Antonia noticed Sebastian studying the house as they walked. “What are you looking for?”
“Any sign of unexpected basements. Of anywhere we haven’t yet searched.” He faced forward as they left the house behind. “I swear we’ve searched all possible places inside the house.”
She nodded.
And continued to wonder at his apparent ready acceptance of her company. After his attempt to remove her from the house party—and all danger—last night, she’d expected him to try again, or at least to try to dissuade her from accompanying him. She would have sworn that in the moment when they’d taken their leave of Melissa and Claire, and he’d hesitated, he’d debated suggesting she remain with her friends in safety…but he hadn’t.
Instead, he seemed not just resigned but acquiescent over her presence.
That was a great deal more than she’d hoped for.
Almost as if, with respect to her, he was changing his spots…only she didn’t believe that for an instant.
She and her sister had heard countless tales from their mother of their father’s smothering protectiveness and had endured enough incidents of that on their own accounts to have formed a very clear idea of the only possible way to deal with a similar man—with a nobleman who, when in the grip of instinct, would behave as if he owned them. As if they were somehow his—his to dictate to, at least when there was any danger involved.
She wasn’t foolish enough to discard or denigrate the protectiveness such men—men like Sebastian—personified. Protectiveness was welcome; any sane lady would agree. But possessive protectiveness was something else again and needed to be guarded against.
Needed to be trained out of those so afflicted.
She bit back a smile; Sebastian wouldn’t see that conclusion as amusing, much less approve of such a tack.
Too bad. That was the price if he wanted her hand in marriage.
They reached the stable yard to find their mounts waiting. When Sebastian lifted her to her saddle, she discovered she now enjoyed the thrill, the spiking of her senses.
He mounted up—she enjoyed watching that, too—then they wheeled the horses and clattered out of the yard.
Only to almost immediately rein in as the inspector, flanked by a bevy of constables, came trotting up.
Crawford halted his good-looking bay, doubtless borrowed from Sir Humphrey’s stable, waved his men on to the stable yard, then politely lifted his hat to them. “Good morning, my lord. My lady.”
“Inspector.” Sebastian steadied the gray, who had taken exception to the other horses; at the same time, he glanced about, confirming none of the stablemen and no one else was close enough to overhear. “We’re about to ride out and search the northern half of the estate for any sign of the gunpowder.”
Crawford nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything enlightening to tell me as to who the murderer might be?”
“Sadly, no,” Sebastian said.
Antonia took pity on the inspector. “Last night, everyone was very subdued. We all retired early. This morning, the main subject of conversation about the breakfast table was whether you will allow us to depart tomorrow, as was originally planned.”
Crawford sighed. “That’s a decision Sir Humphrey and I will have to make later today, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to it. With all evidence pointing to the murderer being one of the guests, the new rules that apply to investigations such as this say we keep you all here, contained, until something breaks. That said, I can see that’s not going to be so easy in this case and might not even be possible.”
Sebastian hesitated, then nodded and tightened the gray’s reins. “If anything occurs to us, or if we find anything to point to the murderer, we’ll let you know as quickly as we can.”
“In that case”—Crawford half bowed to Antonia—“I’ll wish you good riding and good luck.”
They parted. With Antonia beside him, Sebastian set course for the fields lying to the northwest of the grounds surrounding the house.
When they reached the area they hadn’t yet explored, once again, they zigged and zagged, working their way toward the western boundary, stopping at all structures no matter how small to search for hidden barrels.
The first place they stopped at was a farmhouse that stood isolated on its own plot. The farmyard with its associated buildings was a short distance away, around the flank of a low hill. Sebastian dismounted and came to lift Antonia down. Together, they walked up the gravel path. The door opened before they reached it; the tenant farmer’s wife blinked at them, then colored and bobbed a curtsy. “Sir. Ma’am. What can I do for you?”