Page 37 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
He’d learned about Lunetta, but what about Sir Morris Pierpont’s death?
She had committed no murder—not Pierpont’s or Archie’s—and yet guilt ate a hole in her nerves.
“And there is Jarrow’s sister,” Graeme said. “Dancing also. I’ve promised a dance with her.”
Blythe’s back stiffened with a sudden spurt of… jealousy? Good heavens. What was wrong with her? Of course, Graeme was an enticing morsel for the single ladies here. Providing their papas could find that his character was better than his predecessor’s, they would be queueing up for the countess sweepstakes. A few of them wouldn’t care about character, they’d simply look at him and see a handsome, virile man in his prime. That would certainly be the case with the widows and unhappily married matrons.
She didn’t care. Of course she didn’t. As long as she had what was promised to her in the marriage contract signed by the Earl of Chilcombe.
And as long as she was never accused of murder.
She pulled her thoughts together, reminding herself that they were here to introduce the new Earl and to learn whatever they could about the activities of the nefarious Diddenton.
As well as to survive an evening with a community of people who hated her.
“Do you know any of the older ladies in that group by the second pillar?” Hermione asked. “They have turned their attention our way.”
“The large woman in the gray dress is Mrs. Jarrow,” Graeme said. “I met her this morning.”
“She looks displeased,” Hermione mused. “Are you acquainted with her, Blythe?”
Mrs. Jarrow had induced the forever absent vicar to have the weak-kneed curate he employed ban her and the children from attendance at Sunday services. Archie had laughed off the insult toward her.
“It has been years since we’ve crossed swords,” Blythe said.
“I am intrigued,” Hermione said. “My lord, may we walk that way? Perhaps I’ll allow the introduction and I may cross swords with her as well. Blythe?”
She swallowed a sigh. “Why not.” Let the new Earl of Chilombe see what she was up against. He could show her what he was made of. She suspected the impeccable fellow would eventually yield to society’s judgments.
As they approached the cluster of matrons, the dance ended, and the dispersing couples scattered about the large room, blocking their path.
“Lord Chilcombe.”
Blythe recognized Mr. Jarrow from their afternoon encounter when she’d seen him without his shirt, coats, and neckcloth. He looked considerably more polished now, though not quite as handsome as Graeme. He surely must be turning the heads of the young ladies gathered here tonight. Was there a younger Mrs. Jarrow? Graeme hadn’t mentioned one.
A young lady came to stand next to him, a curious smile on her face.
“Miss Jarrow,” Graeme said, and made introductions.
The girl curtsied prettily, and Mr. Jarrow bowed, an amused look on his face.
“I recalled after seeing you this afternoon, Mr. Jarrow, that we met many years ago, before I married, and just before you left to join the army,” Blythe said. “I had recently come to live at Bluebelle Lodge.”
“Ah,” he said. “That was a busy time, and I’m flattered that you remember seeing me. I suspect you saw rather too much of me this afternoon, Lady Chilcombe. My apologies.”
In anyone else, that would seem like gratuitous flirtation, but Mr. Jarrow’s open, friendly manners made it seem more like a brotherly sort of apology. He was nothing like his father.
“I thank you for your help today, sir,” she said. “It was very kind of you to labor so.”
“Stockwell is hopeful the crop may be saved,” Mr. Jarrow said. “That is all the thanks I need.”
She took a long look at him. Not only was he nothing like his father, but he might also be a man of integrity and… substance. A friend, perhaps, of a sort, to the residents of Bluebelle Lodge.
An ally against the marquess? Who could tell, and it was better not to trust too soon.
“You have arrived late but we are glad you have come,” Miss Jarrow said. “We also were late, delayed waiting for Edward.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Thank heavens he is wearing gloves.”
Her brother grinned, not at all discomfited by the teasing, and Blythe’s nerves eased further.
