this gathering on the promise of offering comfort and help. She had to try.
“I … quite enjoy a cup of exotic tea,” she began, her voice soft but steady.
“I especially like mine with milk, and one of those dainty biscuits that Cook makes. Do you know the ones I mean, Sophia? They have a hint of lemon, and you can eat them in just two bites … They are as light as clouds. One day, it would be such a wonder to journey to the Far East and see fields and fields of green tea, stretching out as far as the eye can see.”
The duchess tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening in surprise at Lily’s unexpected monologue. But then her shoulders gave a small almost-imperceptible shift, as though she were easing the weight of her grief just slightly.
“I have often wondered about the lands where tea is grown,” Her Grace said quietly.
“What would acres of fresh, growing tea smell like, I wonder? We only ever see the fragrant dried leaves sealed in a tea chest after they have traveled months across the sea. This tea”—she lifted her cup gently—“was grown in India, visited Africa in transit, and arrived half a world away in London so that we might drink it while we speak of such terrible things.”
Sophia turned back from the window, her curiosity apparent as she looked between the duchess and Lily. Accepting a cup of tea, she murmured, “This tea is a tale from another world. It allows us to journey farther than we may ever travel ourselves.”
Lily picked up her own cup and sipped, savoring the variety of notes while imagining the leaves’ voyage.
She was content to have offered some comfort, however small.
The three of them sat quietly, drinking their tea, until Lily extended the saucer of biscuits.
The duchess accepted one, and Lily was pleased to see that Her Grace and Sophia seemed more grounded now, breathing in the fragrant steam as they nibbled on the light confections.
“I wanted to thank you . . . for being here with me,” the duchess said softly. “My father and I were never close, but the loss still comes as a shock.”
Sophia reached out, placing a steady hand over the duchess’s. “Of course, Annabel. We shall always stand beside you when you need us.”
“If I am honest, I grieve not so much for what we shared as father and daughter,” Annabel murmured, lowering her gaze. “I think … I mourn what we shall never share. He was a hard man to please, and time spent with him always felt like effort. He never truly appreciated his family.”
Lily bit her lip, surprised at such a private admission. It made her feel distinctly grown-up to be included in so intimate a conversation. “I am so sorry. Papa is everything a daughter could ask for. He protects and dotes on us.”
Sophia nodded solemnly. “Lord Moreland has been a better father to me than my own ever was. I regret that the baron never recognized how fortunate he was to have such an accomplished daughter.”
The duchess offered a faint smile, the corner of her lips quirking up. “Fortunately, I have a wonderful brother.”
Lily coughed gently. “I suppose Mr. Ridley is the baron now.”
The duchess blinked, sitting straighter. “I had not thought of that. That is a great deal of responsibility to shoulder with so little preparation.”
“The duke will guide him through it. And Richard will help, too,” Sophia said with quiet conviction. The strength in her tone brought comfort, and Lily felt a swell of satisfaction that her attempt to brighten the mood had succeeded.
Just then, the door opened. Lily turned, her eyes widening as the men entered. Their grim expressions immediately dampened the room’s warmth. The duke crossed the space and lowered his long frame beside his wife with a weary sigh.
“Lily Billy,” Richard whispered in greeting as he passed, settling beside Sophia. Lily gave him a wink, raising a faint smile from the otherwise solemn earl.
Mr. Ridley entered last, his features drawn. He lowered himself into the chair nearest Lily, and despite the gravity of the moment, a tiny thrill fluttered in her chest at being seated so near such a striking gentleman.
In his upper twenties, he had chestnut curls to match the duchess.
They also shared those riveting brandy eyes, but Mr. Ridley was a man through and through, with his lean frame, broad shoulders, and chiseled jaw.
He scraped six feet, which meant he towered over her dainty form, and she could not help but wonder what it would be like to waltz with such a fine specimen of manhood rather than the doddery old men she was usually required to dance with.
“That Mr. Grimes is pugnacious and unlikeable,” Richard grumbled after several moments.
Sophia frowned at her husband in question.
“I believe he will pursue Ridley for this murder.”
“I agree,” the duke said gravely. “I spoke privately with Briggs before he left, and he said it is imperative that we find an alibi. Apparently, Grimes has political ambitions and little affection for the aristocracy. Worse still, the little upstart has powerful friends in the House of Commons, so this could turn into a proper fight despite Brendan’s connection to me.
” His tone conveyed his concern as he accepted a cup of tea from his wife and sipped.
“Who is Grimes?” the duchess asked, her voice tinged with alarm.
