An Invitation To Murder Read online

  “Pull yourself together,” Katherine commanded in an encouraging tone. “You’re happy to be here, aren’t you?”

  Annie’s chin wobbled as she tilted her head up to meet Katherine’s gaze. “I haven’t got a chance next to her.”

  Katherine scoffed. “Why not? I’ve seen door latches with more personality than Miss Young.”

  A slim smile pulled at Annie’s lips. Her dimples winked in and out of sight.

  “But she’s beautiful.”

  “If Lord Northbrook looked for beauty alone, he would already have married her. Have you seen him pay her any mind at past events?” For Annie’s sake, Katherine hoped the answer was no.

  She let out a bated breath as Annie shook her head.

  “There you are, then. Go on and mingle. Smile. Compliment the dowager on her home. Let’s keep talk of insects for when the earl knows you better, yes?”

  Annie nodded. She started to step toward the open sitting room door, from which light and murmured chatter spilled. She hesitated after one step. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I’ll be in the room, but you must stand on your own and not use me as a crutch.” More importantly, Katherine had a list of suspects to narrow if she had any hope of catching the Pink-Ribbon Killer before the deadline. She hardened herself to Annie’s glum expression and followed the young woman into the sitting room.

  Stepping into the corner to better observe everyone in the room, Katherine parted from her charge. With her shoulders bowed as if to make herself invisible, Annie joined the other debutantes on the settees and chairs ringing a table laden with the tea service.

  In the sea of so many young women, the Dowager Countess of Northbrook perched like a queen in front of her subjects. Her shrewd gaze, all but hidden beneath her thick eyebrows, chased young woman after young woman as she measured each prospect. Given her severe, disapproving expression, coupled with the slate-gray turban on her head, which matched her high-necked gown, Katherine had no misgivings in believing Annie’s assessment of her to be correct.

  If she didn’t want to see her son married, why go through the trouble of hosting a house party at such a tumultuous time?

  The men clustered across the room in front of the dado, which was painted in a Grecian shoreline. They sipped amber liquid from tumblers as they conversed in low voices, likely about horseflesh or hunting. Katherine wondered which of the men was Lord Northbrook and guessed that he must be the dark-haired man who said little and snuck glances between his mother and the door.

  Katherine recognized an old man in his seventies who had a mane of white hair and pronounced laugh lines around his eyes as the Duke of Somerset. A few paltry murders, one of which occurred on his estate, didn’t appear to have dampened his spirits.

  In fact, as a buxom maid stepped closer to offer the men refills, Somerset relinquished his tumbler and took advantage of his empty hand to pinch the woman’s behind. Katherine appeared to be the only one to notice the lewd gesture. The maid curtseyed and hurried about her tasks.

  In his notes on the second murder, Katherine’s father had described each of the guests as potential suspects. Although not all were attending Lord Northbrook’s affair, the notes provided her with enough information to guess at the identities of the other men.

  The man with golden-brown hair and an athletic build must be Lord Mowbry, heir to a marquess. Although he couldn’t be much older than Katherine, when the others weren’t looking he gathered a somber mien, like building storm clouds, which made him seem under the weight of decades. He replaced that air, the moment someone directed a comment toward him, with a ready smile. Is he hiding a more sinister nature?

  Katherine remembered rumors of an association between Mowbry and the first victim, Miss Smythe. She wondered whether he also had an association with the second victim, Miss Rosehill, and whether the young ladies had done something that drove him to murder.

  To his left stood his constant friend, Mr. Greaves. Of the same height and build as his friend, Greaves had white-blond hair that looked purposefully mussed in the frightened owl style. His smile was even wider than Mowbry’s as he engaged the group in repartee.

  The last man, the tallest of the lot at well over six feet, had his back turned to her. Something about him was vaguely familiar, and Katherine nibbled on her lower lip as she tried to recall whether Papa had described a man so tall. A name eluded her, and without seeing his face, she couldn’t be certain of his identity. She frowned at the back of his brown-haired head. Who was he?

