Lady Anne and the Howl in the Dark by Donna Lea Simpson Read Free Book Online Page B

the elder, the marquess. His eyes were on Mr. Grover, and his expression was not friendly. Grover, for his part, appeared completely at ease until Mr. Osei Boatin entered a few moments later. He then got up, pulled out a pocket watch on a too-short chain, examined it closely, then dabbed at his lips and bowed to the gathering. He took Lady Darkefell’s hand, kissed the air above it, and murmured a farewell.
    With a fulminating look, Darkefell watched him go.
    “What is all of this nonsense?” Lady Darkefell demanded, glancing between her sons.
    “It will keep until later,” Darkefell said, grabbing a plate from the sideboard, filling it randomly with eggs, ham, and bacon until it was heaped high, and taking a seat by Anne. “How do you fare this morning, my lady?” he asked, casting her a sideways glance. He eyed her hairstyle with an awed expression and suppressed a quick smile. “You seem in excellent good looks this morning, none the worse for your awful experience.”
    “Your enthusiasm for my appearance is a paean to the lack of my lady’s maid, Mary, who will arrive tomorrow, I hope,” Anne said, her tone as dry as his was humorous. “Though if you think this style suits me,” she continued, patting her snaky locks, “I’ll be sure to have Mary copy its intricacies.”
    “I’m humbled by your reliance on my opinion of the mysteries of feminine hairstyling.”
    “What’s going on, Tony?” Lady Darkefell pressed, impatient in the face of her eldest son’s absorption in their guest. “Why were you and John arguing about where Cecilia will be buried?”
    “I’d rather not go into it right now,” the marquess said, then wolfed down a rasher of streaky bacon. His secretary, Mr. Boatin, was taking a plate from the sideboard and slowly adding a piece of toast to it. His expression was solemn. He didn’t appear hungry but seemed to Anne to be focusing on the sideboard as a way of avoiding the others. That he ate with the family was no surprise, for though a secretary was a kind of servant in some households, he was also a valuable member of the household and privy to matters of the most intimate nature. No man kept secrets from his valet or his secretary.
    “Mother, Lydia just doesn’t think it’s right for Cecilia to be buried in the castle graveyard with the other servants,” Lord John said primly, sitting down at the table without taking any breakfast.
    “Whyever not?”
    “There’s no need to answer that, John!” Darkefell said, mumbling around a mouthful of food.
    “I’ll answer if I want to!” the younger man said indignantly.
    Darkefell glanced over at Boatin, who had paused, ham-laden serving fork in hand. The marquess swallowed and hastily said in a loud voice, “Shut your mouth, John, if you please!”
    But he was overridden by his younger brother, who angrily said, “Why should I? All will know eventually, to the shame of our household. She is not fit to bury with the others, for she was carrying a bastard child.”
    There was a crash behind them, and Anne started from her chair and whirled. It was Mr. Boatin; he had tumbled to the floor, unconscious, spilling eggs and ham over his spotless waistcoat and frock coat.
     

Four
    Mr. Boatin was revived and led away by the marquess, so Anne was unable to find out anything more of interest. Lady Darkefell and Lord John, too, melted away after the commotion. Left alone in the breakfast room, Anne finished eating as the maids, supervised by Andrew, the head footman, cleaned up the food and broken china spilled by the secretary. She pondered the events of the last twelve hours, but decided ultimately that the murder was unlikely to have any connection to what she had journeyed to Yorkshire to investigate on Lydia’s behalf, the werewolf sightings.
    But there was no way to be sure; Cecilia’s murder did strike far too close to her friend. And there was a further mystery there—who was the father of Cecilia’s unborn child? Did her