Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,35

the first. She changed her clothes so often that I lost count, and when she discovered a loose thread in the dress she did decide to wear, her poor maid had to sit beside a lamp and quickly mend it.

I was rather glad when one of the footman knocked on the door and announced that her parents were waiting for her. I returned to my own suite and changed outfits and fixed my hair. It smelled a little smoky, but thankfully Flossy hadn’t noticed. I sprinkled a few drops of perfume on it then slipped on my shoes.

Floyd hadn’t invited me to join him for dinner so I assumed he’d gone out, as Flossy said he would. I took the lift downstairs, chatting to John all the way, and was about to turn from the foyer into the vestibule when I spotted one of my suspects. It was the man who’d been reading the newspaper in Mrs. Warrick’s line of sight when she’d uttered words of surprised recognition.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping alongside him. “Are you Mr. Duffield?”

It was terribly unladylike of me to speak to a strange man, but this was an extraordinary circumstance that called for desperate measures. He stopped and gave me a polite, if strained, smile. “I am.”

“I’m Miss Fox, the niece of Sir Ronald Bainbridge.”

At the mention of my uncle’s name, the strained smile vanished, replaced by a friendly one. He bowed over my extended hand. “Miss Fox! How lovely to finally meet you. I was just talking to your uncle about you. He said he wanted us to meet.”

It rang utterly false, for some reason. Perhaps it was because he was a little too enthusiastic. “Oh dear, I hope he only said good things about me.”

He laughed. “The best of things. Are you dining with him tonight?”

“He’s dining out with my aunt and cousin, unfortunately. I find myself all alone on my second evening in London.”

“Only your second! Well, we can’t have you dining alone, can we? Would you care to join me? I find myself dining alone tonight too.”

I graciously accepted and he thrust out his elbow for me to take. He gave his name and room number to Mr. Chapman the restaurant steward, but when Mr. Chapman recognized me, he made a point of closing his book without writing anything down.

“Enjoy your meal, Miss Fox, Mr. Duffield.” If Mr. Chapman thought it odd that I was dining with a guest, he didn’t show it. He was the epitome of formality as he signaled for a waiter.

I glanced over my shoulder as we followed the waiter to a table, but there was no sign of Mr. Armitage. I’d half expected to see him there, watching me with a scowl marring his too-handsome features.

Mr. Duffield pulled out the chair for me, and pushed it in as I sat, then took his own seat. He had a nice smile, which he freely bestowed on me, but that was where his good features began and ended. At first I’d thought him well over forty, but on closer inspection, he had the smoother skin of a man in his thirties. It was the lack of hair that made him seem older. Aside from the clusters just above his ears, the rest of his head was bald. He didn’t even have facial hair.

Mr. Duffield gave me his uninvited opinion of every dish on the menu and hailed a passing waiter without asking me if I was ready. He ordered a bottle of wine and our meals.

“You’ll enjoy the duck, Miss Fox,” he said as the waiter departed. “It’s delicious.”

“Fortunately I like duck,” I said tightly.

Mr. Duffield’s smile widened, pleased with my approval. “Tell me all about yourself, Miss Fox. Why have you come to live at this delightful hotel?”

I gave him the brief version, merely mentioning the recent death of my last remaining relative on my father’s side, and my uncle and aunt’s generous invitation to live with them until I married. His eyes lit up at the mention of marriage.

“And do you have a fiancé, Miss Fox?” he asked, oh-so-innocently.

“Not yet,” I said, matching his tone. “Tell me all about yourself, Mr. Duffield. Where are you from?”

“I have an estate in Lincolnshire with several tenant farms. My family has lived there for generations.”

Peter had said Mr. Duffield was the second son of a second son of an earl, so it shouldn’t surprise me to hear that he was landed gentry. Still, I was a little taken aback.