Then annoyance shifted into suspicion. The threads interwove into a pattern that seemed a little too convenient. Reynolds had continued to court her affections, even after Emily had told him of their marriage.

Did Reynolds have anything to do with the murders? Though his cowardly nature suggested an aversion to violence, Stephen could not afford to miss a potential clue. It made him wonder how many others he’d missed.

With a glance at his timepiece, he saw that it was growing far later than he’d imagined. The authorities had arrived, and after answering a few questions, Stephen excused himself to attend Lady Thistlewaite’s ball.

Freddie Reynolds might be there. And if he was, Stephen intended to find out what he knew.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lady Thistlewaite did not conceal her distaste when Emily arrived upon Uncle Nigel’s arm. The matron wore an emerald gown with twelve flounces while her abundant bosom thrust the front of the gown forward. Her lips pursed into a thin line as though she wanted to prevent Emily from entering the ballroom.

“Lady Thistlewaite, I was delighted to receive your invitation.” Nigel kissed her wrist and offered her a charming smile. “You remember my niece Emily, of course.”

“Of course.” Lady Thistlewaite’s gaze flicked across Emily’s gown.

Emily wore the ivory-flounced tulle gown, trimmed with pink roses and Limerick lace. About her shoulders rested an embroidered India shawl with a long silk fringe. Her kid gloves had over thirty buttons to hold them snugly against her skin, and the pearl necklace hung against her neck.

“Lady Thistlewaite, thank you for your hospitality,” Emily said, nodding politely.

“Well, I am surprised to see you again, Miss Barrow. I mean, Lady Whitmore,” she corrected. “Forgive me, but since I haven’t seen you with your husband yet, it is easy to forget you are married to him.”

Don’t let her provoke you, Emily warned herself.

“I am certain that will be remedied, soon enough.” Emily pasted on a bright smile, albeit a false one. “Has my husband arrived yet?”

“I fear he has not.”

Emily’s composure faltered. Just the thought of seeing Stephen again knitted her insides into knots. She tried to prepare herself for his rejection, for his undeniable wrath. But she was tired of feeling unworthy, angry at being looked down upon.

“I am sure he will arrive soon,” she said. And Lord help me if he does attend.

Nigel patted Emily’s arm. “I, for one, am glad of his absence. It allows me to walk around in the company of an exceptionally beautiful lady. Until the earl steals her away, that is.”

Nigel’s compliment eased her, and as he led her inside, he whispered, “Do not forget, Emily. You are a countess.”