Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,50

he lifted the lid he saw why.

He did not recognize the murdered man, but the quality garments he wore suggested that he worked inside the house, probably as a valet or steward. He had died suddenly and violently, yet someone had put his body here, and closed his eyes. Those two acts implied cunning and sympathy, and a murderer would not feel both at once. He must not have been the first to find the corpse.

Furious indignation rose inside him, making it impossible to pray for the poor man’s soul. More than any other sin, murder offended and disgusted Jeffrey. Carefully he closed the lid, resting his hand upon it as he made a silent promise to return as soon as he could, to attend to him properly.

Now he had to find Jennet Reed, before whoever had killed this man did.

Chapter 20

Finding her way out of darkness seemed impossible, so Jennet went to another, happier place in her dreams.

In the beginning she had not been very happy about that particular evening. Time and again she had tried to talk her mother out of attending Lady Hardiwick’s spring dance, but Margaret would not hear of it. Spending a month in bed with a nasty head cold had left her mother pale and exhausted, and genuinely in need of rest. Yet Margaret strangely determined to go out into society.

“We cannot stay shut up in this house another evening,” her mother declared as she came down stairs from her chamber, her hand clinging tightly to the railing. “I accepted the invitation, so we must make an appearance, or risk offending dear Lady Hardiwick.”

“Your voice is shaking,” Jennet pointed out as she climbed up the steps to meet her. “So are your knees. I will risk her disapproval.”

Margaret glared at her. “You cannot see my knees.”

“I can hear them knocking together.” She guided her downstairs, where she had hoped to steer her into the sitting room so she could persuade her to instead sit by the fire. When Margaret stopped in the front hall and called for their housekeeper, she knew she would have to try something else. “Please, Mama, you are not well enough to go out. The sickness might return, or even worsen. Surely you do not wish to stay in bed until summer.”

“Do not fuss, Jennet.” Margaret smiled as their housekeeper appeared. “Ah, Mrs. Holloway. Has Barton brought up the carriage as I instructed?”

The housekeeper’s gaze went from Margaret to Jennet and back again. “Yes, madam.”

She smiled her approval. “Then all I need is my wrap and Miss Jennet’s jacket, and you have them both. You are a treasure indeed.” She turned so the other woman could drape her with the heavy silk and velvet shawl. “Come, now, my darling girl.”

Jennet and the housekeeper watched Margaret walk through the front door, her stride as eager as if she meant to go on foot to the Hardiwick’s estate.

“She has not been at the wine, I hope,” Jennet murmured.

Mrs. Holloway shook her head as she helped her into her jacket. “Nor the laudanum, Miss. I checked the pantry and the medicine cabinet.”

Once Barton delivered them to the Hardiwicks’ enormous country house, Jennet noticed her mother’s step grew slightly less purposeful. By the time they made their way inside and through the receiving line and into the ballroom, Margaret took a turn away from the dance floor. She headed directly for the row of chairs and settees placed against the side wall for the older attendees.

“No one will wish to partner an old lady like me.” Her mother craned her neck as if looking for someone, and then grimaced and pressed a hand to the small of her back. “Goodness, I can feel my bones creaking from all those weeks in bed. I must speak to Dr. Mallory about that.”

“Really, Mama, we should go home,” Jennet said as she guided her over to the most comfortable-looking settee. “You are not up to this yet.”

“Nonsense. I am feeling most invigorated.” Trembling now, Margaret lowered herself onto the cushions and sighed. “There, that is very good. I am quite cozy now. Is your friend Catherine here?”

Jennet sank down beside her. “She is back in London, I believe.” She removed her jacket and draped it over the top of her mother’s shawl. “What is this about, Mama, really? I cannot remember the last time you wished to attend a ball. If ever you have.”

Margaret absently patted her hand. “I wish to be here with you, and show