newspapers.
But what if Anthony was right about Hastings also being a murderer? Now there was a piece of journalism that would send shock waves through the Polite World, not to mention the rest of the country. Her pulse kicked up at the prospect of bringing a killer to justice.
AN HOUR LATER FAMILIAR, brisk footsteps sounded in the hall, then a short, forceful knock on the library door.
“Come in, Emma,” she called.
The door opened. Emma, Lady Ashton, strode into the room. Emma never simply walked or strolled; she was a strider. A large, no-nonsense woman fashioned like a Grecian statue, she possessed a unique view of the world.
Today she wore a comfortably styled bronze gown. Her silver-gray hair was knotted in a tight twist at the back of her head. At sixty-three she was still a handsome woman. She was also an extremely formidable one. After losing her husband at an early age, Emma had defied convention and set out to see the world. When she eventually returned to England, her wealth, combined with her breeding and social connections, had enabled her to resume her natural place in the Polite World.
A little over a year ago she had consulted with an agency that supplied paid companions and governesses. Emma planned to write her memoirs. She wanted to employ a lady of good character and sound education who possessed modern opinions to assist her in the project.
She had gone through half a dozen ladies of good character and sound education who claimed to possess modern opinions before, in absolute desperation, the agency had sent over their newest applicant. Louisa and Emma had hit it off from their very first meeting.
“We shall put it about that you are a distant relative,” Emma decreed over tea. “That way you will be treated with more respect than if it were known that you were my paid companion and secretary.”
By the time Emma discovered that Louisa met only two of the three requirements that had been stipulated to the agency she was quite prepared to overlook the missing qualifications.
Louisa would never forget Emma’s verdict. It had come in the wake of a particularly bad nightmare, one that had left Louisa shattered and vulnerable. When Emma had offered comfort, Louisa had broken down, weeping, and related what happened the night she brained Lord Gavin with a poker.
The need to confide her dreadful secret to her friend had been overwhelming. She knew Emma well enough by then to be aware that her benefactress was unlikely to call the police. Emma did hold extremely modern opinions, after all. She had believed Louisa’s version of events. Nevertheless, who wanted a murderess living in their household?
After Louisa poured out her secret and apologized for the deception, she braced herself for dismissal. Instead, Emma had patted her on the shoulder and said, “Never mind, dear. The value of a good character is vastly overrated in my opinion.”
“GOOD MORNING, LOUISA.” Emma crossed the study to warm herself in front of the fire. “You’re up rather early, considering that you did not get home until quite late last night. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
Louisa put down her pen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Emma moved to stand in front of the desk. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “My, my. Anthony Stalbridge. When I got your message from the footman, you could have toppled me with a feather.”
“I seriously doubt that. Nothing could topple you, Emma.”
“Of all the gentlemen you might have run off with last night, Stalbridge strikes me as far and away the most intriguing of the lot.”
Louisa flushed. “It wasn’t what you think, Emma. Mr. Stalbridge and I encountered each other under somewhat unusual circumstances.”
“The best sort, I always say.”
“I found him waiting for me in the hall outside Hastings’s bedroom.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Good heavens.”
“He came to the rescue when one of Hastings’s hired guards attempted
But what if Anthony was right about Hastings also being a murderer? Now there was a piece of journalism that would send shock waves through the Polite World, not to mention the rest of the country. Her pulse kicked up at the prospect of bringing a killer to justice.
AN HOUR LATER FAMILIAR, brisk footsteps sounded in the hall, then a short, forceful knock on the library door.
“Come in, Emma,” she called.
The door opened. Emma, Lady Ashton, strode into the room. Emma never simply walked or strolled; she was a strider. A large, no-nonsense woman fashioned like a Grecian statue, she possessed a unique view of the world.
Today she wore a comfortably styled bronze gown. Her silver-gray hair was knotted in a tight twist at the back of her head. At sixty-three she was still a handsome woman. She was also an extremely formidable one. After losing her husband at an early age, Emma had defied convention and set out to see the world. When she eventually returned to England, her wealth, combined with her breeding and social connections, had enabled her to resume her natural place in the Polite World.
A little over a year ago she had consulted with an agency that supplied paid companions and governesses. Emma planned to write her memoirs. She wanted to employ a lady of good character and sound education who possessed modern opinions to assist her in the project.
She had gone through half a dozen ladies of good character and sound education who claimed to possess modern opinions before, in absolute desperation, the agency had sent over their newest applicant. Louisa and Emma had hit it off from their very first meeting.
“We shall put it about that you are a distant relative,” Emma decreed over tea. “That way you will be treated with more respect than if it were known that you were my paid companion and secretary.”
By the time Emma discovered that Louisa met only two of the three requirements that had been stipulated to the agency she was quite prepared to overlook the missing qualifications.
Louisa would never forget Emma’s verdict. It had come in the wake of a particularly bad nightmare, one that had left Louisa shattered and vulnerable. When Emma had offered comfort, Louisa had broken down, weeping, and related what happened the night she brained Lord Gavin with a poker.
The need to confide her dreadful secret to her friend had been overwhelming. She knew Emma well enough by then to be aware that her benefactress was unlikely to call the police. Emma did hold extremely modern opinions, after all. She had believed Louisa’s version of events. Nevertheless, who wanted a murderess living in their household?
After Louisa poured out her secret and apologized for the deception, she braced herself for dismissal. Instead, Emma had patted her on the shoulder and said, “Never mind, dear. The value of a good character is vastly overrated in my opinion.”
“GOOD MORNING, LOUISA.” Emma crossed the study to warm herself in front of the fire. “You’re up rather early, considering that you did not get home until quite late last night. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
Louisa put down her pen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Emma moved to stand in front of the desk. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “My, my. Anthony Stalbridge. When I got your message from the footman, you could have toppled me with a feather.”
“I seriously doubt that. Nothing could topple you, Emma.”
“Of all the gentlemen you might have run off with last night, Stalbridge strikes me as far and away the most intriguing of the lot.”
Louisa flushed. “It wasn’t what you think, Emma. Mr. Stalbridge and I encountered each other under somewhat unusual circumstances.”
“The best sort, I always say.”
“I found him waiting for me in the hall outside Hastings’s bedroom.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Good heavens.”
“He came to the rescue when one of Hastings’s hired guards attempted
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