  “Contemptible, wouldn’t you say?”

  Katherine jumped. She pressed a hand to her middle as she glanced at the middle-aged beauty who had detached from the debutantes to stand at her elbow. Apparently, Katherine wasn’t as unnoticeable as she’d hoped.

  Remembering her manners, not that this woman had displayed any thus far, Katherine smiled politely. “Lady Reardon, so good to see you, but I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  The judgmental woman tapped one finger against her arm, subtly pointing toward Somerset, who leered at a maid as she refilled his glass.

  “His room is next to ours, you know. Lord Reardon couldn’t make it, I’m afraid, so I’ve been losing sleep. Anyway, I’ve already heard him celebrating his arrival with the chambermaid and trying to celebrate with the housemaid, who almost tipped over that lovely bust of Cesar in the hallway between our rooms in her haste to get away! Does he have no shame?”

  Katherine hoped that the woman didn’t expect her to answer, for she had no personal insight on the duke. Since he wasn’t a member of the Royal Society of Investigative Techniques, she rarely crossed paths with him.

  Seemingly, her silence was the answer for which Lady Reardon hoped, because the woman continued to natter on. “I tell you, he’d better not stray his gaze toward my daughter.”

  Frankly, Katherine was surprised to hear her make such a pronouncement. “He’s a duke.” Isn’t wealth and status what all the matchmaking mamas care about?

  The older woman turned up her nose. “Don’t be lewd. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”

  To many, the title of duke would supersede the matter of age. Katherine held her tongue on the matter.

  Lady Reardon added, “I know all men keep mistresses, but I will see that my daughter has a better man than that.”

  It was almost admirable of her, to exclude a man from the list of eligible matches because of the way she perceived he would treat his bride. However, Lady Reardon wasn’t exacting enough, in Katherine’s opinion.

  “You’re wrong. Not all men keep mistresses.” After all, her brothers-in-law did not. She or her father, the two detectives in the family, would certainly know if they had.

  The other woman scoffed. “How quaint of you to think so.” Her gaze strayed toward the group of debutantes, and at last, her true purpose in seeking out Katherine’s company became clear. “I do hope Mrs. Pickering paid your fee up front. If you hope to find a man without a mistress for your charge, you’ll be looking a long time indeed.”

  This was precisely the reason Katherine chose to spend more time with the Royal Society than out at ton events. The moment these matrons perceived a rival, they sought to cut them down.

  Leaning closer, Lady Reardon added, “Perhaps you should consider Lord Somerset. He isn’t good enough for my daughter, but your charge, I imagine, would welcome any male attention, however brief. If Mrs. Burwick is so desperate to marry off her daughter that she’d host her party so soon after… Well, I can only say there is much competition for a husband here.”

  Judging by the grasp Mrs. Burwick kept on her daughter’s shoulder, Katherine couldn’t tell whether the sharp-nosed brunette was in pain or if her face always looked so sour. Mrs. Burwick must be desperate indeed. And why had she hosted that party so soon after the first murder? Katherine almost felt sorry for Miss Burwick. Standing almost as tall as Katherine and with hips just as wide, she was no dainty flower.

  The older woman turn
ed away. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe my daughter requires my attention.”

  As Lady Reardon sashayed away, the hostess called for the gentlemen to join the ladies for a word game. Although Katherine excelled at word games and Consequences was one of her favorites, due to the hilarity brewed from each person adding a line to the growing narrative without knowing the previous line, she was happy to remain in the corner alone.

  The gentlemen milled among the ladies as papers and pencils were handed around the circle. Katherine counted her suspects, conveniently all in one place.

  Wait—where was the brown-haired fellow who towered head and shoulders above the others?

  “Lady Katherine. I must admit, I didn’t expect to find you here,” a familiar voice said.

