A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder. Dianne Freeman

with Rose, this is much better.”

      “There’s your hat, Mummy.”

      I glanced around, expecting to see it stuck to an unreachable branch or attached to a hedgerow, but instead saw it in the hands of an elegant gentleman dressed in tweeds and a homburg, walking toward us with a friendly smile.

      We stopped as he approached. “I suspect this must belong to you, madam?” He held out the chic top hat with its now-torn veil. He had a gentleman’s hands, his nails neatly trimmed and buffed.

      I took the hat and returned his smile. “Sir, if you are implying I should cover my bedraggled hair, well, I can only agree with you.”

      He removed his own hat and gave us a courtly bow. A shock of blond hair fell over his dark eyes, and he swept it back in a reflexive motion that suggested habit. “I would never imply any such thing. I only noted it seemed to match your habit. Are you ladies riding out from Risings?”

      “We are. And you, sir? This seems a strange place for a man on foot.”

      “Ah, perhaps it does to you now, but if you go forward just a few steps”—he gestured behind him—“you will see the lane leading to Fairview. I’m visiting my aunt there at present.”

      I searched my memory for the owners of Fairview. “That would be Lady Esther, would it not? You are her nephew?”

      “Great-nephew.” He grinned, deepening the lines around his eyes. “Percy Bradmore at your service. You know my aunt?”

      “You have indeed done me a service, Mr. Bradmore. I thank you for rescuing my hat. As to your aunt, we have met many times in town. How does she fare?”

      “Not well at all, I’m afraid. She’s recuperating from an illness, and while she’s much improved, she has some way to go before she can claim good health.”

      I had a sudden rush of guilt for having always thought of Lady Esther as a crotchety old woman. Though I had never wished her any ill, I had often wished her out of my sight. Or better yet, my hearing. Considering this man was her relation, and George’s neighbor, it seemed churlish to refrain from introducing ourselves.

      I gave Mr. Bradmore our names and leaning over as far as the saddle, and my stays, would allow, shook his hand. “I’m glad to hear someone is in residence at Risings,” he said. “I’d heard the earl is traveling on the continent.”

      “You heard correctly. His brother, Mr. Hazelton, is in residence, and he is hosting both a shooting party and a wedding.”

      “Is Hazelton to marry then?”

      His question sent heat rushing to my cheeks, but I was quick to clarify my statement. “He is not the groom. Are you acquainted with the Hazelton family?” I waved a dismissive hand. “Of course, you are. How foolish of me. You are neighbors after all.”

      “Actually, we are not acquainted, at least not as adults. The last time I visited here I was a child of six. I recall something of children in the neighborhood at the time, but not enough to know who they were.” He shrugged. “Neither do I spend much time in London, which explains why we have never met, my lady. I hope while my aunt recovers, I may call on her neighbors and have a bit of conversation. I only arrived yesterday and already the quiet of this house has become rather gloomy.”

      Poor man. I knew well what that was like. During most of my marriage, I’d been left alone at Harleigh Manor. Too much solitude can be depressing to the spirit.

      “You do seem to be a man who prefers society,” I said. “I hope you will call on us when you have some idle time.” I made a mental note to tell Fiona I’d met her neighbor. No doubt she would send over a message inviting him to join us. And perhaps the gentlemen would welcome another gun.

      “Thank you, I shall. The shooting party is after woodcock, I’d wager.” His broad grin faded as he turned serious. “Is that how the earl’s steward was injured? I’d heard he was recuperating with his sister.”

      Word certainly traveled fast in the country.

      “He took a fall from his horse,” Anne said.

      Bradmore cocked his head. “Truly? The talk around the village was a bit more extreme. I believe someone said he was set upon by brigands, though I thought that unlikely.” He chuckled. Not only did word travel fast, it escalated.

      “Nothing so dramatic as an attack, I’m afraid. Simply an accident.”

      He nodded. “Accidents can be every bit as dangerous. I hope you’ll all take care, especially those in the shooting party.”

      “Most of them are quite experienced, and I’m certain they’ll keep a sharp eye on the novices.”

      Bradmore gave me an expansive bow. “It was a great pleasure meeting you, ladies. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance in the coming days.”

      As Rose grew restless, I thought it best to move on. We bid Mr. Bradmore good day and set off back to the estate. The sound of gunfire warned me we were approaching the open meadows, and I motioned for the groom who trailed behind to move ahead and lead us back to the estate. He guided us back to a path through the wood which would take us around the grounds to the far side of the house and on to the stables.

      We walked on companionably, chatting when we could ride abreast, and lost in our own thoughts where the path narrowed. The day had turned from bracing to brisk and it was a pleasure to be on the sun-spattered trail. As we took a turning, I realized this was the path Fiona and I had taken to the village. Just up ahead was where the steward had fallen.

      I wondered if Mr. Gibbs’s insistence he hadn’t fallen but was knocked from his seat had any basis in fact, or if the man was trying to divert attention from an embarrassing fall. The path grew narrow here, but as I’d noted yesterday, the trees were mature, with branches closing in overhead—well overhead. Mr. Gibbs was surely taller than I, but he’d have to be a good three feet taller to come into contact with any of these branches.

      While we passed through the area, I looked around for any broken branches and gashes in the trees where a limb might have broken off. I don’t know what I expected to see. Did it matter whether Mr. Gibbs fell off his horse or was knocked off?

      Then my gaze lighted on something that didn’t belong. A length of line tangled among some leaves. I urged my mount closer to the branch. It looked like a braided fishing line, tangled about shoulder height, but the branch sprouted from the tree about six inches lower. Try as I might, I could not disengage the hopelessly tangled mess.

      “Would you like me to get that for you, my lady?”

      The groom had stopped at my side, and my two companions waited patiently behind him, giving me curious looks. “What would this be doing here, I wonder?”

      “Couldn’t say, my lady. Maybe someone swinging a fishing pole got the line caught. At least that’d be my guess.” The young man looked as if he couldn’t imagine what interest this bit of line could hold.

      “I suppose that’s possible.” I set my horse back on the path. “No need to remove it. It just stuck out amid the greenery and caught my attention.” I smiled at Anne and Rose. “Excuse the delay. I expect you’re as hungry as I am. Shall we head in for breakfast?”

      They agreed readily, and we headed past the stables and across the lawn bordering the maze. My stomach growled, pushing the thought of the fishing line from my mind. It might have been tangled there for years.

      The three of us dismounted in the drive and headed to the house, leaving the horses in the care of the groom though Rose wanted to stay to help.

      “Nanny will be waiting for you, dear,” I told her. Passing through the great hall, I sent her upstairs and turned to Anne. “Do you suppose if we take the time to change out of our riding gear and freshen up first, there will still be some breakfast left?”

      She looked doubtful. “Lady Fiona planned an outing for this morning, and I suspect