every day. I think they’ll fit ye close enough.”
Emma stared dully at the rakish blue habit. There was, she noticed, even a clever little turquoise hat complete with a blue feather to go with it.
Letty emerged from the dressing room at that moment, a vision in a bright yellow gown with a low, square neckline that framed her ample bosom. She took one look at the habit and clapped her hands. “It’ll be absolutely perfect with your red hair, my dear.”
Emma realized that there was no point in attempting to stave off the next disaster. There was nothing for it but to ride out and listen to yet another employer dismiss her.
One would assume that sooner or later one would grow accustomed to being sacked, she thought glumly.
Forty minutes later she allowed herself to be assisted into a sidesaddle. She took up the reins, relieved to note that the dainty mare the groom had selected for her appeared quite docile. She feared her skills would prove rusty. She had not ridden since long before Granny Greyson had died.
Edison chose a sleek bay gelding. He vaulted easily into the saddle and led the way out of the yard. He took the path that penetrated the dense woods that ringed the castle.
Within minutes they were deep in the forest gloom.
Fuming, Emma waited for him to bring up the inevitable subject. But he said nothing as they rode deeper into the woods. He seemed intent on his own thoughts.
Under any other circumstances she would have welcomed the opportunity to ride. The morning had dawned bright and clear. She could not deny that it was a great relief to get away from Ware Castle for a while.
She tried for an optimistic view of her situation. Onthe bright side, she was not in any immediate danger of hanging.
The alibi Edison had provided had some undeniable drawbacks in terms of her career, but it had accomplished what he had intended it to accomplish. She was above suspicion so far as the local magistrate was concerned. He might not believe her story, but there was very little he could do about that.
The village authorities had probably already given up any hope of solving the crime, Emma thought. It was virtually impossible to force the high-ranking members of the ton to answer questions in such matters unless they chose to do so or unless there was hard evidence of guilt.
Emma had a strong suspicion that the servants at Ware Castle were not the only ones who had concluded that she was the one who had killed Chilton Crane. She had seen the avid speculation in the eyes of Ware’s guests. None of them would attempt to contest her alibi, of course. That would amount to calling Edison a liar, and she doubted that anyone would be fool enough to take such a risk.
But their respectful wariness of Edison would not keep the jaded members of the ton from forming their own opinions, just as the castle staff had. She could only hope that no one had liked Chilton Crane well enough to try to seek revenge.
Unable to abide the suspense a moment longer, Emma rounded on Edison. “Just who do you think murdered Mr. Crane, sir?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “The identity of the killer is not important.”
“Good God, sir, you think I shot him, don’t you?”
“As I said, it’s not important. By the bye, I had a word with the housekeeper. She does not know who sent themaid to your room with the tea tray. The instructions arrived in the kitchens via a note. It was unsigned.”
“I see.” Emma was in no mood to concern herself with irrelevant details. “I suppose you have already heard that I am no longer in Lady Mayfield’s employ,” she said bluntly.
Edison glanced at her with an expression of mild surprise. “I had not heard that you had left your post.”
“I did not leave it voluntarily, sir. I was summarily dismissed.”
“Not surprising.” Edison’s mouth twitched. “Lady Mayfield is hardly likely to employ my fiancée as a paid companion.”
Emma’s hands tightened abruptly on the reins. The
Emma stared dully at the rakish blue habit. There was, she noticed, even a clever little turquoise hat complete with a blue feather to go with it.
Letty emerged from the dressing room at that moment, a vision in a bright yellow gown with a low, square neckline that framed her ample bosom. She took one look at the habit and clapped her hands. “It’ll be absolutely perfect with your red hair, my dear.”
Emma realized that there was no point in attempting to stave off the next disaster. There was nothing for it but to ride out and listen to yet another employer dismiss her.
One would assume that sooner or later one would grow accustomed to being sacked, she thought glumly.
Forty minutes later she allowed herself to be assisted into a sidesaddle. She took up the reins, relieved to note that the dainty mare the groom had selected for her appeared quite docile. She feared her skills would prove rusty. She had not ridden since long before Granny Greyson had died.
Edison chose a sleek bay gelding. He vaulted easily into the saddle and led the way out of the yard. He took the path that penetrated the dense woods that ringed the castle.
Within minutes they were deep in the forest gloom.
Fuming, Emma waited for him to bring up the inevitable subject. But he said nothing as they rode deeper into the woods. He seemed intent on his own thoughts.
Under any other circumstances she would have welcomed the opportunity to ride. The morning had dawned bright and clear. She could not deny that it was a great relief to get away from Ware Castle for a while.
She tried for an optimistic view of her situation. Onthe bright side, she was not in any immediate danger of hanging.
The alibi Edison had provided had some undeniable drawbacks in terms of her career, but it had accomplished what he had intended it to accomplish. She was above suspicion so far as the local magistrate was concerned. He might not believe her story, but there was very little he could do about that.
The village authorities had probably already given up any hope of solving the crime, Emma thought. It was virtually impossible to force the high-ranking members of the ton to answer questions in such matters unless they chose to do so or unless there was hard evidence of guilt.
Emma had a strong suspicion that the servants at Ware Castle were not the only ones who had concluded that she was the one who had killed Chilton Crane. She had seen the avid speculation in the eyes of Ware’s guests. None of them would attempt to contest her alibi, of course. That would amount to calling Edison a liar, and she doubted that anyone would be fool enough to take such a risk.
But their respectful wariness of Edison would not keep the jaded members of the ton from forming their own opinions, just as the castle staff had. She could only hope that no one had liked Chilton Crane well enough to try to seek revenge.
Unable to abide the suspense a moment longer, Emma rounded on Edison. “Just who do you think murdered Mr. Crane, sir?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “The identity of the killer is not important.”
“Good God, sir, you think I shot him, don’t you?”
“As I said, it’s not important. By the bye, I had a word with the housekeeper. She does not know who sent themaid to your room with the tea tray. The instructions arrived in the kitchens via a note. It was unsigned.”
“I see.” Emma was in no mood to concern herself with irrelevant details. “I suppose you have already heard that I am no longer in Lady Mayfield’s employ,” she said bluntly.
Edison glanced at her with an expression of mild surprise. “I had not heard that you had left your post.”
“I did not leave it voluntarily, sir. I was summarily dismissed.”
“Not surprising.” Edison’s mouth twitched. “Lady Mayfield is hardly likely to employ my fiancée as a paid companion.”
Emma’s hands tightened abruptly on the reins. The
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