Page 82 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“I am glad to know your instincts are still well honed, Inspector. I will let you set your men straight.” She touched her throat, where the bruises Royston had left had finally faded. “It all happened exactly as we told you. Beth saved my life.”
“Thank the heavens for Miss Williams, then,” Wooten said, raising his glass in a toast.
“Kara!”
She found herself gripping the inspector’s arm for balance as Gyda came skidding up to grab on to her.
“Who is that vision in lilac silk? I heard her speaking with someone about the importance of teaching children about different heritages through the world.”
Gyda jerked her head toward a group gathered at the portrait of Glynn Foulger sitting on an easel in the corner next to the dais, awaiting its hanging in a place of honor in the new charity building.
“Ah, that is the Countess of Canfield. She is one of the founders of the charity.”
Gyda visibly deflated. “Oh. A countess. Is her earl here with her today, then?”
“The lady is a widow, I believe,” Kara told her friend.
“Excellent!” Gyda’s expression lightened again. “I mean, how unfortunate, for her to be widowed so young. Will you introduce us, please?”
“Of course.”
Gyda waggled her brows. “If I find her agreeable, I might just invite her to our picnic.”
“I will let you ladies proceed,” Wooten said, handing his glass to a passing waiter. “Is the duke about?”
“I think he’s following the platter of veal baskets around the room,” Kara said with a laugh.
“He’s recovered, then? And Mr. McRae?”
“They both have had headaches, but they seem to be coming more infrequently.” Kara paused to watch the inspector. “You will be attending our picnic this evening?”
“Neither Mrs. Wooten nor I would miss it,” the inspector said. “Indeed, your invitation is the first thing to have tempted her away from our new grandson.”
“We will see you at Bluefield later, then, Inspector.” Gyda tugged at Kara’s arm. “Come along, Kara!”
*
Later that afternoon,Kara dressed for the evening’s upcoming picnic. Niall and Harold were outside setting up games. Turner and the rest of the staff had everything else well in hand, so she went to the ivory sitting room to look over her correspondence. The words kept blurring, however. Closing her eyes, she sighed and rested her head on her hands for a moment.
“Your Grace? Your Grace?” A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Kara?”
Her eyes opened. She sat up in surprise. “Oh! Turner! I must have fallen asleep! What time is it? I haven’t missed the start of the picnic, have I?”
“No, there is still time.” He set a tray on her desk. “It’s only that Cook just pulled a tray of your favorite salmon puffs from the oven. Ithought you might enjoy a few while they are still warm.”
“Oh, how kind you are. That reminds me, Turner. We must be careful to keep things cordial between Cook and Maisie. I know they are rivals for Harold’s affections and appetites, but this is the first time I’ve been able to coax Maisie to Bluefield, and I want it to go well.”
Kara’s gaze fell upon the salmon puffs at the same time as the smell registered. Her stomach abruptly revolted and she hastily stood and backed away. “I’m sorry.” She turned away. “Oh, heavens. I’m afraid I don’t have an appetite at the moment.”
Turner whipped the tray away at once. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”
“No, no! It’s me, I’m sure! My appetite has been fluctuating lately.”
Turner opened the door and called for a footman to return the tray to the kitchens. He came back and looked at Kara carefully. “I did notice that you seemed to be disturbed by the duke’s kedgeree yesterday morning.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Kara laughed. “Perhaps I have just gone off fish.”
“Perhaps,” Turner said gently. “Food aversion can be a symptom—”
