Free A Fatal Waltz by TASHA ALEXANDER Page B

to assist in any way possible,” Jeremy said, “but I imagine it would be best for her to hear such grim news from another lady.”
    “Of course I’ll tell her.” The words flew from my mouth. I couldn’t imagine a more dreadful situation than having to tell your lover’s wife that her husband was dead. “Don’t worry. Do you know where can I find her?”
    “She was in the drawing room with us,” Flora said. “Embroidering a cushion.”
    “I hadn’t noticed her. She has a remarkable ability to fade away.”
    “I’ll go to her at once,” I said. “And while I do, you let Jeremy take care of you.” Her tears had slowed somewhat, and she’d rested her head on his shoulder. She was in control enough to return to the house. As for me, I felt shocked, confused, and surprisingly sad.
    Back inside, Flora and Jeremy discreetly gathered up the count and countess while I searched out Lady Fortescue, who had abandoned her embroidery for a stroll in the conservatory. I looked at her for a moment before I started to speak, knowing that her life would forever be divided between the time before and after the conversation that was to come. I can’t recall what I said, but in situations where irrevocable news changes everything in an instant, the words used to deliver it are irrelevant. She stared straight ahead,her body absolutely still. I reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, blinked, and then all at once her eyes filled with tears, and she began to sob. I stayed next to her, considering the possibility that a man, no matter how dreadful he seems to others, may be something quite different to those close to him.
     
    A N ARTIFICIAL SILENCE enshrouded us as the news spread through the house. Both Lady Fortescue and Flora had taken to their rooms, and the rest of us were speaking in whispers, as if our words could be carried along lengthy hallways and disturb the mourners’ grief. Jeremy had sent a servant to collect his things from Highwater, not wanting to leave in the midst of the confusion. Not that leaving would have been allowed.
    Lord Fortescue’s death had been no accident; he had been shot, a single bullet through the head. No bird shot and hunting rifles; the weapon in question was a dueling pistol, and had been found beneath a tree some yards from where the guns had stood, shooting for sport. The police had arrived shortly thereafter, and questioned each of us, including Robert and Ivy, whose departure had been postponed.
    “Have you noticed anything suspicious since your arrival at Beaumont Towers?” a very young and very eager inspector asked me when it was my turn to face the inquisition.
    “I was surprised to see that Mr. Harrison carries a pistol under his jacket. Lord Fortescue is—was—an enemy of his. It’s possible—”
    “Mr. Harrison’s gun was not used in the murder. Have you seen this weapon before, Lady Ashton?” He held it out for me to see.
    “Yes, yes, I have.” Without thinking, I reached out for it.
    He colored slightly and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he pulled it away from me. “When was that, ma’am?”
    “Oh, heavens, I didn’t kill Lord Fortescue. I saw the gun in its case in the library when I was…” I paused, unsure if I ought toadmit that I’d been rifling through the dead man’s possessions. “I was cataloging the art in the house.”
    “Yes, well, I’m not quite certain how that would lead you to opening a pistol case.”
    “I didn’t know what it was. I thought it might hold an artifact of some sort.”
    “Is that right?”
    “Yes.” I looked at him, holding my gaze steady. “But there was only one gun in the case. Its mate was missing. I can only assume this is it.”
    “The case is empty now,” he said.
    “Do you think that—”
    He cut me off at once. “I won’t need anything further from you at the moment, Lady Ashton. Thank you for being so candid in answering my questions.”
    Some hours later, three gentlemen from the