Page 48 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Mr Adonis?" he replied, feigning disinterest, "I suppose some might think him handsome, in a showy kind of way. Besides, I highly doubt he fell deeply in love with Lord Crabb; apart from the illegality of it, I fear the only person Mr Adonis loves is himself."
Ivo knew he was being petty, but he could not help himself. It terrified him to think that Miss Mifford might turn her affections to a dandy in too-tight breeches.
"I don't think he fell in love with Lord Crabb," Miss Mifford interrupted, allowing herself a smile at the idea, "But rather Miss Hughes. Oh, it all makes sense now! Miss Hughes spent the summer in Bath with her cousins, who are neighbours with the Earl of Kettle. I believe I recall someone saying that Mr Adonis was involved in landscaping the earl's gardens."
"By Jupiter," Ivo whistled, as he recalled that Adonis had told him that very same thing when he had met him in the gardens, "He was."
"Perhaps, he fell in love with Miss Hughes when in Bath, then followed her back to the Cotswolds," Miss Mifford theorised aloud, "But she spurned his affections in favour of a man who might offer her a title. In a jealous rage, he murdered Lord Crabb. But, oh, where does poor Miss Bridges fit into all of this?"
Ivo remained silent as he tried to think how Flora had managed to involve herself in all the madness. It was possible that she had fallen for the handsome Mr Adonis—after all, half the maids had been in love with him—but Ivo did not truly believe she was capable of poisoning anyone.
Crimes of passion are motivated by either money or lust...
Lust; that was it! And not Mr Adonis' lust, but Lord Crabb's.
The viscount had been anxious about bedding Miss Hughes; on the night of his death, he had thought Ivo was insinuating that his advanced age might prevent him from consummating the marriage. Was it too far-fetched to imagine that Mr Adonis had procured a bottle of Flora's virility tonic and laced it with nightshade to poison the viscount? If that were possible, one could also imagine Lord Crabb sampling the thing to make certain it worked—especially after how upset he had become with Ivo on the night of his death.
Miss Mifford cleared her throat and Ivo realised that he had not spoken for a full minute. In a halting voice, he gave a much redacted account of his thinking—taking a moment to be charmed by Miss Mifford's innocent blushes—and she nodded along eagerly.
"But why now?" Ivo wondered, "Why attack Flora now?"
"Yesterday, Mary and I called on Sarah Hughes—Prunella's cousin. We were discussing the murder and I mentioned that you suspected Lord Crabb had drank a poisoned tonic. Maybe she met with Mr Adonis and told him. Oh, but do you think...?"
Miss Mifford trailed off as she realised what her words might mean.
"Perhaps," Ivo said, gently, "Miss Hughes is more involved than we thought she might be."
"Do you really believe it?" Miss Mifford groaned, "She is a silly girl, I'll admit, but I cannot think she is evil. Though, it might explain why she has looked so wretched of late. Oh, Ivo, whatever shall we do?"
Even in the midst of discussing murder, Ivo could not help but feel pleased by the way his given name had slipped so easily from her lips. Then, his attention was momentarily taken by appreciating said lips—their plumpness and full Cupid's bow—until, finally, he reminded himself that now was not the time.
"Do not fret," he replied, placing a firm hand upon her shoulder, "I shall ride to Hillside House and question Miss Hughes. You wait here and try not to worry too much."
He had thought he was being chivalrous by offering to ride to Hillside House alone but, too late, Ivo recalled that Miss Mifford was not the type of woman who would be pleased to be left behind. Her brown eyes narrowed into a frown of annoyance and she opened her mouth to object, but Ivo beat her to it.
"Forgive me," he held up his hands in surrender, "I shall summon the carriage to take us and one of the maids to act as chaperone."
"Thank you, my lord," she replied, mollified by his suggestion.
Thus, a few minutes later, Ivo found himself ensconced inside a carriage with Miss Mifford and Mrs Hardbottle, racing across the barren winter landscape at lightning speed. Ivo sat on one side of the compartment, while Miss Mifford sat on the other beside the housekeeper, who was taking her new duty very seriously and watching Ivo like a hawk.
Perhaps her distrust was warranted, Ivo thought, for he was greatly regretting his gallant idea to fetch a chaperone. The carriage compartment was small and intimate; a place where a man might get up to all sorts of mischief, if he was so inclined. Though, he reminded himself, Miss Mifford's anger at him had not abated, and he doubted she would have entertained his desire for a kiss. Not to mention that within the inside pocket of his coat, he carried a small pistol; if he had attempted a passionate embrace with Miss Mifford, it might have resulted in a—well deserved—hole in the belly.
The carriage jolted as it hit a bump in the road, dragging Ivo from his less than gentlemanly thoughts back to the present. He glanced out the window to find that they were almost at Hillside House and he offered Miss Mifford an encouraging smile.
"Almost there," he commented, with a forced cheerfulness. Inside, he doubted that there was anything to feel cheerful about; as much as he had disliked Prunella, he had not actually wished for her to turn out to be the villain of this piece—well, one of the villains.
The carriage trundled through the gates and snaked its way up the driveway, until it drew to a halt just outside the front steps. They had obviously been sighted from the house, for the instant that Ivo disembarked, the door was thrown open and Sir Charles appeared, waving him a warm hello.
"Let me do the speaking," Ivo whispered to Miss Mifford, as he helped her down.
She frowned, but did not say anything in return, which Ivo decided to take as acquiescence.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sir Charles asked, as Ivo and Miss Mifford approached the door together. The question was a typically English faux-politeness, which really meant "what on earth are you doing calling unannounced and uninvited?".
"I am afraid I come on serious business, Sir Charles," Ivo replied gravely, "I have an urgent need to speak with Miss Hughes about the late Lord Crabb's death."
The squire's two eyebrows drew together in surprise at this statement, and he peered at Ivo suspiciously.
