Addie couldn’t help but admire them as they raced off, crouched low on their mounts, giving new meaning to the term “good seat.” She’d never much noticed a man’s bottom before, but three of them were hard to ignore.
Only Evelyn Fernald hung back to wait for her.
“All right, dear?” Addie and Lucas had come here by pony trap since they were little to play with Hugh, and Evelyn was as good as a second mother.
“Oh, yes. Don’t linger on my account. I know how much you love the thrill of the chase.”
“I’d only be chasing Pamela,” she said dryly. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“Oh, please do!” Addie said, feeling guilty. Evelyn was an accomplished horsewoman, every bit as keen as her daughter-in-law. Riding was a release to them both from their somewhat constrained lives. “It’s been yonks since I’ve ridden. We’re just finding our way, Timothy Hay and I.” She patted his sleek neck, and he whickered in approval.
“He is a magnificent beast, isn’t he? Well, if you’re sure—”
“I am,” Addie nodded stoically, feeling no such thing.
Evelyn took off with a little wave, and Addie willed herself to relax. The horse had enough confidence for both of them, and it wasn’t long before she was cantering after the others, though with their considerable head start, they were not yet in sight.
She jolted over mowed emerald fields, warm sun on her face, the scent of sweet grass tickling her nose. This was…rather fun. Perhaps she should think about getting one or two horses for Compton Chase—riding was marvelous exercise and would allow her to eat more of Cook’s cream puffs. She might ask Mr. Cassidy—
Suddenly Addie inhaled sharply four times and then sneezed in a most explosive—and unladylike—fashion. And found herself flying through the air, as Timothy Hay startled at the sound and reared up like the statue of Boudicca’s horses on Victoria Embankment.
Her initial misgivings were proving true. Well, she’d had a good life and would make an attractive corpse in her new riding habit if she remembered how to fall as gracefully as she had learned to faint. Maybe with luck she’d only break a leg or two. Timothy Hay’s four legs were working perfectly well as he galloped off on the greensward, leaving her tumbling through space. Addie allowed herself a brief prayer, and then landed on something surprisingly soft.
“Oof.”
“Rath-er. Have you put on weight?”
Rupert! Addie was sitting on his pinstriped lap, all in one piece, comfortably held. Her glasses had flown off in her somersault, but she didn’t need them to see the smug expression on her dead husband’s face.
She punched his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your life once again. Honestly, you could show more regard for my perfect timing. I wasn’t due to arrive until tomorrow.”
Addie’s wildly beating heart thudded to a stop. “T-t-tomorrow?”
“As I said. Do pay attention. I so hate to repeat myself. You mortals have remarkably short attention spans.”
When Rupert turned up, it meant only one thing, and it was not good.
She punched him again. “No!”
He shrugged. “I cannot help my presence here, no matter how much you abuse my hospitality. Sit still or you’ll step on your spectacles. Isn’t this just like old times?” He beamed, the sunlight glinting on his dark hair.
“I never sat in your lap in my life!”
“More’s the pity. Perhaps if we’d communed with nature thusly things might have ended differently. And no, don’t hit me again—I know absolutely everything was my fault. I was a cad. A rotter. A rogue.”
“A weasel,” Addie muttered.
“Yes, that too, I’m sure. And any other Mustelidae you might mention. Stoats, badgers, etcetera. Nasty little brutes. Pointy teeth and very bad breath, I’m told. Are you all right? No bruises or bones broken? Good. Stay put while I search for your specs.”
Addie slid onto the grass as Rupert stood and brushed himself off. He still cut a fine figure, wearing the very same bespoke Savile Row suit she’d buried him in, although his complexion was unusually pale.
Unusual for a live person, at any rate.
Who else was about to join him in the afterlife? Unfortunately, she supposed she would find out tomorrow.
And that meant murder…and a murderer.
She heard the thunder of hooves behind them.
“Here they are,” Rupert said, cleaning her glasses with his pristine handkerchief. “Good as new.”
“Scram,” Addie hissed.
“You could say thank you. It’s only that Cassidy person, and he can’t see me unless I want him to. Why should I leave?” sniffed Rupert.
“I can’t concentrate with you here. He’ll think I’m mad.” Rupert was known to be deliberately distracting. He loved to interrupt her conversations, and her “short attention span” couldn’t cope.
“Spoilsport. I’d watch out for him if I were you. Never trust a redheaded man. They’re never the heroes.” In a blink he was gone.
What rot. If she didn’t know better, Addie would think Rupert was jealous, which he had absolutely no right to be. Rupert had broken his wedding vows left, right, and center before he plowed into that stone wall and killed himself.
And Claudette Labelle, his French mistress.
Thank the Fellow Upstairs the woman wasn’t haunting Addie too. That really would have been insufferable.
Mr. Cassidy reined in his horse, leaped to the ground, and pulled her up. “Lady Adelaide! Thank God! When old Tim came after us riderless, we all thought the worst. The rest of the party is right behind me, but I flew. You are all right, aren’t you?”
“Only my dignity is bruised. I did tell you I haven’t ridden in a while. I think I may have developed an allergy.”
“To horses?” Mr. Cassidy asked, aghast. A fate worse than death for him, Addie supposed.
She felt that tickle in her nose again. “Possibly. I’m afraid I frightened Timothy Hay with my gasps and sneezes. It’s not his fault.”
“Rubbish. I’ll have to retrain him. A hunter is useless if he can’t ignore the unusual sounds around him. You’ve done me a great favor. I would hate to sell an animal that could harm my clients. Timothy Hay is intended for their son, John, you know. If anything happened to Sir Hugh’s heir, I couldn’t live with myself.”
Addie was fond of young John herself. He’d arrived nine months to the day of his parents’ wedding, a blessing since his father was wounded soon after in the war. She wasn’t really experienced in dealing with children—one couldn’t count her sister, Cee, who was twenty-five, even if she sometimes acted like a spoiled five-year-old—but John had always shown both his parents’ easy charm.