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RANDOLPH AND SIGNOR Palombi skied slowly beside her. The gray stone of the manor house rose forebodingly over the crisp white snow, casting shadows over the icy moat. The leaves had been stripped from the trees, and gnarly branches stretched outside the manor house, as if to offer protection.
“I’ll go inside,” Signor Palombi said.
“Good idea,” Randolph replied.
Cora gazed at the late duke’s window. Just as the dowager had admitted, the balcony outside extended to her room. But it was also connected to a third room. Signor Palombi could have accessed the duke’s room via the balcony.
“When did you visit your bedroom?” Cora asked.
“After dinner. At—er—ten o’clock,” Signor Palombi said.
“After you had a chance to look through the duke’s things?”
He nodded. “I heard somebody outside the door and decided not to stay for long.”
“You heard me,” Cora said.
He nodded gravely. “After that I went straight to my room.”
“When did the dowager duchess arrive?”
He flushed. “She was already there.”
Randolph raised his eyebrows. Evidently, he did not know Signor Palombi as much as he claimed.
“Did you hear anything?” Cora asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did you leave your chamber at all?”
“No! Not until I heard the duke scream.” He looked at Randolph. “It was a terrifying noise. It was of someone who truly feared death. And now I will go inside. If I am to stay here, I will at least make certain that dear Archibald is fed.”
He marched into the house.
“It was brave of you to go after him,” Randolph said. “But also incredibly foolish.”
“I wanted to protect my friend.”
“Let me look at the body. I have some experience in these matters, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” He glanced at the snow-filled road. “Besides, I think we’ll be here for a while.”
Cora’s lips twitched. “It’s possible.”
She directed her attention back to the duke’s window. A large tree sat outside. A few stubborn leaves fluttered on the tree’s dark, spidery branches. They drooped downward, as if regretting their insistent perch and contemplating the soft bed of snow beneath them.
Had someone climbed up this tree to the duke’s room? The branches were slick with frost, and they didn’t seem sturdy enough to hold someone. But perhaps she was wrong.
If only she’d devoted time to tree climbing as a child. The strength of tree trunks and branches had never seemed of particular interest before, but now it seemed of the utmost importance. She scrutinized the diameter of the branches. Perhaps the murderer had gone to that branch, and then the one diagonally over it, and then—
“You think someone may have climbed up the tree to enter the duke’s bedroom?” Randolph asked.
Cora jerked her head toward him.
Perhaps he was also capable of climbing onto trees, and not just crawling beneath them.
“That tree wouldn’t hold an adult,” Randolph said, with an air of authority. “Besides, I don’t see any footprints underneath it.”
“It was snowing all night,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Randolph said, “though that doesn’t change the fact that the tree wouldn’t hold anyone.”
She nodded. Maybe she should yield to his expertise.
Something didn’t feel right, but Randolph tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“It’s windy,” she said apologetically.
His gaze was more serious. “You have beautiful hair.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “It’s too dark. And it doesn’t hold a curl well.”
“It’s thick and silky,” Randolph said. “And the color is beautiful.”
She turned away. Her heart pattered in her chest. All talk of trees was forgotten. She couldn’t speak about climbing trees. Not when Randolph’s eyes seemed to gaze at her in wonder. Not when she longed to tuck herself against his broad shoulders as protection against the world.
“You don’t have to investigate this,” Randolph said. “It’s not your job.”
“Someone died. He didn’t want that either.”
They reentered the manor house, and a servant came to assist them in removing their winter outerwear.
“I’ll get the key to the room,” Randolph whispered. “Meet me up there in ten minutes.”
Voices sounded from the drawing room, but Cora ascended the steps.
Perhaps she could see if all the rooms on the corridor were occupied. The dowager duchess’s room might have been on one side of the duke, but who was on the other? Maybe the duke’s room had not shared a balcony with that room, but was there perhaps an adjoining door?
She decided to enter the room in question, and Cora opened the door. It was another bedroom, and someone was inside.
Mrs. Ardingley.
Except she was...standing.
Cora swallowed hard.
Mrs. Ardingley didn’t stand.
She was in a wheelchair.
“Who’s there?” Mrs. Ardingley jerked her head in the direction of Cora.
Instinctively Cora stepped behind the door. She pressed her back against the wall, and her heart hammered.
