eyes for exasperation. “Never mind, Mama,” she said, taking a seat next to her mother and adjusting the blankets around the older woman’s shoulders. “Let’s hear what our visitors have to say, shall we?”
A cloud passed over Lady Folkestone’s face, and her mouth crumpled in on itself. She blinked, twice, and when she refocused on Nick, she smiled. “Do you have any news from London, sir? Charles is so good about sharing the latest gossip, but with the snows his letters haven’t reached us.”
Christabel patted her mother’s hand, shaking her head at Nick and Ellie as she said, “They can’t have come from London recently, Mama, not with the roads the way they are.”
Nick looked at Ellie. She was staring very hard at Lady Folkestone, as though trying to read the story of the intervening years in the lines on her face. They had been enemies for so long — how would Ellie react if her enemy was no longer the woman she had once been?
Nick turned back to Lady Folkestone and Christabel. “You are correct. I have been in the neighborhood for some days. Have you noticed any other newcomers to the area?”
The dowager looked to Christabel, who took the reins. “We do not entertain very often beyond the occasional relative, as I’m sure you understand,” Christabel said. “I only leave the house to work in my gardens or run to the village. Mother frets if I leave for too long.”
“As I should. You are too young to be calling unescorted,” Lady Folkestone interjected.
Christabel ignored her. “Why are you asking about newcomers?”
“This may be a better conversation for later,” Nick warned. “We wouldn’t want to tire your mother.”
She shook off the warning. “Mama likely won’t bother herself over it above an hour. Please, do continue.”
Nick finally sat down, as near to directly across from Christabel as he could be in the crush of furnishings. “We have reason to believe someone poses a threat to the neighborhood.”
“What makes you believe that?”
Nick laid out the facts — the highwaymen’s attack, the burned shed, and the attempts on his life that he had faced in India. “We thought you should be aware of the danger, living on the estate as you are.”
Christabel frowned. “I’ve heard nothing of this from the servants. Surely a highwayman in the area would merit an investigation?”
“We were…delayed in reporting it to the magistrate. Snows, you know.”
Christabel turned that statement over, and she didn’t seem to like the conclusion she had reached. “Did you suspect my mother of being behind this?”
The question surprised him. “Of course not, my lady. This does not have a woman’s touch.”
Christabel leveled her gaze upon him. “A woman could do this, Lord Folkestone. We are not as weak as you men would rather believe.”
“Is that a confession?” he asked.
“No. I would not have hired highwaymen — poison is far more reliable than hired men.”
This roused Lady Folkestone, who had been fiddling with the fringe of one of her shawls. “Christabel, enough.” Her voice was sharp again, more lucid, and the distaste was back in her eyes as she swiveled her gaze between Nick and Ellie. “Do you have any other news to share that won’t upset my poor daughter?”
“I am not upset, Mama,” she said soothingly. Then she turned her gaze back to Nick — and this time, he saw a spark of humor there. “I am sure I am quite far down on the list of people who might have you murdered, my lord. An absentee landlord is better than a bad one.”
“But then Marcus might inherit. If you approve of anything that has been done the last decade, you have him to thank for it.”
“Not just him, I think.” She shifted her attention to Ellie. “The housekeeper gave me a tour last summer — it was odd to see everything so changed from when I was a girl there, but you have a lovely touch, my lady.”
“You are welcome to call anytime, Lady Christabel,” Ellie said. Her speed was impulsive — not the deliberate, distancing tones he heard her use with most of her guests. “Perhaps dinner tomorrow night? Or at least the fireworks display in the village afterward? We are having a house party at Folkestone, and you might like to become acquainted with my sisters. I regret not having thought to invite you before, but in my mind you are still sixteen and not allowed to call on me.”
Some stark yearning flooded Christabel’s face, almost vicious in how swiftly