A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,22

firmly on her side if his words were to be believed.

"I found this," Mary waved the papers she held in the air, "It's a list of all the tithes Mr Parsims expected to collect, though at the end there is another page, which I cannot make head nor tail of. Would you like to see?"

Northcott nodded, and Mary crossed the flagstone floor to hand them to him. His gloved hand brushed hers as he took them and Mary shivered; not once in her life had she been in such close proximity to a man unchaperoned. Did they all smell so divine, she wondered, or was it just the duke in particular who exuded this heavenly scent? The air around him was crisp, like citrus, sweet, like basil, yet with a distinctly woody undertone. Had she been more worldly, Mary might have guessed that Northcott wore a cologne from Floris of Jermyn Street in town, but her parochial nose simply decided that the duke was naturally scent-sational.

"What on earth?" Northcott frowned as he read the page that Mary had handed to him, "I cannot fathom why those listed might owe Parsims these sums? His living is quite clear; tithes to be paid from agricultural increases, not any waged employees."

Northcott paused, to think. As he did so, Mary surreptitiously admired his features, which were decidedly more handsome up-close. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high, his nose Roman and aristocratic. It was his eyes, however, which were the most striking of all his features; bright blue, framed by a thick set of black lashes, which Mary envied terribly.

"Is there any chance that Parsims might have been acting as a money-lender of sorts?" the duke wondered aloud.

Mary, despite her best intentions to impress the duke, gave a snort of laughter.

"Excuse me," she apologised, cheeks pink, "It's just that there were not many people who liked Mr Parsims, and I think that dislike was so great that there would be few who would wish to debase themselves by asking him for a monetary loan."

"True," Northcott agreed, "Though there must be some reason for this list."

"We might ask them?" Mary suggested, rather liking the use of "we" in regards to herself and the duke.

"I think matters which need investigating are best left to me, Miss Mifford," Northcott answered, sounding rather imperious to Mary's ears.

Had Mary three brothers, instead of three sisters, she might have understood that this was the way men were; they took charge of situations, thinking themselves duty-bound to act on behalf of all females, to protect them. However, having had no experience of this masculine chivalry, Mary was prone to think it bossiness more than helpfulness.

"I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace," Mary replied, feeling quite hot under the collar, "But as it is my reputation which is at stake, I would rather not sit passively by and allow you to do all the work. Besides, I might offer some local insight which might be useful to speed up your investigation."

Northcott looked momentarily taken aback; as a duke, Mary guessed, he was not used to people going against his wishes. She could not, however, regret her words. It was her reputation on the line and her sisters' for that matter. There was no greater cause worth fighting for than her own flesh and blood.

"Very well," Northcott nodded, and waved a hand at the table, "Why don't we sit down and discuss what we know so far?"

A bright smile tugged at Mary's lips, though she fought against it valiantly. It would not look well to be so cheerful when they were discussing such serious matters. And so, Mary rearranged her features into what she hoped was a thoughtful repose, then took a seat on one side of the table, while Northcott took the seat opposite her.

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted Parsims dead?" he asked, getting straight to business. "I am aware that there was an incident with a farmer last year when Parsims was suspected of letting a dog loose to worry his ewes."

"Stephen Browne," Mary confirmed.

"Then there was a disagreement with a gentleman at the inn."

"Mr Thompson," Mary supplied, a font of knowledge when it came to local gossip.

"Though both of these incidents happened some time ago," Northcott continued, "And neither man is on that list."

Northcott was correct, Mary thought; while both men might have had reason to want Mr Parsims dead some time ago, there were surely people with more current grievances.

"Mr Fairweather," Mary gasped. Northcott gave her