Page 24 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
"--But you would like to do more than solve mysteries with the lass?" Delaney guessed, with a chuckle.
"She is a very accomplished and beautiful young woman," Freddie cleared his throat, "Any man would admire her."
"And is this feeling of admiration reciprocated?"
When Freddie did not reply, Delaney gave another chuckle. Freddie watched as his friend took a large sip of his brandy and regarded him thoughtfully.
Delaney had the look of a man who was about to impart some great words of wisdom, but wanted to take his time about it.
"Spit it out, man," Freddie grumbled, after a full minute of this carry-on. Delaney could be insufferable, when he thought himself right.
"If you want to make her your wife, you need to make your intentions clear," the baron answered, with a shrug.
"In what way would a man do that?"
"The usual; call on her, dance with her, take her for a ride along the Row, or to the theatre, send her flowers, " Delaney listed, before continuing with a pointed glance, "And be humble whilst you're doing it."
"Confidence is one of the most attractive traits a man can possess," Freddie argued, though he did see some merit to Delaney's suggestion--Miss Miffordhadmentioned his inflated ego several times. While Freddie did think that a largeamour proprewas an essential attribute in a gentleman, he did not wish to have one so large that it got in the way of things. He might be able to reign in the worst of it, he decided.
"Now, enough about courting," Delaney continued, with a vague look of distaste as he uttered the word, "Tell me about your investigation--I didn't realise you'd taken sleuthing up as a hobby. Do you have any suspects in mind, apart from Miss Mifford, that is?"
"Miss Mifford is innocent," Freddie clarified, before he launched into what they had so far learned.
"So, Mr Fitzgibbons was given an alibi by his good friend, Mr Bunting," Delaney surmised, once Freddie had explained all, "Which is rather suspicious, but Sir Cadogan has emerged as another likely contender?"
"Yes," Freddie confirmed, with a nod, "It's hard to believe that two people threatened to strangle Lady Hardthistle in such a short space of time."
"Is it really?" Delaney muttered, but as the remark was barely audible, Freddie let it slide.
"My money is on Mr Fitzgibbons," Delaney decided, as though there was a wager running in White's famed betting book, "Hot headed young man, with money woes. He saw her alone and he snapped, just like that!"
Delaney snapped his fingers to emphasise his point.
"Sir Cadogan also has money worries," Freddie pointed out, "And he's fond of a drink; a drunk man is as likely to snap as a young man."
"So, you agree it was a man, and not Ethel?" Delaney prompted, and Freddie was forced to nod in agreement.
Miss Mifford was correct in thinking that no female was capable of strangling a person to death. Freddie had seen Lady Hardthistle's corpse, and her mottled purple face; whoever had killed her had done so with violent, brute force that no woman was capable of.
"It most likely was not Ethel," Freddie agreed, though he could not help but add, "Even though inheriting the whole of Lady Hardthistle's fortune is a rather strong motive to murder her."
"So we return to Sir Cadogan," Delaney sighed, before blinking in surprise at something he saw over Freddie's shoulder. Delaney's seat was facing the door, whilst Freddie's faced the fire, so he could not see what it was that had shocked his friend.
"Well, don't look now, but look who has just walked in," Freddie continued, in a whisper. "Only the gentleman himself. I had heard that he'd not been keeping up with his accounts here, but perhaps that was just a rumour."
Freddie casually turned his head and sighted Sir Cadogan, with a mustard vest straining against his rotund stomach, making his way across the dining room to one of the tables in the corner.
"Fate has spoken," Freddie sighed, offering his friend an apologetic look, before standing up from the comfort of his chair. He could not allow the opportunity for a quiet word with Sir Cadogan slip through his fingers.
Freddie picked his way through the tables and chairs, to Sir Cadogan's spot in the corner. The squire was examining a newspaper--theEvening English Herald,which offered the best racing news--and only looked up when Freddie cleared his throat.
"Lord Chambers," Sir Cadogan blinked in surprise, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I would like a word, old chap," Freddie answered, slipping into the seat opposite without being asked.
"Of course, of course," Sir Cadogan blustered, setting the news-sheet aside, "In the market for a filly?"
Just like Lady Hardthistle, Sir Cadogan was in the business of horseflesh. Unlike the late baroness, however, the squire's stables were not nearly as illustrious.
