A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,40

him know he was still there, "It's just that I was rather taken by being a young-blood about town, for a spell. I did not visit Northcott Manor as often as I ought, and I did not spend as much time with my father as he would have liked. I was—I fear—a great disappointment."

"Did he tell you as such?" Miss Mifford's voice was no longer sympathetic; it now held a note of incredulity.

"No, he did not," Henry replied, a little stung that she did not believe his confession, "But I knew; the instant that I learned of his death, I realised how awfully I had behaved."

"Guilt is death's painful companion," Miss Mifford replied, her blue eyes soft as she looked at him, "And guilt, Your Grace, is an insidious thing. It can make one believe that something is worse than it is in actuality. I rather think that you have allowed your shame to grow into something that it is not; if your father had been cross with you, or hurt, he would have told you. His Grace was most forthright with his opinions; I have often heard that said of him."

It was true, Henry thought, feeling marginally better. His father was not the type of man who would have allowed Henry to carry on with any behaviour that he did not think fitting of his son.

"My thanks, Miss Mifford," Henry said, feeling the burden of shame lift somewhat from his shoulders.

"Glad to have helped," she replied, cheerfully, "I am a great believer of better out than in."

There was a second of strained silence.

"When it comes to feelings, I mean," she clarified, clearing her throat awkwardly, "Not anything else."

"Of course," Henry assured her.

Miss Mifford gave an audible sigh of relief, as they reached the point where the path diverged in two. One way led along the river, whilst the other wound through a copse of trees to Plumpton.

"I do not think it wise to be seen walking alone together, Your Grace," Miss Mifford decided, "Perhaps it would be best if you were to ride ahead."

As his walking alongside Miss Mifford--or Mary, as he liked to refer to her in his head--had felt so natural, Henry felt a slight prickle of annoyance to be reminded that in the eyes of others, it was not. Their being alone would be viewed as a scandal, which Henry felt sullied what had passed between the pair.

"I was going to ride to The King's Head," he said, wishing to linger a little longer, "To see what Canet has to say for himself, now that we know Parsims was bribing him."

"Do you think Monsieur guilty?" Miss Mifford questioned, her own eyes thoughtful.

"I believe so," Henry said confidently. Canet had outright lied about having interacted with Parsims on the day of his murder--an innocent man would not have cause to do such a thing.

"I was thinking to ask the ladies on the list about Mr Parsims," Miss Mifford replied, her face alight with energy, "Just in case."

"There's no need," Henry stuck out his chest proudly, peacocking for her benefit, "I can assure you that Monsieur Canet is our man."

To Henry's surprise, Miss Mifford did not look impressed by his declaration; she looked rather annoyed instead.

"Well, don't let me keep you," she replied, her plump mouth pouting a little.

It took Henry a moment to realise what was going on inside the mind concealed beneath the fetching bonnet; Miss Mifford was feeling left out. He could have cursed his stupidity. Investigating Parsims' murder had been a task which had brought them together, yet here Henry was, accidentally pushing her away in his quest to play the hero.

"We might never have made any progress if it was not for your inspired recollection about the Hargreaves," Henry said, offering her a smile which he was glad to see she returned easily.

"Oh, really, it was nothing," she said, though she preened like a cat at his words, "It was all you. No one would have believed me innocent without the weight of your opinion behind me."

"That's not true," Henry chided, fully aware that, actually, it was.

"It is," Miss Mifford smiled, "Though I am touched by your modesty, Your Grace."

A salacious thought crossed Henry's mind at her words and he flushed, grateful that Miss Mifford could not know the risqué response which had popped into his head. He felt awkward and flustered, as well as tortured by desire, and in order to disguise his embarrassment, he turned and made a great fuss of