One Last Promise_Clean and Wholesome Regency Romance_Martha by Amy Corwin

Author:Amy Corwin [Corwin, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scarsdale Publishing, Ltd
Published: 2018-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Sighing with relief, Quinton watched Lady Honore drift away, having remembered an errand she had to run. He glanced toward the staircase. Martha might still be upstairs, questioning the other women. Setting foot on the bottom step, he looked over his shoulder at the sound of a footstep. Frank Trussell emerged from the dining room, his brow drawn down thoughtfully.

Quinton stepped down again and greeted him, motioning to the double doors of the drawing room. With just a moment’s hesitation, Trussell joined him, and he seemed happy enough to give him an accounting of what he remembered of the fatal night.

“Are you sure?” Quinton asked Trussell as they lounged in the chairs closest to the windows. The afternoon sun slanted through the draperies, the beams warm on the back of Quinton’s hand.

“Yes.” Smiling, Trussell nodded and ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. His blond hair was fading into gray now, revealing his age as closer to sixty than fifty, but his classically handsome, open face showed only the faintest network of wrinkles around his blue-gray eyes and wide mouth.

He was a tall, well-built man with easy, forthright manners and a firm handshake that made it difficult to dislike him. In fact, when Quinton discovered that they had attended the same schools, albeit years apart, his immediate sense of friendship strengthened, making him feel as if he were idly chatting with a long lost older brother instead of questioning Sir Horace’s guest.

Trussell lounged back in his chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “Yes,” he repeated. “Quite sure.” He chuckled and shrugged. “When he caught me watching him, he actually winked as he dumped the contents of his plate onto the larger one. Right after I picked up the last slice to taste.” His forehead wrinkled with thought. “It wasn’t half-bad, actually. Not at all. I can quite see how Alford might wish to eat one. On occasion.”

“So Sir Horace did not, in fact, eat any of the egg?”

“No.” Trussell shook his head. “After we all took a portion, he merely emptied his little plate—the one Alford had given him with such a flourish—onto the larger plate. Presumably to maintain the polite illusion that he had eaten the bloody thing after Alford brought it especially for him.”

“And you did not grow ill from the portion you consumed?”

“No.” His eyes glimmered with a satiric light. “And none of the others who partook of the delicacy did, either. As far as I am aware.”

“And the others—do you remember who they were?”

“Well, myself, as I mentioned. Dr. Meek, General Whyting, and Frethorne. Just the men, really.” He shook his head and laughed, the sound inviting Quinton to join in. “Of course that little minx, Lady Honore, stole a small tidbit. Attempting to prove to Alford that she was still game for anything, I daresay.” He snorted with amusement again.

Quinton’s brows rose. “Prove to Alford?”

“Quite the item before his marriage, they were. Lady Honore can be quite determined, once she’s set her mind on a course.

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