“You thought it was your place to speak ill of a lady but not to inform me of business regarding my sister?” he said. “Speak now, or lose your place in this house.”
“I only meant that…” The maid trailed off, pursing her lips. She was a fiery one, he could tell by the way she addressed him. Most maids would have trembled in their boots if confronted by the master of the house in such a way, but she showed no sign of deference or respect. “Well, Lord Bragg and Lady Bridget have nothing in common, Your Grace. She play-acts at being a Society darling when she is in fact a—”
“I would recommend you tread carefully,” Graham interrupted, quite tired now of the woman’s cheek. “I am seeking information, not gossip.”
“I can assure you gossip is all she has to offer,” the cook cut in, the sensible older woman shaking her head. It was clear which of the two had experience in working in a noble household and who had just started her career.
The maid looked at the cook with an expression of betrayal, her lips curled in a sneer. “In that case, I think you no longer have any business here,” Graham said to her, narrowing his eyes. “Go and pack up your things. I’ll inform Warren that you are dismissed.”
“But, my lord—”
“It is Your Grace. I am a duke, and if you have any hopes of working in an aristocratic home again, I advise that you both learn to properly address your employer, and how to control your tongue. Now. Enough,” Graham said. “I can speak with the cook here about your conversation. Get out of my sight.”
The maid gathered her skirts in her hands and rushed out in a huff, scoffing out a breath of disgust. Both Graham and the cook watched her leave, the cook continuing to shake her head.
“What was that about?” Graham asked after she had left.
The cook sighed. “Oh, she’s just a silly girl. She carried a torch for Lord Bragg when he was courting Lady Mary, always thought he was handsome. I think she’s quite jealous that she never won his attentions.”
Graham did not want to reveal that he had not known Mary was being courted by Bragg. As her older brother and the only man left in their family, it was his job to examine the coffers of anyone courting her and to investigate the man’s gentlemanly credentials. Yet the servants clearly knew something he did not, and he was intent on finding out what.
“Did Lord Bragg interact with the servants?” Graham asked, taking care with his words. “I did not realize he was so often at Foxglove Hall.”
“Oh, all the time,” the cook said. “And a relentless flirt. But that’s all it was, I think. Lady Bridget must simply have seen an opportunity to help her family, and she took it.”
“So you think she had ill intentions for Mary?” Graham asked.
“Well, no, I would not say that,” the cook said. “And I shouldn’t gossip.”
“In this case, it is of the utmost importance that you do,” Graham said. “This is not gossip but vital information.”
He felt like such a fool: first, an absentee brother, now, a half-cocked investigator. Graham was not qualified to do such things, and yet it felt as if things were finally starting to unravel.
“If you say so, Your Grace,” the cook said. “I do not want to share any information that is untoward, but the Sedgwicks are in quite a dire situation. Their staff has been whittled down to no more than a few of their most faithful employees, and the viscount has been absent for the better part of two years—first in London, and now on the Continent.”
Graham could remember running into Lord Sedgwick once in London, in a gambling hell. They’d exchanged a few hurried words, and now that he remembered, he’d loaned the man a few pieces of gold, as he’d claimed to have run out. Sedgwick had told him he’d send the money back by way of his valet. Now that he thought of it, it had never happened.
Sedgwick had appeared rather harried and his skin had glowed with a layer of sweat. Graham had believed it to be normal at the time, putting it down to the heat of the day and the crowds around them. But he now realized the man must have gotten too far into debt and had been trying to dig his way out. He could not believe a man he had once respected had left his wife and daughter behind.
But had Graham been any better? Hertfordshire was, apparently, full of men abandoning their families.
“And what do you think of Lady Bridget’s engagement to Lord Bragg?” Graham asked. “Was there any hint of affection between them prior to Mary’s death?”
The cook frowned, her eyes flitting as if she was searching her memories. “Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “That Lady Bridget accepted his proposal must have been a calculated act, not one of passion. And the fact they’re getting married so soon… well, it’s shameful, isn’t it?”
Graham was inclined to agree. He had already suspected Bragg was a scoundrel, but now it seemed that Bridget was too. Perhaps they were made for each other, and he should return to London after all.
But first, he needed answers.
And he knew Bridget was the only one who could provide them.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Bridget was completely and utterly miserable.
She moved around Sedgwick Manor like a ghost, agitated from her run-in with Graham and from their near kiss at the lake. The lake that had once been a place of so many happy memories, but was sullied now with the memory of death.
No, she could not even think of it. It was too horrible to remember.