Free A Winter Wedding by Amanda Forester Page A

had been so irritable this morning.
    “Forgive me,” said Penelope, “but who is to be the groom?”
    The dowager looked at Pen as if she were daft. “Why, Lord Langley of course.”
    “But you and he are always fighting,” observed Penelope.
    “So true. You see we are already acting like a married couple.”
    “Marriage, Grandmother? Why marriage?” Marchford’s voice was strained.
    “The thing to do,” said Antonia lightly.
    “At your age, I think it would be the thing not to do,” accused Marchford.
    Antonia’s eyes flashed. “Are you insinuating you think me old?”
    “No, not at all.” He wisely disappeared behind his newspaper with an irritated shuffle.
    “So you are going to marry the Earl of Langley?” Penelope was still struggling to make herself clear on the facts. “The same Lord Langley who broke your engagement so many years ago?”
    Antonia looked down her regal nose. The remembrance was not appreciated. “Yes, indeed. He may be unworthy of me, but I will have him just the same.” There was something definitely malicious twinkling in her eye. “Now I must dash. Langley will be coming by to take me riding in Hyde Park.”
    “Riding in this weather?” asked Penelope.
    “Oh yes, for I have it on good authority that the Comtesse de Marseille does a morning constitutional in the park in her curricle.” She glanced down at a rather large emerald surrounded with smaller diamonds on her finger. “A shame I cannot wear this outside my glove. Ah, well, can’t be helped. No need to come with me Penelope.” She paused as if seeing Pen for the first time. “What are you wearing?”

Eight
    Penelope decided to pay an early call on her friend Genie Grant. She wished to know how her friend had survived the shock of the night before. Genie had been married to the affable Mr. Grant for less than a year, and this had been her first great soiree, supposedly establishing herself as an accomplished hostess. Instead, her home was the scene of a murder.
    Besides, Penelope needed an escape from Marchford House. The atmosphere between the dowager and Marchford had grown so chilly, going outside in the sleet was a welcome relief.
    “Oh, thank you for coming!” Genie rushed to Penelope and held both her hands.
    “I was not sure if you were seeing visitors.”
    “Oh, I’m not. But you are my friend.” Genie gave her a smile that was truly lovely. She was a stunning girl with blond hair and blue eyes, a great beauty, but so unconscious of her looks that her disposition remained sweet. She was a rare creature, beautiful both within and without.
    Penelope smiled in return. She was no great beauty and knew it perfectly well, but Genie was so kind Pen could not begrudge Genie her looks.
    “Come. Sit. I’ll ring for tea and cakes. What a dreadful business with the footman. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to kill him. He seemed such a likable fellow.” Genie motioned for Pen to sit next to her on the settee.
    “I fear he may have been connected with some underhanded doings,” said Penelope.
    Genie shook her head and clasped her hands over her enlarging midsection. A happy event for the Grant household was clearly in the works. “So sad. I have heard there are spies among us, but why would anyone target this household? Surely they know Grant is not privy to any information they could want.”
    “I don’t know either. Grant is a friend of Marchford’s. It may be enough to put him under suspicion. I suppose the agents from the Foreign Office were here to ask questions.”
    “Yes, they spoke with the housekeeper and the butler. Can you imagine, they believe the references he provided were forged?” Genie spoke as if faking a reference were the worst thing she could imagine.
    “Shocking,” agreed Pen, though she could imagine things far worse. “I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on your footman so we may untangle this mystery.”
    “Indeed, we must find who killed him. I shudder