Page 44 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
The amity Jane felt toward Lord Crabb lasted for most of her walk, that is until she rounded the bend of the river and caught sight of him waiting for her in the same spot as before.
She felt a brief flash of irritation at him for ambushing her, followed by a fleeting urge to throw herself in the hedgerow and hide, until finally her mind settled on the rational thought that the only thing she could do was to continue on her path.
"My lord," she called in greeting as she reached him, "Have you stopped to admire the view again?"
She had a brief moment of satisfaction as she watched Lord Crabb flinch with embarrassment, but her gratification was short lived as the viscount offered her a self-deprecating smile.
"That excuse was hardly believable the first time," he replied sheepishly, "I shan't insult your intelligence by attempting it twice."
Drat him, Jane thought irritably, for there was nothing more endearing than a handsome man who was able to laugh at himself. And Lord Crabb, for all his faults, looked particularly handsome today. He was dressed simply, in a forest green merino wool coat, worn over buff breeches and Hessian boots. The cravat at his neck had been loosened and despite herself, Jane felt a pang of longing, as she noted the faint hint of a shadow upon his strong jaw.
The faint desire which stirred in her belly left her irritated and before she could stop herself, her lips were forming a cutting retort.
"And I hope that you shall not insult my intelligence by telling me that it was Prunella who threw herself at you," she replied, making to push past him, "It would be just like a man to blame the woman for his misdeeds."
Jane did not usually reveal her feelings, nor did she ever engage in verbal spats with others—excepting her sisters, which did not count. Her head felt rather light, her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt the sudden urge to flee but Lord Crabb seemed to anticipate this, and he took a step to block her path.
"Peace," he said, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm, "I do not wish to insult you but I'm afraid that is the truth. Miss Hughes cornered me and threw her arms around me, hoping for a kiss, but I was unwilling. I don't know if you noticed, but the embrace you witnessed was far from passionate."
Jane hesitated; she had thought that their union appeared rather fraught for something that was supposed to be loving. Though her mother had warned her—and all her daughters—that male desire was a dangerous animal. Who was to say that wasn't exactly what happened between a man and a woman?
"Thank you for sharing your side of the story with me," Jane replied primly. Her head was fighting valiantly against her heart, which wanted so desperately to believe him. His excuse might be true, she told herself, or it might just be an excuse.
Though...
Jane frowned as she recalled bumping into Sarah Hughes, right after she had spotted the viscount and Prunella together. Sarah had said that "he", whoever "he" was, had sent her outside after her cousin; was it possible that the viscount had fallen foul of a plot to have him compromised into offering for Prunella?
Jane opened her mouth to share this thought with the viscount, then promptly closed it again. She was merely looking for excuses for him now, she chastised herself. She wanted him so much, that she had been momentarily willing to overlook his betrayal.
"I just wanted you to hear my side," Lord Crabb finished, looking defeated, "I shall not pressure you into believing it."
"Thank you, my lord," Jane inclined her head graciously and waited for him to move out of her way.
"The other thing I wished to discuss with you," Lord Crabb continued, his manner brusque, "Is the murder. The last time that we spoke, we had settled on Mr Allen potentially being the perpetrator, but I confronted him and I am now of the belief that it was not he."
Jane listened, as the viscount quickly recounted his encounter with the butler. With all that Mr Allen had done to preserve the dignity of the line, it did not seem possible that he would have suddenly decided to kill Lord Crabb.
"We are back to the beginning," Jane said with a sigh, as the viscount finished his tale.
"Not quite," he answered, his green eyes thoughtful, "I have it on good authority that Mr Bennett was on my property on the night of the murder and that his relationship with Miss Bridges is much stronger than we had first assumed."
"Oh?" Jane raised an eyebrow; she had not been expecting the poor maid to be revealed as the true villain in the piece.
"Yes," Lord Crabb sighed, running a hand over his jaw in agitation, "I had hoped that it was not her. If it was, I am of a mind to think that Mr Bennett somehow pressured her into it, but I'm afraid it all fits. Flora has access to the still room, she is the one who prepared Lord Crabb's tonic—as much as I hate to admit it, it is looking more and more likely that it is she."
"What shall you do?" Jane questioned, for the viscount did not look at all pleased to have finally discovered the true culprit.
"Bide my time," he shrugged, "Try to catch them together and force a confession from one, or both of them."
A silence fell between them, the only noise being the crunch of twigs as Jane shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Lord Crabb noted it and offered her a wry smile.
"I will let you go, Miss Mifford," he said, taking a step back so that she might pass.
"Will you inform me if there is any more progress?" Jane asked, before she could stop herself. The murder was the last tenuous thread linking them together and she was reluctant to severe it.
"You have my word," Lord Crabb said solemnly, "For what it's worth."
Again, anger spurned Jane's tongue into a bitter retort, but this time she restrained herself.