The picture rail dug into her spine, and she glanced at the stairs.
Perhaps Mrs. Ardingley hadn’t seen her.
Perhaps if she walked on the carpet, Mrs. Ardingley wouldn’t hear her footsteps and she might escape.
Because if Mrs. Ardingley could stand, if she could walk—she’d had the capability to murder the duke after all.
Why on earth was she keeping her ability to walk secret? If Cora had been confined to a wheelchair for a period and then recovered, she would be taking every chance to walk.
Did her husband know?
“Miss Clarke,” Mrs. Ardingley called out, and Cora stiffened.
A shiver, not attributable to the lack of central heating, swept through her.
Should she flee?
“I know you’re there,” Mrs. Ardingley said.
It was no use. Mrs. Ardingley had seen her. They were confined to a manor house. Cora could hardly succeed at spending the entirety of the time avoiding her.
Cora stepped from behind the door.
Mrs. Ardingley had settled back into the chair.
It didn’t matter.
Cora had seen her walking, and Mrs. Ardingley’s reliably icy composure seemed ruffled.
Cora glanced around the room. For the first time she thought those men in westerns might have a point when they didn’t appear without a pistol. Candlesticks stood on a nearby table. Perhaps she might protect herself with one of those?
Faint clinking sounded, and she moved her gaze upward.
A crystal chandelier hung above them, and Cora straightened her back. The clear glass reflected all manner of colors.
Things are not what they seem.
How could material devoid of any color under the right circumstances seem in possession of every color? Had someone devoid of any appearance of means killed the duke after all?
Mrs. Ardingley laughed. The sound was bitter, halting, as if she was unaccustomed to the action.
“I’m not going to dismantle the chandelier and fling it at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Cora flushed.
“You Americans,” Mrs. Ardingley said. “You truly are too fanciful.”
Cora gritted her teeth. “You can walk.”
Mrs. Ardingley flushed, but then raised her chin. “It’s of no concern of yours.”
“You told everyone you couldn’t. Everyone thinks you’re lame.”
“Well. I’m not.”
“But why would you pretend to be? And for months?”
Mrs. Ardingley sighed. “Perhaps you should close the door.”
“I don’t owe you any favors. No one is in the corridor.”
Mrs. Ardingley shrank back. “Perhaps I like using a wheelchair.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Look,” Mrs. Ardingley said hastily. “I really did injure my legs. But then my health improved. We still needed money. And I hoped the duke might be compelled to feel sorry for Mr. Ardingley if I was, well, in a chair. If I went about walking, he would think there was no reason in the world to give us any funds.”
“Mr. Ardingley is his son though.”
She shrugged. “Mr. Ardingley has worked so much more than his younger brother. And he is so much more appropriate as a duke.”
“So you wanted to manipulate an elderly man’s emotion?”
“For Rhys? Yes.”
“You love him.”
Mrs. Ardingley flushed. “Nonsense. You’re a romantic.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Cora said. “You did marry him.”
“I did.” Mrs. Ardingley gave her an assessing gaze. “Be careful with that...photographer.”
“He’s a PI.”
“I hardly see the difference. None of us do. He hides in bushes and takes pictures. He’s just one lacking in artistry.”
Cora blew the air from her mouth.
“I saw the way your eyes lit up when you saw him this morning,” Mrs. Ardingley said. “It blinds you. To other things. I speak from experience.”
Cora stiffened. “I didn’t know you were watching us. Besides, there’s nothing between Mr. Hall and me.”
“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t fault you.” Mrs. Ardingley smiled, and in that moment, she could have been any society woman.
What would Mrs. Ardingley’s life have been like if she hadn’t felt that the only thing she had to offer her husband was her money? Would she have murdered her father-in-law in the optimistic hope he might have set aside sufficient money to keep her husband in tailored clothing and with a healthy wine stock? Was that why she was waiting to reveal the fact she’d recovered strength in her legs?
“Does Mr. Ardingley inherit any money from his father’s will?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Ardingley said, but her eyes flickered to the side.
She’s lying.
“Does your husband know you can walk?”
Mrs. Ardingley flushed and flicked her lashes down.
“You should tell him. There are enough secrets in this house.” Cora left Mrs. Ardingley’s room, thankful to see Randolph standing outside the duke’s door.