Free Emerald Garden by Andrea Kane

parents and Brandi’s father. So how could he expect Brandi to endure that knowledge? And what answers could he provide to her questions, when the authorities themselves were stymied?
    For over an hour, Glovers had grilled him and Desmond, each minute of the arduous interrogation leading to the same unanswerable questions:
    Who had tampered with the Colverton carriage?
    Who was the intended victim: Kenton, Pamela, or Ardsley?
    And the most heinous question of all: why?
    Utterly baffled, Glovers had taken his leave, no closer to the truth than when he’d arrived. After which, Quentin and Desmond, both dazed and drained, had retired to their separate bedchambers, each needing to deal privately with his own shock and grief.
    Dawn had found them both in the dining room, hunched over cups of black coffee, their thoughts consumed with what they’d learned.
    “I’m riding to London to relay the authorities’ findings to Hendrick,” Desmond had announced. “You’re due at Emerald Manor, are you not?”
    “Yes. At ten.”
    Desmond had cleared his throat, and Quentin awaited the anticipated request. “Then would you do me the favor of breaking the news to Brandice? I’d go myself, but …”
    “I’ll tell her, Desmond.” With renewed distaste, Quentin broke in, providing just the answer he knew his brother sought.
    Sure enough, relief flashed clearly on Desmond’s face. “Thank you.” He rose, tossing his napkin to the table. “I’d best be off then. Please tell Brandice I’m thinking of her.”
    Thinking of her.
    Quentin had watched Desmond go, reminded that, despite yesterday’s fervent allegations of his commitment to Brandi, Desmond was the same shallow man he’d always been, avoiding emotional involvement at all costs. But then, how could someone totally lacking in compassion offer compassion to another?
    In this case, it mattered not, for Quentin could envision no one but himself shouldering the responsibility of conveying this devastating news to his Sunbeam.
    But, dear Lord, how would she take it? She was already teetering at the brink of emotional collapse. How could he tell her that Ardsley’s death was not at fate’s hands but at a murderer’s?
    Pausing, Quentin raised his head, staring numbly across Emerald Manor s fragrant flower beds, for once oblivious to the cottage’s unique tranquility.
    “Quentin.” Brandi opened the front door herself and walked down the path to meet him. Clad in a simple muslin gown of Devonshire brown, her glorious hair tied back with a matching ribbon, Brandi looked very young and even more vulnerable.
    Quentin felt a knife twist in his gut.
    “You’re right on time,” she greeted, tilting her head back to gaze up at him. “Are you prepared to be defeated yet again?”
    Unfooled by her lighthearted banter, Quentin scrutinized the tiny lines of sleeplessness about her eyes, the pale cast to her skin. Abruptly, he made a decision.
    He’d inform Brandi of Glovers’s revelation— after their shooting match. At least he could give her an hour of joy, a brief chance to forget, before he shattered whatever emotional reserves she had left.
    “Is something wrong?” Brandi asked quizzically. She cast a self-conscious look at her gown. “Should I be wearing black? I thought—given Papa’s aversion to mourning—that dark brown would be …”
    “You look lovely,” Quentin interrupted. “And you should most definitely not be wearing black. Your grief is worn where it matters—in your heart. Neither Ardsley nor my parents would want it any other way.”
    “Then you don’t think our shooting match is disrespectful?”
    He shook his head. “I think we should let Emerald Manor offer us the solace our parents wished for us.”
    Brandi smiled. “Very well, then.” Visibly appeased, she reached beneath her hem, extracting the twin to Quentin’s pistol. “I’m prepared to emerge victorious yet again.”
    A corner of Quentin’s mouth lifted. “You’ve become