Page 43 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I feel honoured to be included in your domestic intimacies,” Rob answered sincerely. Then, as he had sisters of his own andknew well how easily the topic of borrowing clothes could turn violent, he changed the subject.
“Tell me your thoughts on Mable’s disappearance,” he said, “How on earth do you think we should investigate it?”
Eudora visibly preened at his words.
“I don’t think we can declare it a murder without a body,” she said quickly.
He nodded in agreement, for he had been thinking the same thing. Mable’s disappearance may be nothing more than a ruse to distract.
“If only we knew what caused the argument betwixt her and Lord Albermay,” Robert said, his eyes following Eudora as she made her way to the window.
She turned her face to the sun outside, and Robert felt a distinct stir of desire. She was so beautiful, her thick, chestnut hair piled high above her heart-shaped face. Her side profile also allowed him to appreciate her figure, which was all gentle curves and generous bosom.
“We should ask Flora if she saw anything—no one knows the goings-on of a household better than a maid,” she decided, whirling around to face him.
“Er, yes—indeed!” Rob answered, compensating for his momentary distraction with an enthusiasm that made Eudora suspicious.
“You think it a silly idea?” she asked, her tone somewhat hurt.
“I don’t, not at all.” Rob said firmly before deciding that honestly was the best policy, “I just became a bit distracted by your loveliness, that’s all.”
The compliment rendered Eudora lovelier again as her cheeks turned a rose pink.
Lud, Rob thought, he’d achieve nothing of note after they were married, for he’d spend the rest of his days mooning over his wife.
“Do you think we should seek Flora out now?” Eudora asked.
There were a hundred other things that Rob wished to do at that moment, but as every one of them would cause a terrible scandal, he demurred to her suggestion.
“Lead the way,” he replied with a gallantry that was not quite pure.
If he couldn’t ravish Eudora’s lips in the library, he could at least enjoy the view of her behind on the way to the kitchens.
Miss Flora Hughes was a bird-like slip of a girl, who—Rob had learned on their journey to the kitchen—made all sorts of lotions and potions.
It was usual for a grand house to have a still room, where fruits were preserved, alcohol fermented, and healing creams and salves concocted. What was unusual about Flora, Eudora had explained, was that she had not learned her skills from a book. Rather, it was knowledge passed down from her grandmother, the local healer.
“Have you come to ask me if I put a hex on Mable?” Flora asked darkly as she followed Eudora and Rob into a cool, dark room adjunct the pantry.
Rob raised a brow but kept his counsel. He usually found that when people muttered dark asides, they had a grievance to air.
The door closed behind them with a click, prompting Flora to speak again now that she knew there was a barrier between her and her fellow servants.
“It’s like being a child again, Miss Eudora,” she said, turning her orb-like eyes to Eudora and completely ignoring Rob, the stranger. “Everyone whispering behind their hands that I’m awitch. They’re saying that I cursed Mable so that the murderer would take her away in the dead’o’t’night.”
“Why on earth would they think that, Flora?” Eudora queried, asking the question at the forefront of Rob’s mind.
“I had cross words with Mable last night, for she disappeared after tea and didn’t help me with the cleanup,” Flora explained.
Rob, who had refereed enough spats between staff, thought that there must be more to the story.
“And when we came downstairs this morning, there was a dead rabbit over there on the counter,” Flora added, proving Rob correct.
The very mention of the deceased herbivore caused Flora to turn deathly pale. Eudora leapt into action, procuring a footstool and ushering the maid to sit.
“They’re saying I performed some strange ceremony to curse Mable,” Flora sniffled, “You know me well enough, Miss Eudora, to know I’d never hurt a fly.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Eudora gently assured her, patting her arm. “Why, I must tell Jane that her staff are behaving like bullies.”
