Portia frowned, then shook her head. “I didn’t get any sense of that-of old and hidden emnity.”

After a moment, he suggested, “Let’s decide who it couldn’t have been. Not the Hammond sisters-they’re too short and I can’t believe it of them. And I think Lucy Buckstead’s in the same class.”

“But not Mrs. Buckstead-she’s large enough, and perhaps Kitty was planning on doing something that would damage Lucy’s chances-she’s the Bucksteads’ only child, after all, and she has set her heart on James.”

He inclined his head. “Mrs. Buckstead remains possible. Not probable, perhaps, but we can’t cross her off our list.”

“And for the same reason, Mr. Buckstead stays a suspect, too.”

He glanced at Portia. “As far as I’m concerned, they’re all suspects. Except me and Charlie.”

She blinked at him. “What about Lord Netherfield?”

He held her gaze. Eventually said, “Until we know who it really is, I’m assuming it could be anyone-anyone still on our list.”

Her lips thinned, then she opened them to argue-

“No.” She blinked at his tone; when she continued to stare, he felt forced to explain, “The murderer tried to kill you. Given it’s you he now has his eye on, I’m not willing to take any chances.” He felt his face harden as he added, in case she’d missed the point, “None. Not one.”

She searched his eyes. He could almost see her thoughts whizzing behind her dark eyes, almost see the balance as she weighed his arguments against what she knew of his character, and all that flowed from it.

In the end, she inclined her head. “All right.”

She looked back at the lake; he quietly exhaled.

“Not Lady O, and not Lady Hammond, either.”

He considered, then acquiesced. “Agreed. Similarly, I think we can eliminate Mrs. Archer.”

“But not Mr. Archer.”

“He’s something of a dark horse. I agree-we can’t ignore him.”

“If we follow your line, theoretically at least any of the Glossup men could be responsible.”

He hesitated. “What do you think of Oswald?”

She frowned, then grimaced. “I honestly felt he avoided Kitty-I think because she saw him and treated him as a child.”

“Hardly comfortable for his ego, but… unless there’s something that would account for him being transformed into a murderous rage-and I honestly haven’t seen any propensity for that in him-then he seems unlikely.”

“Granted. What about Swanston-do we cross him off for the same reason?”

He frowned. “I don’t think we can. He’s Kitty’s brother-there might have been some bone of contention in their past we know nothing of, and he’s neither as easygoing nor as soft as Oswald. If Kitty had prodded too hard, Swanston could physically have done the deed. Whether he did…?”

“Which brings us to Winifred.” She paused, considering. Eventually said, “Do you really think she might have been angry enough over Kitty’s poaching her suitors-even Desmond, even now-that she might have…”

He watched her face. “You know Winifred better than I-do you think she could have?”

For a long minute, she stared out at the dark waters of the lake, then glanced at him, grimaced. “Winifred will have to remain on the list.”

“And Desmond is certainly on it, which, in fact, gives Winifred an even stronger motive.”

Portia pulled a face, but didn’t argue. “Ambrose is on the list, too, which means Lady Calvin and Drusilla must stay on as well.”

After a moment, he asked, “Why Drusilla? I can understand Lady Calvin-she has a great deal invested in Ambrose’s future, and although she’s so reserved, he’s very much the apple of her eye. But as I read things, Drusilla and Ambrose don’t share even the weakest brother-sister bond.”

“True. Nevertheless, Drusilla’s reasons are twofold. One, of us all, she was the angriest at Kitty-Kitty had all the attributes Drusilla lacked, and still she wasn’t content. I’m sure that rankled-Drusilla hadn’t met Kitty before coming down here, so that’s the only explanation I can see for her reaction.”

“And her second reason?”

“Lady Calvin, of course. Not Ambrose, but the pain Lady Calvin would be forced to bear if Ambrose became involved in any scandal.” She met his gaze. “Drusilla is utterly devoted to her mother.”

He raised his brows, but now that she’d pointed it out… “That leaves us with the gypsies, or one of the servants.”

Portia frowned. “I might not approve of Arturo slipping through the shrubbery at all hours, but I can’t see any reason why he would bother to kill Kitty. If it was his child she was carrying…” She stopped. “Oh.”

She looked at him. “Is that a motive do you think? That Kitty told him she was planning on getting rid of the baby… don’t gypsies have a code or something about that?”

He held her gaze. “Most men have a code or something about that.”

