The ladies broke into giggles, laughing until they reached the library doorway.
The Duke of Roxburghe appeared before them and extended his hand to Miss Webb, pulling her into his arms.
“What has you so amused, my dear?”
“Mr. Philbert’s ghost,” Miss Webb replied, locking eyes with Helena as she passed.
Helena turned away, covering her mouth with her hand as she fought to prevent another giggle from escaping, and crashed into the Duke of Lennox.
“My apologies, Your Grace!” she stammered, offering him a low curtsey. “I didn’t see you.”
He raised his eyebrows, a silent reply to her flimsy excuse for bumping into him. “Hopefully, you didn’t see the spirit of Mr. Philbert, either.”
“We did not.” Her heart thrummed under his intense inspection.
“Consider yourself blessed.” The Duke of Beaufort offered his hand to Helena, stretching across the Duke of Lennox. “Warwick and I were unfortunate enough to meet his ghost last night.”
“You did?” Helena’s jaw dropped, her head swiveling toward Warwick.
He issued one grave nod and pointed at the Duke of Beaufort with his cane. “He nearly killed me trying to escape from it.”
“I did not!” The Duke of Beaufort lowered his arm and marched across the room, his hands clenching into fists.
“You cannot strike an?—”
The word died on Helena’s tongue as the Duke of Warwick swung his cane, hitting the Duke of Beaufort’s shoulder three times before he reacted.
“Ow!” The Duke of Beaufort danced away, clutching his arm.
“As you can see,” the Duke of Lennox took Helena’s elbow, the heat from his fingers blazing through her delicate sleeve and burning her skin, “Warwick may appear defenseless, but he’s the most dangerous of us all, for he possesses a constant weapon.”
“Still…”
“He’s asked one thing of us.” The Duke of Lennox paused, his gaze finding Warwick. “That we treat him as we always had, including trouncing him when he disparages one of our names.”
“However,” the Duke of Mansfield said, taking Helena’s other arm and leading her toward the corner of the library, “none of us have actually succeeded in that task.”
Her gaze dropped to the betraying footprint.
They’d arrest her that evening. When Miss Webb was suspected of murder at the Duke of Lennox’s Christmas ball, the parish constable transported her to the jail within an hour of the accusation.
“Don’t fret, Miss Rowe.” The Duke of Lennox patted her trembling hand. “We’ll discover who committed this crime.”
That’s exactly what she feared.
“Peculiar,” the Duke of Mansfield said, kneeling by Helena’s shoes. “Just like Miss Webb, your foot is the same size as this slush stain.”
Craning his head, the Duke of Roxburghe moved closer, his arm still wrapped around Miss Webb’s waist. “However, unlike Miss Webb, I cannot account for Miss Rowe’s whereabouts.”
The Duke of Lennox scoffed. “Are you suggesting that Miss Rowe decided to forego the front door in favor of a library window, damaging her own property in an effort to enter the house in an unconventional manner?”
“Most likely,” the Duke of Mansfield said, rising and brushing his hands against each other, “Miss Rowe and Miss Webb possess a most common foot size among women, and neither of them should be considered a suspect.”
“I’ll determine that,” a firm voice said.
“Mr. Hughes.” The Duke of Lennox released Helena’s arm and strode across the library, greeting the constable with a formal bow. “I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but you only appear when there’s trouble.”
“I could say the same thing to you, Your Grace.” Mr. Hughes pushed the corners of his mouth into a half-smile. “Have you discovered another body?”
