Page 29 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
“Quite acceptable, thank you.”
“You have a rather distant look about you today. At breakfast, you were positively absent!”
Margaret opened her eyes at this observation, and her eyes flicked keenly to Arabella, who feigned a laugh. “I admit I have a distracted mind just now. I don’t seem able to invest much focus in my embroidery project, but I am determined I will not allow this complex pattern to defeat me!”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Arabella doubtfully and then looked over to Margaret, who closed her eyes once again, tipping her head back against a cushion.
Arabella forced her attention back to the task at hand so that her sister would not interrogate her. She wondered absent-mindedly whether there might be pertinent questions to ask Margaret that may provide insight into who may have accessed the study that frightful day to murder her husband.
Before she knew it, she was again looking up at the sky, and it attracted Charlotte’s attention. Arabella sensed her sister drawing breath to speak to her when, suddenly, there was a commotion from the hallway outside.
“Good day! Good day to all!” Marcus’s voice sang out, and the heavy, fast approaching footsteps that accompanied his high-pitched greeting suggested he was heading directly to the morning room.
Margaret’s eyes flew open in alarm, and she sat herself promptly up straighter. Arabella noticed how the woman’s eyes betrayed something that looked a little like fear. Perhaps his raucous entrance startled her, Arabella wondered. But even as she looked, Margaret settled back into her weak, fatigued composure.
Marcus flew through the door, which banged back against the wall. His enthusiasm was palpable.
“Ladies! Ladies! Good day to you all!” He flung his arms wide as though he were presenting a play on the stage. All three ladies prepared smiles for him, but nobody spoke.
“Mother! Are you quite well today?” Marcus’s energy was at odds with the peace of the morning room. He bounded over to Margaret and took her hand with rough affection. Margaret blinked up at him.
“I am not well enough to walk in the garden, but neither am I sick enough to remain in my bed,” Margaret advised pragmatically.
Marcus laughed heartily, which struck Arabella as an odd reaction. A frown briefly bothered her forehead; only for a slight moment, but Marcus caught it.
“What is the matter?” he demanded, suddenly full of fear.
“Nothing at all, Lord Wellwood.” Arabella smiled sweetly.
Marcus’s eyes zipped over to Charlotte.
“And you? Miss Charlotte, I trust you are not suffering from any illness?”
Charlotte looked a little confused.
“No, Lord Wellwood. Thank you for your enquiry. I profess I am quite well.”
“Then what is it?” Marcus turned to all of them, addressing anybody who might care to answer.
Arabella took this moment of quiet to look him over. How different he now seemed from his brother. There had been some chaos about Marcus for some time, but each day she now saw him, he seemed slightly more dishevelled.
Considering Alexander was the man living in a hovel whilst on the run, he seemed more vibrant and healthier than his brother, who was kept in a life of absolute luxury. She felt suddenly sad for Marcus; how his father’s death and brother’s deaths must have affected him.
“Why do you all seem so troubled on this beautiful morning of sunshine and blue skies?” Marcus leaned his arm up against the wooden doorframe and tapped his fingers rhythmically.
The three ladies looked at each other in bewilderment, for there was no problem they could easily report upon.
“Have you hurt yourself?” Charlotte enquired, and as Arabella followed her sister’s eyes, she, too, saw upon Marcus’s waistcoat that there was a small smudge of dark brownish-red that looked very much like dried blood.
Marcus looked alarmed at the question and looked down at his blue silk waistcoat, where the sister’s focus was applied. He pulled at it as though inspecting it for the first time.
“Oh, I had not realized my waistcoat was marked!” He laughed demonstrably. “I accidentally cut myself this morning whilst shaving. How remiss of me!”
The sisters smiled and nodded, though Arabella thought how the blood did not look fresh, and neither did his face, which had clearly not been shaven that very morning.
***
Arabella innately understood that she should navigate the corridor with soft, quiet footsteps as she approached the library. Margaret had not explicitly stated that their discussion should be private, but her request to meet that evening was not as casually inferred as their daily evening read in her sitting room, and so Arabella intimated it should be treated with discretion.