“The coroner,” the duke answered simply.
Mr. Ridley groaned. “Why me?”
Richard puffed in disgust. “Why not you? Grimes sees an opportunity to make a name for himself by bringing the first peer in sixty years to the scaffold. Your father has been absent from Town for two decades, so it is easy for Grimes to claim you are the only man with a motive. The narrative writes itself—estranged heir murders peer in a fit of rage to claim the title and fortune. We must find an alibi to force him to look elsewhere, or we shall have a true battle on our hands.”
Lily realized her presence had been forgotten, or perhaps accepted, when the conversation continued openly in front of her. Had she become a confidante in this tight circle of friends? Either way, she would not ruin it by reminding them she was present.
Mr. Ridley sighed heavily. “The lady in question will never agree to come forward, and I cannot name her without her permission.”
“Can you speak with her?” Richard asked.
“Not without revealing her identity under the current circumstances. There is a possibility that Grimes will have me under observation.”
Lily peeked over at him, noting the pallor of his face.
She bit her lip, debating whether to confess that she had witnessed him arriving at and later leaving Lady Slight’s home.
But what weight would the word of a young debutante carry, especially one who had been up reading until dawn in the drawing room?
“What if someone else saw you arrive … or leave?” Lily almost clapped a hand over her mouth at her own audacity, speaking in a room full of powerful peers. But she held her hands firmly together to resist the urge.
Mr. Ridley tilted his head, glancing at the duke, who shook his head. “It would not resolve the matter. A bystander could not attest that Brendan was there the entire time. It would have to be the lady.”
“Or, perhaps, her servants?” the gentleman offered, a flush rising from Mr. Ridley’s collar and spreading to the tips of his ears, which turned a fiery red.
Lily puzzled at the reaction until she recalled that he had been at Lady Slight’s, but the widow had not yet returned.
Presumably, he did not wish to admit his paramour had abandoned him all evening, which was why he was now considering the servants instead.
“I suppose the woman in question would need to be agreeable, or her servants will not come forward,” the duke replied, his tone marked with pessimism.
Lily stared down at her hands, trying to think of a solution.
She knew Mr. Ridley had been at Lady Slight’s the entire evening, but young ladies like her were practically invisible until they wed.
And she could not attest for certain that Mr. Ridley had not left Lady Slight’s in the middle of the night.
Only Lady Slight’s servants could confirm that, and they would only do so with the widow’s permission.
If Lily admitted her knowledge, it was certain her cousin would dissuade her from becoming involved to protect her from a scandal that might affect her eligibility for a good marriage. But if Mr. Ridley could not request help, perhaps Lily could visit Lady Slight and entreat the widow to intervene?
Not, she suspected, if she forewarned the others of her idea. And Mr. Ridley clearly did not wish to reveal the widow’s identity. Conferring with him in private would be impossible, and regardless, he would likely decline her offer to assist him.
“So Mr. Grimes means to pursue formal charges against Brendan?” the duchess’s voice was even, but thick, and Lily suspected she was on the verge of tears.
“I think it is possible. Briggs is questioning the servants, but so far none of them have confirmed they let Brendan in this morning. Even so, I believe an alibi is the only certain method to have Grimes move on to find the true murderer.”
“What happens if he arrests me?” Mr. Ridley sounded haggard with worry.
“You will likely be taken into custody and …” The duke stopped, looking away with a pained expression.
“And?” Her Grace queried.
Sophia responded reluctantly, stating what each of them was thinking.
“In the last century, the Earl of Ferrers was imprisoned in the Tower and then condemned to death by the Lords for killing his agent. If Mr. Ridley is tried and found guilty of murdering a peer of the realm …” The countess bowed her head, the room descending into silence, with only a low sniffle from the duchess to acknowledge the dire nature of her brother’s predicament.
To Lily’s right, Mr. Ridley dropped his head into his hands with a groan. “So I am to be arrested, tried, and hanged on the assumption that I am guilty?”
His anguish was palpable. Unlike earlier, Lily did not think her babbling would lighten the mood. She had never been involved in such a grave conversation and felt woefully out of her depth, afraid she had nothing useful to offer. Perhaps she was a silly child, after all.
Her frustration rose to engulf her body, a physical sensation that made her skin itch. She finally had a chance to participate in a mature matter, and she found herself speechless. Even so, if it would help Mr. Ridley out of his predicament, she would stand as a witness.
But the witness they needed was not her.
It was the widow.
I must find a way to help the duchess and her brother!