shared interests, and Mr. Evingdon told me he was seeking a woman of some maturity and intelligence. Mary fit the bill on both fronts. She is almost thirty and is very intelligent. Her wit is rapier sharp, but she is a very kind and caring person. I feel badly that she and Charles could not make a go of it. She doesn’t go out in society much these days, and I fear she may have fallen on hard times since her husband’s death. She’s managed to keep the home they lived in on the edge of Mayfair so perhaps she receives an allowance from her late husband’s family. Her only family is a sister who lives near Oxford. So, Mary is quite alone.”
Lily frowned. “Well, now I wish things had worked out between them.”
“I can always try again, I suppose. In two months I’ll be out of mourning and able to move about in society more. Perhaps I can find another likely match for her. From what Mr. Evingdon tells me, a match between them is impossible.”
“What did you say her name was?”
I glanced up to see Hetty watching me over the turned-down corner of her newspaper.
“Mary Archer. Why?”
Hetty twisted her lips into a grimace. “It appears Mr. Evingdon is correct in this matter. Whatever divided them, he’ll have no opportunity to reconcile with Mrs. Archer.”
Confused, I stared at my aunt. “What are you saying?”
“I’m sorry to give you this news, Frances, but I just read about her in the paper. It appears she’s been murdered.”
Chapter 2
Murdered? I snatched the newspaper from Hetty’s hands and spread it on my lap. “Show me where you read this.”
Hetty leaned forward and ran her finger down one of the columns of newsprint, landing on Mary’s name. It was one paragraph. “ ‘Found dead in her home,’ ” I read. The sentence was followed by Mary’s name, age, and family connections. “ ‘No details given by the police, but foul play is suspected.’ ”
“If the reporter has no details, why does he suspect foul play?” Lily asked.
“I think what he means is, the police implied they suspect foul play.” I crumpled the paper and stared up at my companions. “Why would anyone murder Mary?”
Lottie leaned forward in her seat and squeezed my arm. “I’m so sorry, Lady Harleigh. Was Mrs. Archer a close friend?”
Now that’s the strange thing. I’d known Mary for several years and wouldn’t say I knew her well. Yet I already felt her loss and regretted we hadn’t been closer. I patted Lottie’s gloved hand with my own. “More acquaintances, I suppose, but I liked and respected her.”
I didn’t notice we’d already arrived at Chester Street and drawn up in front of my house until the driver opened the carriage door. I climbed out first and waited on the pavement while he assisted the others, turning to gaze at my house. The pride of ownership still gave me a thrill. Though it was the smallest in the block of terrace houses, it was all mine.
Mary must have felt much the same about her home, as she never returned to her family after her husband’s death. The thought of some criminal breaking in and murdering her made gooseflesh rise on my arms. But she lived completely alone, I reminded myself, while I had family and servants with me.
The driver turned the carriage around the corner to the mews and the four of us proceeded into the house where Mrs. Thompson, my housekeeper, waited in the foyer. Her stiff spine and crisp black dress, buttoned up to the neck, gave her the appearance of a guard.
“Inspector Delaney is here to see you, my lady,” she said, shaking her salt-and-pepper head.
I took a step back. “Delaney? Whatever for?”
“He wouldn’t say, ma’am, but he was insistent about waiting for you. He’s been in the drawing room at least a quarter of an hour now.” Her hand was unsteady when she took my hat and bag.
“I’m sure it’s nothing you need trouble yourself about, Mrs. Thompson.”
The housekeeper pursed her lips but stopped short of revealing her doubts. Of course, she didn’t believe me. Delaney had never stopped by for nothing before. In fact, I hadn’t seen him for months, since the occasion of a particularly gruesome murder in my garden. His calling on me now set butterflies off in my stomach.
Hetty laid a hand on my arm. “Perhaps he’s here about Mrs. Archer.”
“I can’t imagine why he would come to me on that account.” I took a step toward the drawing room and stopped as all three of my companions crowded behind me. “Inspector Delaney asked to see me and I’m quite capable of speaking to him on my own.” I turned to Mrs. Thompson. “Please have Jenny bring in tea.”
Hetty appeared ready to argue but backed down as I raised my brows. “Fine. We’ll wait for you in the library.”
I opened the door to the drawing room and stepped inside, no more eager to speak to the inspector than Mrs. Thompson had been. Like Hetty, I wondered if his visit had anything to do with Mary’s murder.
He was seated in one of the wingback chairs by the window and stood as I walked toward him, extending my hand in greeting. Heavens, if I wasn’t struck with an odd wave of affection for the man. To say he’d been kind to me in our past encounters would be a great breach of the truth. He’d been gruff and domineering, but he’d also provided me with a sense of almost parental security, though he was only perhaps a dozen years older than myself.
I noted he wore a new, shapeless suit, this one in a dark shade of gray. Delaney was a tall man, so the lack of cut made him appear rather lanky. His complexion was a warmer hue than I remembered, as if he’d just had a holiday in the sun, and his brown-gray hair and eyebrows, as usual, had a life all their own.
He returned my welcome with a warm smile, hinting that he recalled me with some affection as well.
“Inspector Delaney,” I said, leading him to a conversational grouping of sofa and chairs around the tea table. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
“A cup of tea would be most welcome, my lady.” He waited for me to choose a seat before folding himself into the chair next to mine.
“Excellent. It should be here momentarily. In the meantime, tell me, how have you been faring? Has the newest Delaney made his appearance yet?”
A smile broke across his face like a sunrise, crinkling the eyes beneath those bushy brows. “She arrived about a month ago,” he said. “After two boys, my wife was hoping for a girl this time and I’ve never seen her happier.”
It appeared to me his wife was not the only one. “My congratulations, Inspector. My own daughter has brought me nothing but joy. I hope the same is true for you.”
A knock at the door warned of Jenny, my housemaid, entering with our tea. I had bribed Jenny away from my brother-in-law’s household when I moved to Belgravia. A buxom, sweet-natured, country girl with more intellect and curiosity than I’d first given her credit for. After placing the tray on the table, she reached for the pot, as if to serve us. I could tell she was hoping to pick up a bit of gossip.
“Thank you, Jenny,” I said firmly. “I’ll take care of this.”
With a bob of her head, she slipped out of the room and I poured Delaney a cup, waiting for him to tell me why he’d called.
It didn’t take long. “Are you acquainted with Mrs. Mary Archer, ma’am?” Delaney asked, leaning forward to place his cup on the table.
My teacup rattled on its saucer and a tiny amount of the dark liquid slipped over the side. I quickly placed it on the table. “So, you are here about Mary. Yes, I am acquainted with her, and I must confess, we read of her death just a few moments ago. Is it true she was murdered?”
“I’m sorry to say she was, ma’am.” Delaney flashed me