Page 51 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
He leaned to one side to allow the footman to refill his wine glass. “I understand Mr. Talbot was friends with Mr. Pennyworth before his unfortunate death. Were you acquainted then?”
“No.” She placed her hand over her wine glass when the footman attempted to refill it, then continued to masticate her lamb.
Well, hell and damn, he was not going to allow her to ignore him this way. Now it had become a contest of wills. He would get information from her if he had to shake it out of her. “How long have you been in London, Miss Garvey?”
She turned her unusual silver eyes on him for the first time since they’d been seated. “Six months.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Tilton once again regaled him with stories of the three young boys who sounded like the devil’s spawns. But, as a true grandmother, interspersed with her tales of woe, were constant references to the “little angels.”
Sounded more like “little devils” to him.
The fruit and cheese had been enjoyed by the guests when Mrs. Banberry stood. “If you will all join me in the drawing room, the musical part of our evening’s entertainment will begin.
Unable to let Miss Garvey go without at least one more attempt to garner information, Elliot leaned toward her before standing to pull out her chair. “Tell me, Miss Garvey, is Mr. Talbot fond of spiders?”
If he surprised her, she did not show it, but merely turned her head slowly to look at him with narrowed eyes. “I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.”
Not only was the woman unlikeable, but it was also obvious she disliked men, since she did not seem too enamored of Mr. Talbot, either, except as someone to escort her around. Aside from him and Talbot, he had never seen her openly converse with any man.
Mr. Tilton approached Elliot as he made his way over to Charlotte to escort her inside. “I say, I heard you ask Miss Garvey about spiders.”
“Yes.”
“Talbot does have a collection of spiders. Took me to his house one time to show them to me. I’m not a squeamish sort of person—leave that to the ladies—but spiders are a ghastly thing to be interested in, if you ask me.”
“Yes, I agree. Quite nasty. Thank you for that information.”
“Appalling looking things, but he was right proud of them.” The man shook his head and walked off as Charlotte approached. Based on the flub regarding the vicar’s involvement, he didn’t want to get Charlotte’s hopes up again. Also, since Talbot had been a close friend of Mr. Pennyworth, and Charlotte’s reluctance to think ill of the man, Elliot decided to keep the information gleaned from Tilton to himself. But he would certainly keep a closer eye on the man.
The musicale had been quiteenjoyable, and Charlotte and Elliot had a lively discussion about the evening as the coach bore them back to her house. He pondered whether moving into her house might make sense. Since her predator had taken to leaving potentially dangerous things, she could certainly use the protection. Besides that, he had a better chance of catching the culprit, if he were there when the packages arrived.
On the other hand, he would be merely feet from her bedchamber—and her bed. Things had progressed to the point where he thought about Charlotte and having her in his bed more each day.
He’d had a sufficient number of lovers in his day, but never had one captured his attention the way Charlotte had—not even Annabelle. And he hadn’t even gotten close to taking Charlotte to bed. Despite her pretty face and generously curved body, she had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and courage not seen in a great deal of women. Most females he knew would have collapsed and taken to their beds for weeks under the stress she had experienced.
He admired her, and that was a frightening thought.
He dismissed the carriage once they alighted, as the walk home would give him time to think about all that had happened so far in this case. He took Charlotte’s arm and they moved up the steps. The sky had cleared from the earlier rain, and amazingly enough, no mist surrounded them, which allowed the area to be fairly well-lit from the half-moon.
Thomas had the door open before they reached the doorstep, a smile of greeting on his lips. Charlotte stepped inside, and Elliot wished her a good night. He turned to leave and then swung back to ask about their next event when he heard apop, and something slammed into his arm.
He wavered for a minute, then his knees buckled and he grabbed the doorjamb to hold himself up. “What the devil was that?” He turned to Charlotte, her eyes were like saucers.
“Oh my God. You’ve been shot.”