  Katherine bit her cheek to stifle a yelp of surprise. When next she spoke with Lyle, she would ask him to develop an invention that would help with her peripheral vision. This was the second time in an hour that she’s been caught unawares! As she turned to face her new companion, the breath fled her lungs. She bit back a vehement curse.

  Dorian Wayland. She wondered whether her luck could wax any worse. The blighter stood with his hands clasped behind his back with military precision. Because he had commanded a company of hussars during the war against Napoleon, he did everything with both that precision and a ruthlessness that put tyrants to shame.

  Katherine had had the misfortune of crossing paths with him more than once. Since returning victorious from Waterloo, he had taken up detective work for a price. As the heir of a viscount, he didn’t need the money—he charged for his services on a lark.

  Her father loathed him, on account of his relentless and at times merciless methods of hunting criminals. Supposedly, Wayland didn’t care which ne’er-do-wells he hurt, so long as he collected his fee. If he was here, that could only mean that he meant to solve the Pink-Ribbon Murders as well, but he must be investigating under someone’s employ. There was no bounty, and from what Katherine had heard, he certainly wouldn’t be investigating simply to keep the streets safe.

  Katherine couldn’t think of profanity befitting the foul situation in which he put her. If he captured the Pink-Ribbon Killer, she wouldn’t attain the independence she so desperately needed.

  He dazzled her with a debonair smile that emphasized the cleft in his chin. His hazel eyes danced. “You didn’t attend the last two house parties.”

  Although she straightened her spine as much as possible, she couldn’t hope to match his height. Most men stood no taller than she did. She didn’t enjoy feeling so small.

  Nevertheless, she refused to show any sign of intimidation. Matching his bold gaze, she countered, “And did you?”

  He chuckled. “It seems we both conducted thorough research before arriving. I take it you have the same reason as I for attending?”

  “You hope to make a match between Lord Northbrook and Miss Pickering, as well?” She smiled at him sweetly.

  He laughed louder, though keeping his voice to an intimate whisper. “Is that your aim? I wish you luck with it.”

  “I don’t need luck. I have skill and years of experience.”

  His smile grew as he raked her with his shrewd gaze. Perhaps she shouldn’t have worn the apple-green gown. With her figure, it made her resemble a pear. In fact, she’d hoped to use that fact to dissuade the gentlemen present from considering her a potential match. Now, her choice of garment seemed conspicuous and unprofessional.

  “Are we still discussing matchmaking?”

  She glanced at the party. They all studiously scribbled on pieces of paper before folding them and passing them along. Annie, who seemed in good spirits, giggled at something Miss Reardon showed her before she folded her page.

  Katherine flashed Wayland another falsely sweet smile. “What else might we be discussing?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you hiding your intelligence for the benefit of these simpletons? For shame. You’re the only person worth speaking to at this gathering.”

  “Is that why you’ve sought out my company?”

  “Yes, though I will admit, I hoped you might be willing to share information. I heard your father was the investigator on scene at the second murder.”

  In fact, he had arrived after the fact, but Katherine didn’t choose to correct him. “I have no information,” she lied.

  On her right, a commotion started with a man’s yelp, followed by a gaggle of female voices.

  “I do hope you’re a better matchmaker than you are a chaperone,” Wayland said with a smirk. He nodded toward the gathering.

  When Katherine turned, she found Northbrook seated with his hands in the air in surrender, a wet pool across his breeches, and a teacup on the floor. And Annie—what on earth? Annie patted down his lap with a handkerchief.

  Katherine didn’t bother to excuse herself as she dashed away from the rival detective. Dear me. What is Annie thinking?

  As she straightened out the matter, she struggled not to smirk. That was one way to force a match, even if it was bound to be met by some opposition.

  Chapter Four

  Annie balked as they reached the staircase. “I can’t do it. I’ll run back to London and tell Mama I feel ill.”

  “If you run all the way there under your own power, you likely will feel ill.”

  Given her pallor, the young woman didn’t care for Katherine’s joke. Annie covered her face with her hands and moaned. “How can I possibly face him after what happened this afternoon in the parlor?”

