Page 39 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

Gil, too excited to be intimidated by his great-grandmother, launched into his account of the incident, which by now had become a thrilling adventure. To Noelle’s surprise, Lady Lockwood turned out to be an excellent listener, exclaiming at various points and even letting out a bark of laughter when Gil tried to imitate the way they had flown over the hedge—which had, Noelle noticed, grown much higher in this retelling.

“Well,” Lady Lockwood declared. “It sounds as though you had a fine time. Poachers! Filthy lot.” She stabbed her cane in Carlisle’s direction. “You ought to take care of them. Can’t have that sort of person running about, disturbing everyone. Ought to send them to the gallows, I say.”

“Mother...” Adeline murmured in the pained voice she often used at the dowager’s pronouncements.

“You’re too softhearted, Addy. I’ve always said so.”

Lady Lockwood and Annabeth seemed to take the story of the poacher at face value, but Noelle could tell from the worry in Adeline’s eyes that she did not believe it.

“I’d best take Gilbert up to the nursery,” Noelle said. “I think he’s had enough excitement for one day.”

“Indeed, I imagine we all have,” Adeline agreed and turned to her mother. “You must want a bit of a lie-down, as well.”

“It’s long past time,” Lady Lockwood grumbled and sent her daughter an accusatory look. “One can scarcely get a moment’s peace here, what with all these shootings and carryings-on.” She turned and started toward the stairs. “Come, Annabeth.”

It took some time to get Gil settled down for a nap, as he had to describe his adventure again for Noelle and then for his governess. Finally, Noelle left his room and made her way downstairs, where she found Carlisle and Adeline in the drawing room with Nathan.

“Noelle,” Nathan greeted her. “How is Gil?”

“He’s fine. He’s quite proud of his adventure.”

“We’ve been telling Nathan what happened,” Adeline told her.

“Yes, sounds like rather a dustup. I should go. Clearly this isn’t the time when you want guests for tea.”

“Nonsense,” Carlisle countered. “Stay. We need all the help we can get to figure this out.”

“Yes,” Noelle agreed. “An unbiased opinion would be helpful.”

Carlisle raised his eyebrow at the significant glance she sent him. “Yes, yes, I know. I still hold my idea in reserve. If someone wanted to hurt you, there would be no better way than to harm your son. But I agree it’s likely Gil he’s after, not you. The question is, who? And why?”

“I suspect that knowing the answer to one would give you the answer to both,” Nathan put in.

“It’s so mad,” the countess said, her fingers worrying at her handkerchief. “Why would anyone want to hurt Gil? He’s only a child.”

“I thought he would turn out to be someone asking a ransom of you,” Noelle said to Carlisle. “But clearly it’s not a kidnapper if he tried to kill him.”

“Are you certain he was aiming at Gil and not you, Carlisle?” Nathan asked. “Maybe the man was trying to get rid of you so he could take Gil easily.”

“If so, he is an extremely poor shot,” Carlisle answered. “I was several feet away, and so was the groom. He came within inches of hitting Gil. It’s very fortunate that Gil is a small target.”

“But who would benefit from Gil’s death except his heir?” Noelle asked, turning to Carlisle.

He stiffened. “I assure you it was not I.”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean—”

“Even if I were the sort of person who would harm a child,” Carlisle plowed on over her words, “I am not the heir. No matter how far up the line you go, I’m not related to Gil.”

“But the man who is his heir would be capable of doing it,” Nathan said grimly.

“Oh, no, surely not,” Adeline exclaimed. “Marcus is feckless and irresponsible, but he wouldn’t do such a thing. He isn’t an evil man, only weak.”

“I wasn’t talking about Marcus. I meant his son,” Nathan explained. “Sloane would inherit after his father dies.”

“Which is probably not far distant, given Marcus’s proclivity for drinking,” Carlisle interjected. “Still...even Sloane... Gil is just a child.” He shook his head doubtfully.

“Who is Sloane?” Noelle asked, looking from Nathan’s scowling face, usually so pleasant and friendly, to Carlisle’s set expression. “And Marcus? Who are you talking about?”