“Oh, indeed. They were courting for a few months, and then, according to Miss Hemphill’s brother, she unexpectedly took a trip to London. She is a member of our sewing group that meets every Tuesday at my house to sew clothing for impoverished infants. We were all quite taken by surprise at her abrupt departure.” Lady Ambrose practically drooled when she offered that piece of information.
“Lady Carlisle and Mrs. Miles.” The butler’s low voice interrupted the question Miss Everhart was about to ask to announce two new guests.
The two women, whom Amy knew from the book club, entered the drawing room, giving her an excuse to depart. She was not prepared to continue answering questions about Mr. St. Vincent’s death. If she remained here much longer, the story would grow until someone swore they had seen her plunge a knife into the man’s chest.
She stood and smoothed out her skirts. “I must leave your company, I’m afraid. I have an appointment this afternoon.” Amy moved toward Eloise and took her arm. She looked over at Aunt Margaret. “Shall I send the carriage back for you?”
“No.” Her aunt placed her teacup on the table next to her, barely finding room for it with all the ornaments and picture frames there. “I promised Lady Marlberry I would call.”
“Oh, do give the lovely lady my regards,” Mrs. Morton gushed.
“I will.”
When good-byes and the necessary kisses at the air alongside cheeks were finally over and done with, Amy, Eloise, and Aunt Margaret left the house. Fresh air had never smelled so good. Of course, the misty air wasn’t exactly fresh, but any air was better than the poisonous variety she’d been breathing for the past half hour.
“You did quite well,” Aunt Margaret said as they entered the carriage.
Eloise settled alongside her, across from Aunt Margaret. “They are a bunch of blabbering, gossipy women.” She patted Amy’s hand. “You aunt is correct. You did quite well.”
“Actually, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had anticipated. But at least I have made an appearance in public, so hopefully some of the more outlandish gossip will cease.”
The carriage started forward, and Aunt Margaret grinned at her. “Not at all, my dear. They will feast on this until long after Mr. St. Vincent’s murderer is caught and hanged.”
“Which, of course, won’t be you,” Eloise quickly pointed out.
CHAPTER 9
Amy had always looked forward to her Mystery Book Club meetings. The best times, of course, had been when they’d been reading one of her books—and no one knew the author was in the room. It had been hard sometimes when one of the members would go on about how certain they were that this or that was what the author meant when Amy knew them to be completely wrong.
She’d giggled through some explanations of a murder that were incorrect and huffed a bit when one of the members offered a criticism of her writing. For the most part, though, her fellow book club members praised her books.
Tonight, however, she was filled with trepidation at the prospect of being the center of attention, not for her writing but because of Mr. St. Vincent’s murder. There could be nothing more fascinating for a group of mystery book fans than to dissect an actual murder of a person who, while not actually from their group, nevertheless had a close relationship to one of its members. And had been found dead in her house.
After the uncomfortable call she had made that afternoon, Amy reminded herself that she could handle whatever came her way. Once the initial condolences and other nonsense were out of the way, she might hear a few opinions from these well-informed members on who may have wished to see Mr. St. Vincent dead.
With her head held high, Amy passed through the store, a sense of calm coming over her upon seeing all the books before her. She loved books, had always loved books, and could not have been happier with her budding career as an author.
She entered the back room of the establishment, a fixed smile on her face, prepared for the deluge of questions. She breathed a sigh of relief when the first person she spotted was William. He immediately broke from the group he was speaking with to greet her. “Good evening, Lady Amy.”
“Good evening to you as well, Lord Wethington.”
He took her by the hand, giving it a slight squeeze as he led her to the group he’d just left. Mr. Colbert, Mr. Davidson, Lord Temple, and Miss Sterling immediately viewed her with sympathy. “I am so sorry for your loss, Lady Amy,” Miss Sterling said.
Botheration. How very annoying this was. “Thank you, Miss Sterling. I appreciate your words; however, Mr. St. Vincent and I had parted ways before his … death.”
“Indeed?” She looked to the others in the group, a smirk on her face. “How very odd that he was murdered after you—”
“Mr. Davidson, what sort of a return did you find with that investment you told me about a month or so ago?” William jumped right in, and she blessed him for his kindheartedness. Miss Sterling, however, looked miffed, and Amy knew that despite William’s intervention, the questioning about St. Vincent had certainly not ended.
Eloise arrived on time for once and joined the small group. She also gave Amy’s hand a slight squeeze and murmured, “Has it been bad?”
Amy shook her head no as Mr. Davidson rambled on for a few minutes about his investment. She avoided looking at Miss Sterling, afraid the woman would ask more questions.
“Lady Amy.” Amy turned as Lady Carlisle hurried toward her. “I’m so glad you decided to join us tonight instead of wallowing in grief at home.”
Eloise moaned as Amy gritted her teeth. Wallowing in grief, indeed. “Good evening, Lady Carlisle. Thank you for your kind words”—please, God, forgive me for that lie—“but since Mr. St. Vincent and I were no longer betrothed, while I am regretful for his death, I don’t consider myself grieving.”
Lady Carlisle patted her hand and leaned in toward her, then gripped her arm as if to steady herself.