“I will leave you to it. I will see my way out. Thank you for seeing me.” He let himself into the garden and strode to its front portal. A woman had visited the duke on the day he died. Hell.

* * *

Minerva let the horse eat grass while she sat on a felled log and watched the stream bubble past her. In spring this spot would be lovely, with wildflowers making broad ribbons of color. Now some yellow and orange felled leaves kept the growth from being only barren branches.

She heard the horse coming toward her. She probably should not have stayed the way Chase had demanded. She would not have either, except she hoped to discover if he learned more than she did, or even quite as much.

Mr. Edkins had not been very forthcoming, but then her questions hardly were pointed enough to get good answers. Unlike Chase, who probably announced he was conducting inquiries, she had used her friendship with Mrs. Fowler the cook as a pretext for her call. She’d had to weave her curiosity about the family and the duke and the death into general chatting and gossip. That might have not been such a bad thing, however. The one bit of useful information that emerged from Mr. Edkins had slipped out. A startling piece of information. She debated whether to share it with Chase.

The horse stopped near her gig. Chase dismounted and tied the reins to the back of the conveyance. He walked over to her and offered his hand. “I will bring you back to the village.”

She allowed him to help her to stand. “What makes you think I need to return to any village?”

“I saw your companion there. I assume you need to collect her at least.”

He handed her into the seat, then took the reins and climbed in beside her. They rolled down the lane with his horse in tow.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?”

A sigh of strained forbearance breathed beside her. “I came down to Melton Park with my cousin for a few days.”

“The duke is in residence?”

“He is.”

How inconvenient. Her plan to ask the housekeeper for a tour of the house no longer would work. She might as well return the gig, and find transportation back to London.

“What did Edkins tell you?” he asked.

“Very little. We mostly talked about old times and his memories.”

“Memories of what? How old?”

“Fairly old. Mrs. Fowler, and his master. He admired the last duke an inordinate amount, seeing as how as valet he would see him in very human terms, what with bathing and such. He told me the man was a genius. That was the word he used. Eccentric, quite odd at times, but a genius who did not suffer fools gladly and most men in comparison were fools.”