But was it also true she wanted most to see Dell?
Walsh made an incomprehensible sound.
Did he believe her about Dell? Or not?
‘Do you know for certain that your husband did not scuffle with Lord Penford?’ he asked.
Her jaw stiffened when she tried to answer. ‘I did not see what happened.’
Walsh glanced at Squire Hedges, who stood. ‘Thank you very much, Lady Tinmore. That will be all for now. We will be questioning your servants, as well.’
The servants!
She had completely forgotten. This was Boxing Day. The servants would expect the day off. And their boxes. She was supposed to distribute their boxes. She’d scoured the attics and closets and old linens and had found enough cloth and old clothing to make a box for each family. Tinmore was to have given them money and she was to have stood at his side, handing them each a box.
‘Please do not delay in speaking to them,’ she requested. ‘They expect to have the day off.’
Squire Hedges walked around the desk to escort her to the door. ‘We will move as quickly as possible. Dixon will organise them for us.’
Certainly. Dixon would be pleased to do so, Lorene was sure. He would probably be pleased to tell them what to say, as well.
Squire Hedges opened the door for her and she stepped into the corridor where Dixon still stood on guard, but the area soon filled with other voices. Her sisters and their husbands. And Dell, who looked absorbed in his own thoughts.
‘Tess. Genna. I forgot it was Boxing Day. I do not know where Tinmore put the purses for the servants and tenants.’
‘Filkins will know,’ Genna said. ‘I’ll find him.’
She dashed off, but her husband, the Marquis of Rossdale, heir to the Duke of Kessington, marched right past Dixon, entering the room with the Squire and the coroner.
‘What is he doing?’ Lorene asked, alarmed that Rossdale just barged in on the men.
Glenville, Tess’s husband, answered, ‘He wants to be certain they handle this properly. And as quietly as possible.’
She supposed a future duke would have some influence. It was a good thing to have someone even more important than Earl Tinmore to advocate for her.
And for Dell.
‘Surely they will decide that it was merely a horrible accident,’ she said.
‘Dell tells us there will be an inquest,’ Glenville explained. ‘The coroner will have to find jurors and swear them in. They will have to see where the death occurred and view the body, so you cannot bury your husband until that takes place.’
It all sounded dreadful. She hated thinking of his body lying on his bed for as long as it took to find the jurors. Between Christmastide and winter weather, it could take more than a week.
She glanced at Dell, who leaned against the wall, a scowl on his face. He glanced up at her and his expression changed to something more tender, something like regret in his eyes.
She held his gaze for a moment before glancing away.
* * *
The afternoon was exhausting. Not only the sheer numbers of gifts to distribute, but over and over to hear and accept condolences, to answer questions about what had happened, to attempt to reassure the servants and tenants that Tinmore’s heir, whoever he was, would do right by them.
She really had no idea what would happen to any of them, including herself. She had signed a marriage contract with him, but it stipulated that her sisters receive a handsome dowry, that her half-brother receive funds to purchase an advance in rank, and that she receive a modest living upon his death. As it turned out, neither of her sisters received the dowry, nor did her brother keep the money Tinmore bestowed on him. Would she fare any better?
She also did not know the heir to Tinmore’s title, lands and fortune. A great-nephew, he’d said, but never named the man. Was he among the important people Tinmore invited to house parties and whom he called upon in London? She did not know. She hoped her reassurances to the servants and tenants would be true. Any decent man would see to it.
Lorene had insisted Tess leave to rest while she finished up and Genna had hurried away to see what Cook had provided them all to eat and to see to making tea immediately. Lorene was alone with her thoughts in this drawing room, the same room to which Tinmore had taken Dell the night before.
There was a light rap on the door.
Lorene rubbed her face and straightened in her chair. ‘Come in.’
Dell appeared in the doorway. God help her, her body flushed with awareness just looking upon him, even though his expression was dark.
‘May I disturb you for a moment?’ he asked.
She stood. ‘Yes. Come in. You do not disturb me.’
He crossed the room to her. ‘I came to bid you goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ She had not thought of him leaving. The idea of it made her insides twist.
He nodded, still looking grim. ‘My coachmen need their holiday and—’ his impossibly blue eyes captured her gaze ‘—there is no reason to stay.’
‘No reason?’ Goodness. Could she do nothing but repeat his words?
‘The Squire and Mr Walsh left.’
Had that been why he’d stayed this long? ‘But surely you will stay for dinner.’ If Cook left them anything to eat.
He shook his head. ‘Ross and Glenville will stay. And your sisters. They will...’ He paused. ‘Look out for you.’
She’d have no friends here if they did not stay, except perhaps for Mr Filkins, but he had no power or status.
‘Still...’ she murmured. Still, she wanted him to stay.
Again his eyes met hers, piercing into her as only his eyes could. ‘It is better I leave. And better I stay away, lest my mere presence makes it seem as though—as though there was truth to Lord Tinmore’s accusations.’
She could not deny the sense to that.
‘So—’ He bowed rather formally. ‘Goodbye, Lady Tinmore.’
Her arm reached out to touch his. ‘Dell,’ she rasped. ‘I am so sorry. I have caused you a great deal of trouble and I am so worried sick over what could happen—’
He took her hand in his warm, strong one. ‘You have caused nothing.’
But she had! If she had not defied her husband, if she had not formed this schoolgirl worship of hers, none of this would have happened. Instead of standing here with him, feeling the heat of his palm against her fingers, she would be taking tea with Tinmore, hearing all his praise of his generosity and his complaints of those less than deserving. He’d correct something about how she gave away the boxes and instruct her on how a lady ought to have done it.
She lowered her gaze and he dropped her hand, but she still did not wish to let him go. ‘What of this inquest? Will you be accused of killing him?’
He could lose his life.
His face hardened. ‘I did not kill him.’
She blushed. ‘I know, but Dixon will have said—’
‘He did not see what happened.’
She did not want to obsess about who the coroner and Squire Hedges would believe, not any more than she had already done.
She absently straightened the items left over on the table where she’d piled the boxes. ‘Things change so rapidly.’ She glanced back up at him. ‘Yesterday was such a lovely day. A lovely Christmas. That was your doing,