Death at Fournier Downs

Death at Fournier Downs A BOW STREET DUCHESS MYSTERY BOOK TWO CARA DEVLIN Copyright © 2023 by Cara Devlin All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names and characters are products of the author’s imagination. Paperback ISBN: 979-8987612521 Hardcover ISBN: 979-8987612538 Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Silence of Deceit About the Author Also by Cara Devlin Chapter One Fournier Downs, Hertfordshire August 1819 The chirping of crickets was a demented symphony, unending and shrill. If Audrey listened to their song too intently, the sound would drive her to insanity. So, she made sure to keep up a one-sided conversation with Fortuna, her dappled gray mare, as she led her through the overgrown rye grassland. The fields were thick with wild carrot, red campion, and purple harebell, and the heat brought out a sweet, peppery scent from the soil. It made her think of vibrant sunrises, thunderstorms, and puffy white clouds trimmed by slate gray skies. Audrey breathed it in and sighed. “I wish there were some way to bottle that smell and transport it to London,” she said to Fortuna as the mare nosed a clump of meadowsweet and tore up the roots. She snorted and shook her white mane. “I know, I know, you don’t want to talk about the end of summer, do you?” Audrey brought the horse to a stop along the matted deer path and let her munch on another few sprigs of meadowsweet. “Neither do I.” She and her husband Philip, the Duke of Fournier, had arrived at their country estate at the beginning of May and had been lazing about for the whole of the summer. At first, their respite had seemed doomed. Only a few weeks after their arrival, Philip had taken to his bed with a nasty malaise. Headaches, fever, coughing; he had been miserable for weeks. So much so that his younger sister, Cassandra, who had been with Philip’s brother Michael and his wife Genie at a house party in Kent, had decided to travel to Fournier House and help Audrey care for him. Cassie was supposed to have had a summer filled with routs and house parties, and even a trip to Cumbria, all in preparation for her first season as a debutante—something Cassie had been excited about for as long as Audrey could remember. However, she’d given it all up to stay at Fournier House with Philip. Audrey suspected it wasn’t just out of fear for his health either. They had come so close to losing him in April, when he’d been accused of murdering an opera singer. Found at the scene, covered in the dead woman’s blood, the duke appeared to be guilty. Audrey, however, hadn’t believed it, and for good reason. Against the wishes of the Bow Street officer who had arrested Philip, she launched her own investigation. Using her irregular—if oftentimes convenient—ability to see the memories that clung to objects, she had tracked down answers in the case, item by item. From the opera singer’s earbob to an opium locket used to gain entry to a gambling hell to a pocket watch, and even a pair of Philip’s cuff links. Principal Officer Hugh Marsden had eventually realized the truth and helped her to close in on the real killer. But while exoneration had saved Philip’s hide, his reputation had been badly damaged—as was Audrey’s. Decamping to Fournier Downs, the duke’s expansive estate in Hertfordshire, had been an easy decision to make. It had not, however, lived up to expectations. The Duchess of Fournier dismounted into the grasses and let Fortuna amble off to munch more flowers. She crouched to pick a few sprigs of red campion, with which she’d weave into the horse’s bridle. Maybe she would press some flowers to take with her to London. She might even attempt to arrange a vase back at the house and paint, though she’d never had much in the way of artistic talent. But it would at least keep her busy. As much as she dreaded returning to London and seeing her old acquaintances, she also didn’t think she could take much more of this solitude in the countryside. The boredom of it was slowly driving her mad. Cassie was showing signs of distress too. Her usual bubbly and bright demeanor had faded over the last few weeks. The young woman had lived with Philip’s great aunt Hestia in Scotland since their mother’s death. With two of her older brothers being newly married, and a third, Tobias, finishing up at Cambridge, Edinburgh had been the best place for her. But now, she was ready to begin looking for a husband of her own. Michael and Genie were to take her in for the Little Season in the fall, even with Genie about to enter confinement for her first child. Still, they had agreed it would be better for Cassie to be hosted by Michael, rather than Philip. All due to the murder scandal, of course. A few months in the countryside would not be long enough to cure the taint of disgrace, even if to Audrey it felt as though they were suspended in time here, protected and absolved. A dash of motion across the field caught her attention as she languidly braided the stems of the flowers she’d picked. She squinted against the sunlight. The sky was nearly cloudless, leaving the sun unimpeded. Heat beat down upon her shoulders, and a fine sweat had built up on her skin,