Lady Danbury’s eyes were far too perceptive when she asked, “My errant estate manager?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, drat the man. We’re falling into complete ruin here.”
Elizabeth glanced through the window at the endless pristine lawns of Danbury House. “You might be overstating slightly.”
Lady D started to say something, but Elizabeth held up her hand and said, “And don’t tell me that at your age it’s your prerogative to exaggerate.”
“Well, it is, Hmmph. Malcolm!”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the door. The king of Danbury House was padding into the sitting room, his fat paws moving silently across the carpet.
“There you are, sweetie,” Lady Danbury cooed. “Come to Mama.”
But Malcolm didn’t even flick his café au lait tail at her. While Lady D watched in horror, her cat trotted straight to Elizabeth and hopped up on her lap.
“Good kitty,” Elizabeth purred.
“What is going on here?” Lady D demanded.
“Malcolm and I have come to a rapprochement of sorts.”
“But he hates you!”
“Why, Lady Danbury,” Elizabeth said, pretending to be shocked. “All these years you have insisted that he’s a perfectly friendly kitty.”
“He’s certainly a perfect kitty,” Lady D muttered.
“Not to mention all the times you told me this was all in my head.”
“I lied!”
Elizabeth slapped a hand against her cheek in mock disbelief. “No!”
“I want my cat back.”
Elizabeth shrugged. Malcolm flipped over onto his back and stretched out with his paws over his head.
“Miserable traitorous feline.”
Elizabeth smiled down at the cat as she rubbed the fur under his chin. “Life is good, eh, Malcolm? Life is very, very good.”
Malcolm purred in agreement, and Elizabeth knew it had to be true.
Back in London, James was frustrated as hell. He’d spent well over a week investigating Agatha’s life and had come up with nothing. He couldn’t find a soul who even knew of anyone with a grudge against his aunt. Oh, plenty of people had plenty to say about her acerbic wit and direct manner, but no one truly hated her.
Furthermore, there was nary a hint of a whisper of scandal surrounding her past. As far as London was concerned, Agatha, Lady Danbury, had led an exemplary life. Upstanding and true, she was lauded the prime example of proper English womanhood.
Truth be told, he couldn’t remember ever pursuing an investigation that was quite so boring.
He’d known that it was unlikely he’d find anything substantive; after all, the blackmailer had sought out his aunt in Surrey. But he’d unearthed no clues at Danbury House, and London had seemed the logical next step. If Agatha’s enemy had learned of her secret past through the ton’s brilliantly efficient gossip mill, then it stood to reason that someone in London would know something.
James had been bitterly disappointed.
There was nothing to do now except return to Danbury House and hope that the blackmailer had made another demand. This seemed unlikely, however; surely his aunt would have n
otified him if she’d received another threatening note. She knew where to reach him; he’d told her exactly where he was going and what he hoped to accomplish.