  “It will be fine. You’ll be in a room full of people.”

  Annie lifted her head. “Is that supposed to cheer me? They were all there to witness my embarrassment!”

  “Perhaps next time, you ought to offer the gentleman your handkerchief so he can clean his own trousers.”

  Annie moaned once more into her hands.

  “Come.” Katherine steered her down the stairs with an arm around the shorter woman’s shoulders. “Your imagination is wreaking havoc on you. I wager the guests are so far into their cups that they won’t even remember the incident.”

  Annie brightened. “Do you think?”

  Considering that over half the guests were young women hoping to catch the eye of one of the wealthy men at the party, they likely hadn’t imbibed at all. However, if it would chase Annie down the stairs, Katherine would lie.

  “I know. Besides, you must attend, or you’ll insult the hostess. Perhaps there was a bit of a misunderstanding earlier, but it will all be forgotten by the end of the night, I promise you. Mind your glass, find your way into Lord Northbrook’s company if you can, and don’t turn down a dance.”

  On the threshold of the ballroom, Annie dug in her heels. The color faded from her cheeks once more as she surveyed the interior.

  The wide room, with neoclassical pillars marching down its length to hold a second-floor balcony, was more than large enough to hold twice their number. The marble floor gleamed, with the warm light of swathes of candles glistening off a geometric pattern. Chairs lined the wall opposite the pillar, none of them occupied. Only one of the French doors next to the chairs was open to the night air.

  Annie clutched Katherine’s arm. “What if no one asks me to dance?”

  “Someone will ask.” At least, so Katherine hoped. A proper chaperone would encourage suitors to ask, as Katherine had done for her sisters. Tonight, however, she didn’t have the time to force a gentleman’s hand. Her hunt for the murderer must take precedence.

  The first murder had taken place after midnight during a ball on Somerset’s estate, and Katherine wondered whether that meant the killer was likely to strike again tonight.

  Maybe two victims were enough. Perhaps there was something in particular about Miss Smythe and Miss Rosehill that had caused their demise. Katherine dearly hoped so—though she wanted to catch the killer, she did not want it to be at the expense of another victim.

  Annie asked, “Won’t you keep a dance card for me? You’ll le
t me know if someone wants to dance with me. I’ll sit on the side and wait.”

  Katherine caught her arm as the young woman separated to do exactly that. The poor thing seemed terrified. “This is a country affair. There’s no need for me to keep a dance card”—she hoped—“but you mustn’t hide yourself away. Find a conversation and join it. No insects.”

  And leave me free to figure out which one of these guests is the killer.

  Annie chewed on her lower lip as she walked into the room. She stepped on the hem of her gown and nearly stumbled into an enormous vase filled with flowers, but Katherine steered her out of harm’s way.

  Annie’s green eyes glistened as she tilted her face up to meet Katherine’s. “Won’t you stay with me?”

  “I’ll be in the room, circulating. I promise to stop to check on you from time and time, and I’ll keep an eye on you throughout.” The rest of the time, she had to monitor the other guests.

  Even if the room was far from its capacity, Katherine had no hope of keeping track of all of them. She had far too wide a swathe of suspects, and considered upon whom she should focus tonight.

  Strangling a woman took some strength. Perhaps Katherine would contain her observations to the unmarried gentlemen in the room. That left Lords Northbrook, Mowbry, and Somerset, as well as Mr. Greaves. This left a much more manageable number, even if they would be scattered to every end of the room in pursuit of entertainment.

  Blast it. She had no motive to attribute to any man in particular. Why would someone want two young debutantes dead? Who would be next? Was it even the same killer? Would he kill again, or had the two previous deaths accomplished his goal? What if Miss Rosehill was killed by someone completely different who simply wanted to throw the investigation off by using a pink ribbon to make it look like the same killer?

  But if it was the same killer, and if he wasn’t done, then all the women in the room were in danger. Including Annie… and possibly her. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to let her charge get too far out of sight.