Petteril's Wife by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Prosopagnosia, historical mystery, Regency mystery
Publisher: Mary Lancaster
Published: 2024-04-25T06:00:00+00:00

“HE WAS ACTING ALONE,” Piers told Jeffery, when, after being shown into the private office with April, he once again faced the diplomat over his cherry wood desk. “And from motives of sheer greed. He has less idea than I do where Major Withan is.”

“I confess I’m shocked,” Jeffery said. He looked it. “So much for nobility! The lazy devil even slept soundly all night before deigning to turn up to collect his filthy lucre. Where is he now?”

Piers shrugged. “At his house, I assume, or his office if he has one.”

“You let him go?” There was disapproval as well as surprise in Jeffery’s voice.

“He is no use to me,” Piers said. “Have him arrested if you like. I thought Sir Charles might prefer not to begin a diplomatic row, but that is his affair. I still have to find Withan.”

Jeffery’s gaze turned curious. “This Lord Petteril must care for his cousin a great deal to have wished you upon us. And yet, while Withan was glad enough to boast of the connection, he did not give me the impression that they were close.”

“They are not,” Piers agreed. Suddenly tired, it was an effort even to quirk his lips upwards. “His lordship appears to have an unexpectedly strong sense of family. I’m sure it surprises him as much as you.”

“You know him?” Jeffery asked, curiosity standing out in his eyes.

“We’ve met,” Piers said. He rose from his seat and held April’s chair, seeing how close she was to falling asleep. “You will excuse us. I must take my wife back to the hotel.”

“Of course.” It was clearly on the tip of his tongue to ask if she had actually been with Whittey while he waited for the ransom to be collected, but he bit it back. Instead, rising with them, he asked, “What will you do now?”

“No idea,” Piers said vaguely. “I daresay something will occur to me. Good morning.”

Outside, she took his arm without him offering. It was her form of comfort, and she didn’t touch easily.

“You must be shattered,” he said.

“No. My brain’s too busy. I need my notebook and peace to study it. We need to go back to the beginning, review everything.”

“You don’t want to sleep?” he asked in surprise.

“I slept in the church.” Remembering, she blushed.

He pretended not to see. It was another moment to cherish, to take out and glance at occasionally before locking it back up. “Then let’s go and wash and change and be comfortable again. And then we can decide what to do next.”

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