A Bride for the Prizefighter - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,59

You are familiar with that part of the country?”

Havilland seemingly surprised by the conversational turn, did not speak for a moment. While he paused, Guthrie leaned forward in his seat. “I am ma’am,” he answered. “I have spent many a pleasant stay in that city. Both my sisters took their schooling in Bath and I was accustomed to visiting them there.”

“Indeed?” Mina asked, turning to him with a smile. “May I enquire as to which school your sisters attended?”

“It was a school situated very near the center,” Guthrie responded. “The Alexander Seminary for Young Ladies.”

“I know it well. A particularly good school with a solid reputation,” she said approvingly.

“You know something of schooling, madam?” Havilland interrupted them skeptically. “Curious. I did not know publican’s wives were so interested in education,” he said with a short laugh.

Mina watched Guthrie color at his colleague’s rudeness. She placed her cup down carefully. “Perhaps you do not know many publican’s wives who were also schoolteachers for several years,” she suggested calmly. His eyebrows snapped together, and she smiled coldly at him. “My father ran a school in Bath for many years.” Delighted that she seemed to have taken the wind from his sails, she turned back to Guthrie. “I take it your sisters are no longer employed in lessons.”

“No indeed ma’am,” he replied. “To their very great relief. One is lately married and the other employed as a companion to a distant aunt.”

Mina’s smile grew warmer. “I am sure their schooling will give them an excellent foundation in life to build upon,” she said approvingly.

“Your current surroundings,” Havilland said, slamming down his cup and saucer with jarring loudness. “Must be very different, I’ll wager to the schoolroom.” His thin lips twitched. “One cannot help but wonder how the two of you ever met.” He raised a supercilious eyebrow at Mina.

“Allow me to assuage your curiosity, good sir,” she responded. “We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Perhaps you have heard of him? Viscount Faris of Vance Park. He is I believe, quite well known in these parts.” She enjoyed the way Havilland’s face froze into an expression of disbelief.

“Lord Faris,” Guthrie said, seeming anxious to fill the stunned silence which stretched out. “Indeed, I have heard of him. I believe he keeps a fine stable and often races his thoroughbreds at meets.”

Which was news to Mina, but she made sure to keep her bright smile intact. “As to that, I could not say,” she demurred. “My late father was most opposed to gambling of any sort.”

“Such sentiment does him credit, Mrs. Nye,” Guthrie responded politely. “I am sure.”

She smiled at him agreeably. “Can I refresh your cups, good sirs?” she asked glancing about. Guthrie passed her his empty cup with alacrity, though Havilland declined with an irritable shake of his head. Glancing across at Nye, Mina was surprised to him glaring moodily at the younger officer. What was he looking so annoyed about, she wondered? “Can I persuade anyone to a slice of teacake or a muffin?” she asked, gesturing toward the laden tray.

“I must interrupt these niceties,” Havilland said heavily, stirring in his seat. “To ask you a rather delicate question, Mrs. Nye.” His tone was deeply sarcastic, and she waited with an impassive expression for him to speak.

“Yes?” she said at last when he continued merely to fix his hawk-like gaze upon her without further speech. “Pray ask your question, Mr. Havilland. I will not take offence at any question you ask in pursuit of duty.”

His frown deepened. “I must ask you to corroborate your husband’s whereabouts,” he said, glancing at Nye’s blank face. “For last night, between the hours of midnight and four o’clock this morn.”

Mina kept her eyes trained on Havilland’s face. “Why, as to that,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I see nothing sensitive about my answer. His place as a husband was clearly tucked in bed beside his wife. Which I assure you he was, until Edna knocked on the chamber door this morning on your arrival.”

“You are a dutiful wife, Mrs. Nye, I perceive,” Havilland said dryly. “In this respect at least, you are sadly predictable.”

“I would hope I have a healthy respect for the institution of marriage,” she replied quietly. “That was the way I was raised after all.”

Havilland’s mouth worked for a moment as though he was struggling in the grip of some strong emotion. Then he shot out of his seat. “Guthrie,” he barked, seizing the hilt of his sabre. “We will take our leave of