The Bolingbroke Chit: A Regency Romance by Lynn Messina Page B

her surprise only surpassed by her disbelief. Miss Lavinia Harlow a murderess! The idea was preposterous. Without question, she and her sister were intolerable, with their smug condescension and unconventional behavior and their reckless disregard for the good opinion of the ton.
    She could, she supposed if she stretched her imagination, believe it of Emma, for she was wild, selfish and had seemed many times during her career as if she were careening toward a great disaster. But even then, Agatha could not bring herself to believe it would have been anything other than an accident, one of the many unforeseen outcomes of a rash adventure.
    Surely, the letter was a joke.
    “Where did you say the note came from?” Agatha asked.
    Ellen, who was in the process of hanging up her dress, glanced over and noted the sudden alertness in her mistress’s eyes. “Is something wrong, miss?”
    Although Agatha did not know the answer to the question, she shook her head. “No, I’m just curious about its origins. Was it delivered in the usual fashion?”
    “Under the mat at Mrs. Bi—um, under the usual mat. As you know, my father checks regularly for notes, regardless of whether he delivers a drawing. That missive was waiting for him this morning.” She furrowed her brow as she saw the frown on Agatha’s face. “Are you sure nothing is amiss?”
    Agatha flipped over the sheet of paper thoughtfully and noted that it was much better quality than the sort regularly used by Mrs. Biddle. It was also larger than the narrow strips of paper the shop owner could afford.
    Clearly, this letter did not originate with the frugal Mrs. Biddle. Nor, for that matter, did it come from a simple, humble farmer. There was plenty of that ilk on her family’s estate in Kent, and none employed the word unimpeachable. Indeed, even if they did use it in everyday speech, they wouldn’t know how to spell it. Agatha herself would most likely get it wrong.
    No, this letter clearly came from a gentleman of some education and wealth. The fact that he left it under the mat at Mrs. Biddle’s indicated that he did not know her true identity and had been genuine in his attempt to communicate with Holyroodhouse. But to what end? Was his motive as straightforward as he said? Did he simply want to bring a villain to justice? More to the point: Did he truly believe that someone like her, a mere caricaturist with a perceptive pen, had the ability to bring someone to justice? She certainly did not feel as though she had that power.
    Agatha folded the note and laid it under her pillow. “All is well, Ellen. I’m just fatigued. There is a new drawing for your father to deliver. I’ve left it on my table in the studio.”
    “Very good, miss,” Ellen said as she smoothed a final wrinkle on the gown and carried it to the dressing room. “Sleep well.”
    Agatha closed her eyes, but she was too busy trying to decipher the mystery of the anonymous letter to drift softly to sleep. As a general rule, she did not like puzzles because they were just distractions. Her mother frequently tried to whet her interest with teasing hints about upcoming events. But this mystery was irresistible. Obviously, she did not believe the information to be true, but try as she might, she could not bring herself to dismiss it entirely, for what motive could someone have to lay such an evil charge against Miss Harlow. Surely, there must be a sliver of truth somewhere for the suggestion to have emerged at all.
    Her thoughts returned to the idea of an accident. Perhaps Miss Harlow did not intend any actual harm but inflicted it by mistake. That seemed much more likely than the premeditation the letter insinuated.
    The question then became, what had Miss Harlow done that resulted in death? In what horrifying manner had the man died if not by overtightening the stays in his corset and unintentionally suffocating himself? Surely, the universally accepted explanation of his demise was a clue in itself,