Chapter 2 #2
‘Sorry, Matty, I don’t,’ Fred shrugged. ‘All I ever heard was that the seconds were local and, while a physician was called, there were no bodies to show for the affair, either at the time or at any time afterwards.’
‘What would make two grown men run to the continent, if there was no murder to cover up or hide?’ Josephine mused.
‘Unless there was a murder, but Huntingly hid the body and waited until the coast was clear?’ Matilda smiled, a gleam in her eye.
‘Or they chased each other onto the continent?’ Josephine continued. ‘Where one finished the other off?’
‘Even better!’ Matilda laughed. ‘And one of them must have been injured, because the surgeon was called.’
‘What a dark and terrible tale you Fairfaxes can weave!’ Sir Francis quipped with a chuckle.
‘Though it really wasn’t as dramatic as all that.
There was no murder charge, because there was no body.
Perhaps the steward’s son was pigeon-livered and Huntingly decided to cool off in Italy or France, or some such place, and stayed longer than he intended.
Anyway, the estate was put into the hands of a manager, and Huntingly has been reliving his Oxford years abroad.
End of tragic tale.’ He turned to face the rest of the group as they reached the tall lead-framed French windows that looked directly into Knightswood’s well-stocked library.
‘And now we are back, what say we use this mood to divine our own gruesome gothic tales,’ he grinned, sweeping his arms theatrically towards the top of the lawn.
‘With the best one to be read aloud at supper?’
There was a brief silence.
‘Write a story? We’re not in the schoolroom!’ Matilda objected indignantly. ‘And you promised to play tennis. You won’t stand a chance against Jo anyway. She’s a terrible tennis player, but the best wordsmith I know.’
‘Hush, dear, poor Sir Francis really mustn’t feel cajoled into tennis,’ Josephine protested, blushing at Matilda’s compliment. ‘And I’m sure he’s a very skilled wordsmith, given his studies and travels.’
‘Pooh! Fred has done both, and he’s terrible with words, can barely string two of them together—’
‘I say, that’s a bit rich!’ Fred intervened before his reputation was shredded. ‘Though, dash it, Dashton, gothic tale writing does sound a little dark for such a bright morning! Unless you wish to, of course, Jo?’
‘Unless Josephine wishes to do what precisely?’ a dry voice interjected, stilling them all in the sunshine.
Dismayed, Josephine turned to see the library windows were slightly ajar and her eldest brother seated in his favourite high-back armchair.
From this vantage, it was easy to spy Fairfax family heritage in his silhouette; he had the same high brow, stubborn chin and thick hair, though his was by far the darkest.
‘Thomas!’ Fred exclaimed. ‘I didn’t see you lurking beside old Duke Wellington’s encyclopaedia! But don’t take any notice of our nonsense, Francis was only trying to entertain the girls with a gothic tale – but I don’t think—’
‘A gothic tale about who exactly?’ Thomas interrupted, a faint sardonic smile playing about his lips.
Josephine eyed the empty whisky tumbler on the French occasional table beside his chair warily.
‘Oh, no one in particular…’ she began.
‘Boring Lord Alistair Huntingly!’ Matilda scowled. ‘When it would be so much more fun to play tennis.’
‘Huntingly? Boring?’ Thomas laughed as he rose from his armchair and placed his newspaper beside the tumbler.
Then he sauntered forward with the all the nonchalance of a master of a large estate, with a wine cellar to match.
‘Lord Huntingly, heir to Huntingly Manor and about two hundred acres of prime Somerset countryside, is anything but boring,’ he drawled.
‘In fact, our paths crossed only last week, and I was delighted to make his better acquaintance. His years abroad have given him wisdom and bearing, so the news he is looking for a wife to help restore Huntingly Manor’s position was interesting indeed. ’
A faint chill reached through Josephine as his gaze came to rest on her, the bright May sunshine accentuating the shadows beneath his eyes. ‘Yes … perhaps tennis is the better idea,’ he concluded abruptly, turning back into the quiet gloom.
‘Finally, someone with a little sense!’ Matilda exclaimed in an entirely unruffled tone, before setting off towards the estate office, where the lawn games were stored.
Yet as Josephine followed around Knightswood’s stately front, she felt far from relieved.
A wild and rakish lord who’d just returned from the continent amid a cloud of old murderous rumours might put some brothers off, but not Thomas.
His Monstrous Marriage Masterplan had haunted them all.
He was no less determined now than he had been when Phoebe had first come of age, and there was something in his tone that made her feel most unsettled.
‘I wager Josephine and I will win three sets to love!’ Matilda grinned as she pulled open the estate office door.
The gentlemen laughed, teasing her good-naturedly, while the note of unease in Josephine’s heart intensified.
She gazed at her sister’s pretty, wilful face as she grasped the racquets and balls, and passed them out.
Matilda was the most spirited and ambitious of them all, and yet she was also the most vulnerable.
She truly believed that with enough determination, she could side-step the marriage mart altogether.
Yet her wishes would matter for nothing if Thomas received a reasonable offer for her hand.
She was a Fairfax female when all was said and done, a sister he would marry off, whether she willed it or not.
It was going to be the biggest shock, and her fierce younger sister was going to need at least one of them by her side when the time came.
‘Last one there has to pick up balls!’ Matilda called, dancing on ahead towards the grass court, while she and the gentlemen followed at a more leisurely pace.
Yet the jovial tones and joyful spring haze were at stark odds with the nature of her thoughts.
With Phoebe and Sophie focused on their own families, she was the only one left who could support Matilda through her season.
But not if Thomas resolved the problem of an older sister, who had yet to attract a single offer, first.
Josephine felt herself pale as she glanced at Sir Francis’s tall profile, conscious of the oddest mix of feelings. With three seasons under her belt, she was looking more like a costly spinster every day. Yet to arrange her marriage to a wild and infamous lord, who might just be a murderer too…
Not even Thomas would do that, would he?