Free Death Comes to London by Catherine Lloyd Page A

Major!” She hesitated. “Although it does seem unfair that Miss Chingford might have to bear the stigma of causing another’s death through no fault of her own. Lady Bentley might be considered equally to blame.”
    “Miss Chingford has a family to protect her, and this ‘scandal’ will be forgotten as soon as someone else in society does something untoward—and you can guarantee they will.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” Miss Harrington said. “Is the Broughton family receiving visitors? Mayhap you could take us back with you to offer our condolences.”
    “I suspect Broughton is still too unwell to receive anyone, but I will pass on your regards and your request.” He rose to his feet and leaned hard on his cane to regain his rocky balance. “I’ll call when I have more news on the patient.”
    Miss Harrington stood, too. “I’ll come down the stairs with you, Major, if I may. I have to speak to the butler.”
    She followed him out, slowing her pace to allow him time to get down the stairs. In the hallway he paused to pick up his hat from the table and turned to find her still studying him.
    “How is your leg bearing up?”
    He scowled at her. “It’s perfectly fine. The cold air just makes it a little stiff in the mornings.”
    She nodded. “Ask Foley to rub some warm oil into your skin every night. It will help relieve the pain.”
    “As if I’d let Foley anywhere near my leg,” he snapped. “I’m perfectly fine, Miss Harrington, and no longer trapped in my bed where you can bully me.”
    She folded her hands and looked at him. “Have you ever noticed that you become far more difficult whenever you are in pain? I have, and that is the only reason why I am willing to forgive your offensive tone.”
    He rammed his hat on his head and saluted her. “Good day, Miss Harrington.”
    Turning to the door, he made his halting way across the marbled hall.
    Her voice followed him. “If you don’t want Foley massaging your leg, ask him for a hot cloth to place over your thigh.”
    “Damned interfering woman,” Robert muttered as he barely managed the steps outside without falling. The fact that a hot compress on his leg sounded vastly appealing simply made matters worse. She had no right to dictate to him.
    His temper remained sour on his journey back to Broughton House and was not improved when he was immediately asked to go up and meet the countess in her morning parlor. All he wanted was a hot bath and a shot of brandy to help withstand the pulsing agony in his thigh. He was due at Carlton House later, so he couldn’t even put himself to bed.
    The countess was alone in the small morning room. The velvet curtains remained shut, leaving the room in half darkness. As his hostess had also chosen to don a black gown, it was difficult to see her clearly. Robert bowed and remained standing in front of her chair.
    “Lady Broughton, how may I help you?” He hesitated. “If you wish me to return to my hotel in this time of sorrow, I will leave immediately.”
    “Oh no, please don’t go.” The countess brought out her handkerchief and inwardly Robert tensed. Dealing with crying females was one of his least favorite occupations. “With Broughton sick, and Oliver disappeared, you are the only man I can turn to.”
    “Oliver has disappeared? ”
    “Well, I have no notion where he is, and his bed wasn’t slept in last night.”
    “Does he even know that his grandmother died? I seem to remember him leaving the ball before anything occurred. Perhaps he is staying at an acquaintance’s house and has no idea what is going on.” He paused. “Do you wish me to inquire?”
    “That’s very kind of you, but Oliver isn’t my main concern.”
    “Then, how may I help you?”
    The countess dabbed at her pale cheeks. “The stupid new physician that Broughton insisted should replace our old one declares that Broughton might have been poisoned!”
    “Poisoned?”
    “Yes, I know it’s ridiculous, isn’t