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, I know. You came to Summerfield House so we could all be together.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Not only for you. I did not want to be alone.’
Her heart lurched for him. He’d lost his whole family. She reached out for him once more, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you also came here for us. I am so grateful to you.’
He glanced away. ‘To go from such a happy day to such a horrific one—I am so sorry for it.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘You must never apologise, not for what happened.’
His gaze pierced her again. ‘It will get better, Lorene. I promise you.’
It must, but if he were held responsible for this dreadful event, she would never forgive herself.
She remained captured by his eyes. It seemed as though she would stay there for ever, but he abruptly broke contact and stepped back.
‘I must leave.’
‘When will I see you next?’ It was the question of a lover, not the sort she should be asking, but it burst from her lips.
‘At the inquest.’
He bowed again, turned and left.
The next several days for Lorene went by as if in a dream.
At least she had not been alone. Tess and Glenville stayed with her at Tinmore Hall and Genna and Rossdale called almost every day. Their presence further disgruntled the servants, but Lorene had long ago given up being accepted by them. Most were old retainers who had served Tinmore most of their lives. She knew nothing of the history of their service to him, but they’d perceived her as an interloper. When Tinmore had been alive, they’d barely been civil, but now their animosity was palpable. Only Filkins, Tinmore’s secretary, exerted himself to be helpful to her, writing to the solicitors who were executors of Tinmore’s will, notifying Tinmore’s heir. The secretary even made tentative arrangements for Tinmore’s burial, although the funeral had to meet the executor’s approval. More than that, the funeral had to be delayed until all the jurors had paraded through the house to examine Tinmore’s body and the place he fell. The jurors were good and lawful men recruited from neighbouring properties and, though they must not have been pleased to have their Christmastide so interrupted, they all seemed to take their task seriously.
* * *
By New Year’s Eve, all jurors had seen what was required of them. The inquest was scheduled for January the thirteenth, a week after Twelfth Night, so as not to interfere with any of the festivities of those involved. There were no festivities at Tinmore Hall.
* * *
On January the eighth, Lord Tinmore’s solicitors arrived from London and gathered all interested parties to a drawing room to read the will.
Lorene’s sisters and their husbands accompanied her.
Rossdale muttered under his breath as they walked into room, ‘He