She colored. “Yes, of course-but you know what I mean.”

“Indeed, but I think you’re forgetting one thing.”

She raised her brows.

“The timing. Kitty must have conceived in London, not down here. Arturo wasn’t in London.”

“Ah.” Her face cleared. “Of course. So there’s really no reason Arturo would have killed her.”

“Not that I can see. And as for Dennis, even imagining an unrequited love, given he knew Arturo was consorting with Kitty, I can’t see Dennis imagining himself in the running. Again, why kill her?”

“I talked to the maid about how the staff saw Kitty. The girl’s a local and has lived here on the estate all her life. She knows everyone, and is old enough to scent any scandal between stairs. There wasn’t even a hint she considered such a thing vaguely possible-in fact, she told me the maids were frightened the murderer was one of the gentlemen, and they’d been reassured by the housekeeper that it was sure to be the gypsies.”

He snorted. “The gypsies. Always the most convenient scapegoats.”

“Especially if they up stakes and leave.” She paused, mused, “I wonder if the murderer, whoever he is, has thought of that?”

“I’d say he might be counting on it-the gypsies decamping in the dead of night would be his salvation.”

They both sat staring out at the lake, watching the breeze send ripples across the glassy surface. Minutes passed, then Portia sighed.

“The Glossups. We’ve left all of them except Oswald, even Lady Glossup, on our list. Why do you think one of them would have killed Kitty? They’d put up with her for three or more years, and the Archers were staying. Why kill her-and especially why now? There would have to be a very good reason.”

“Two reasons,” he replied, his tone flat and even. “One, divorce-a topic Henry’s only recently been forced to consider. Two, the baby she was carrying that wasn’t any of theirs, but which, if she’d borne it, would have been the next Glossup heir. They might not rank as high as either the Cynsters or the Ashfords, but the Glossups have been around almost as long-they’re an old and, in their way, distinguished house.”

“But she wasn’t going to bear it-she was quite definite about that.”

“You overheard her telling her mother that-how many others knew?”

Portia spread her hands. “How many others knew she was having a baby at all?”

“Only you, those she told, and those they might in turn have told.”

Portia wrinkled her nose. “I told Lady O. And you.”

“Precisely. And there’s always the servants-they overhear more than we think.”

“And the household must have known Kitty and Henry were estranged.”

“Which means it would have been obvious to all that any child Kitty was carrying was not-”

When he stopped, Portia looked at him, then grimaced horrendously. “If the baby wasn’t a Glossup-and it most likely wasn’t-then that would have been bad enough, but what if it was indeed a Glossup?”

“Worse, what if it wasn’t, but Kitty claimed it was?”

“No-you forget. She didn’t want to carry the child.”

“I hadn’t forgotten.” There was ice in his tone. “If she wanted to persuade the father-or someone who might have been the father, or even someone who could not possibly be the father-that it would be wise to help her abort the child…” He met Portia’s gaze. “What better way to persuade James, or Harold, or even Lord Netherfield to aid her than by claiming the baby was a Glossup, just not Henry’s.”

Portia stared at him, her eyes growing round. “You mean… she’d tell James it was Harold’s, or Harold it was James’s, or Lord Netherfield either…”

She put her hand to her chest and swallowed. “Good God!”

“Exactly. And what if Henry found out?”

She held his gaze, then looked away.

After a moment, he went on, “And that’s not even considering the looming likelihood of divorce. For Harold and Catherine, and Lord Netherfield, too, the very concept is shocking, more than it is for us. For their generation, it’s an unthinkable scandal reflecting on all the family.

“We know what Kitty was like, how she delighted in irritating people. We know that she went to the library to meet someone, but we don’t know whom or why. We don’t know what they discussed-what topic drove the murderer to silence her.”

Portia said nothing, her understanding and agreement implicit. After a few minutes, she slipped her hand into his, leaned against his shoulder. Flicking free of her fingers, he lifted his arm and she wriggled closer as he gathered her in.

She sighed. “Kitty was playing with fire on so many fronts, it’s hardly surprising she got burned.”

Luncheon was a subdued affair. Lord Willoughby had informed them they would need to remain until the investigator from Bow Street arrived. Since that individual was expected later in the afternoon, many spent the hours after lunch making discreet arrangements to leave that evening.

Aside from all else, most felt the Glossups should be left to deal with their loss in peace, without the distraction of houseguests; anything else was quite shockingly unthinkable.