Page 65 of Honor Unbound

Bernard cleared his throat. “I believe it takes some practice, milady.”

My shoulders raised an inch. “Yes, I’m sure it does,” I snapped. I looked around. “Perhaps if I did have something to target, it would improve my aim.” I shoved my club into Bernard’s hand and marched to the nearest glass.

Of course, Sir Kelsey would enjoy such an unimaginative sport. Hitting a ball into a hole. How ridiculous.

I turned.

Bernard swung a club downward, the head of it tapping into the ball and sending it aloft. “How delightful.”

I gritted my teeth. “Don’t you have a front door to man?” I took the club from his hands. “Countless nonmembers might have infiltrated our club in your absence.”

“Yes, milady.” With a small bow, he left me to my practice session. It wasn’t five minutes later when he reappeared, delicately clearing his throat as I pounded the head of the club onto the floor in frustration.

“What now, Bernard?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Montague, here to see you, milady.” Bernard looked longingly at the golf clubs as he backed away. I knew when his duties had ended, he, and probably every worker of the club would be back here practicing their swings, though why anyone would want to play this stupid, silly game was beyond me.

Marcus took in the scene. “I don’t believe abusing the equipment will improve your performance.”

“But it makes me feel better.” I took the peevishness out of my voice. “Now, how is little Mary?”

He strode to me and kissed my cheek. “Better. Elizabeth and I finally took a full night’s sleep last night.”

I looked up at his face. He did look rested, and my shoulders relaxed. “That is good news.” I picked up another club. Perhaps the other one was defective. “What brings you to The Minerva Club?” I narrowed my gaze, focusing all my attention on that tiny ball, and swung. The head of my club caught the top of the leather sac, making it lurch a couple of inches from its original placement. I threw the club at the wall, but Marcus stretched out his arm to catch it.

He arched a golden eyebrow. “Need you ask, Aunt May?” he said, using his pet name for me. “The intelligence of your finding a second body has been making the rounds. Are you all right?”

“Of course.” I frowned. I probably should be feeling more disturbed than I was. I might be a tad too nonchalant about discovering dead bodies. I tucked that thought away to consider later. “I don’t suppose you were acquainted with this victim, were you? A Mr. Fenton Hicks.”

Marcus shook his head. “He was the manager of Trent’s factory, I understand, but I know nothing else about him.” He toed the ball back into alignment with the glass I’d placed on its side near the wall. “I could look into him, if you’d like. You know—”

“No.” I flapped my hand. “I’m already knee-deep in this mess. It would take too long for another to learn the ins and outs of the case.” And besides, this investigation had dug its way under my skin. I couldn’t just hand it over now. “The magistrate, Sir Kelsey, most likely wouldn’t appreciate yet another person looking into the matter, either.”

“A rule follower, then?”

I smiled. My nephew had as much patience with pedants as I did. “I’ve come across worse,” I conceded.

“Have you learned anything?” Marcus asked. “I am available for consultations.” He stood behind the ball and languidly took a swing at it. It flew five feet through the air in a neat arc then rolled to the glass, kissing its rim before settling to a stop.

My eyes widened. “How…?”

“Sin has installed a couple of holes in his estate up in Scotland.” He shrugged. “I’ve played a couple of times.”

I wanted to think that my nephew was bragging. That he’d actually dedicated months of his life to learning golf at his friend’s home and that explained his nearly perfect stroke. But I knew he wasn’t. He had the most irritating aptitude to excel at almost anything he tried with little to no practice.

I grabbed the club from his hand and shoved it back in its sack.

Marcus watched my movements. “I’ve found that anger is oftentimes used to cover fears we might feel. You were a bit waspish with Bernard.”

And now with him. I stared into the sack, my shoulders drooping. I had been acting like a termagant these past days to those around me. Not everyone deserved it. “It isn’t fear I feel.”

“What then?” He rested his hand on my shoulder.

What was I feeling? Like time was running out. Not just with this investigation, but for me, too, perhaps. I enjoyed Marie’s presence in my house. Burton’s, as well. The conversations with my other servants usually revolved around remedies to the various aches we all felt. Marie and Burton were enthusiastic and full of life. Even their hushed secrets had a sort of charm. Whatever they were up to held an excitement for them that I hadn’t felt in years.

So while I appreciated their youth, it also served as a reminder of what I no longer was. No longer had.

I drew my shoulder blades back. And that was a ridiculous thing to feel. Someday Marie and Burton would be complaining about their sore backs, as well. We all had our turn at this life, and there was no use crying when your turn was coming close to an end. I sniffed. No wonder I preferred ill humor to self-pity.