Murder in Westminster by Vanessa Riley

Author:Vanessa Riley [Riley, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2022-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Walking my halls, I greeted the noon sun with my mobcap and spring muslin gown with tulips, my favorite flower. Sleep in my big bed was difficult.

Not because of unwanted dreams, but my raging conscience. I needed to find a way to apologize.

Nothing that anyone said about me or my marriage mattered. It was what James and I thought. We were partners in this. We had a base, a foundation, from which to grow a happy life. That was a lot more than others could say.

But I lost my temper and slapped my neighbor. That was probably against the Commandments or something.

Henderson wasn’t without guilt. He mocked my vows, when his wife had broken theirs under his nose, and apparently with his blessing.

If that wasn’t the pot turning char black in the coals, I wouldn’t know.

Teacup barked and followed me, whipping his fur side to side, all spry and carefree.

“Morning, baby.”

He answered me with a shake of his bottom. He was a happy fellow.

Maids were cleaning all the guest rooms. I had a full house last night.

Every bit of Number Two had life. I liked how it felt having everyone under my roof.

Then I remembered a Yuletide season in Spitalfields, when everyone who’d come for dinner became stuck because of the snow. The house was packed, filled with conversations. And everyone had second and third helpings at my mother’s table.

In the hall mirror, I felt her sparkling spirit looking down on me. “Mama, I can’t be doing everything wrong. Right?”

It felt like it, sending my neighbor off with a slap, getting my friend beaten, finding two bodies, and, of course, no movement on abolition.

When I reached the first level, I looked for letters. None. It was rare to receive one with franking from overseas. That was another reason why I liked starting my day at noon. All the correspondence would be delivered by the time I breakfasted.

There was a card in my silver visitor bowl.

I picked up the heavy stock labeled Neil Vaughn, Esquire.

My godfather had arrived. More bad news? Or a lecture?

Didn’t matter. He was here to add to the full house.

“Come on, Teacup. Let’s go greet our guests.”

When I reached my parlor, my heart lifted. Everything was clean again. The scenes of last night—the blood, the smells of polish, the sound of my terrace door slamming—could be forgotten. It was over.

Laughter beckoned from outside.

I stepped through the threshold and put my slippers onto the slate.

“Good day, Abigail Carrington Monroe,” Vaughn said. “Or is it a half day?”

I chuckled and headed to the table. Florentina and Vaughn were enjoying coffee, sitting next to each other, flicking through the papers.

My cousin laughed as she read the Morning Post and looked fresh as a bluebell in a similarly-colored gown dotted with tiny white flowers.

Vaughn was his formal self—black tailcoat, jet waistcoat, and dark breeches. Was that powder in his hair, turning what was thick and dark into stately and old? Who was he meeting with today?

“Truthfully, it is good for Lady Worthing to decide to join us.

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