Rules of Murder
standing about thirty yards away.
    “That was loud enough for them to hear in London,” he said once the echoing boom had died away. “Must have been two or three at once.”
    “We used to have this sort of thing all the time when we still had our house on Lake Michigan. The reflection of the fireworks on the water was the most beautiful thing.”
    “You don’t still have the house?”
    She shook her head. “When Mother and Daddy died, there was evidently a lot of debt to be paid, and the house went for that. I was ten, so I didn’t know much about it. I’m just thankful Uncle Mason made sure I was taken care of. He’s taken verygood care of me since then, even if some of Mother’s people thought he was a bit too extravagant.”
    He chuckled. “Protestant work ethic and all that, eh?”
    “Something like that. Don’t scoff now. There’s a lot of wisdom in that school of thought.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of scoffing,” he assured her. “There must be something right in it if it produces such unaffectedly lovely creatures as you.”
    With a hiss and a boom, another rocket exploded over them, bathing them in red light. When it faded, there was still a becoming pink tint to her cheeks.
    “And what about your Protestant work ethic?” she asked, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Or perhaps the Church of England has its very own work ethic.”
    “I daresay it does,” he replied. “I don’t know how much it’s rubbed off on me, though. I was raised in the faith, mind you, but you know how it is. One gets a bit old to be playing church.” The sparkle in her eyes faded, just slightly, and he hastened to add, “Of course, lord of the manor and all, I still attend services most times. Funny old Bartlett, the vicar. His homilies never have a thing to do with the texts he chooses.”
    She smiled. “As long as he reads the text, I think it’s a good start. No one can really listen to those words and not feel them inside.”
    “Perhaps that’s so. Once my father passed on, though, none of it seemed quite the same to me anymore.” He shrugged and looked down, not wanting her to see into his eyes just then.
    “You loved him very much.”
    “He loved me,” Drew replied with swift certainty. “And I never saw him do an unkind or dishonest thing all my life.” He smiled a little wistfully. “As Hamlet said of his own father, ‘I shall not look upon his like again.’”
    She smiled, too. “My father was like that. I suppose every child of a loving father makes him into a bit of an idol.”
    “That may be so. At least you had your uncle to look after you. Losing my dad—I guess I’ve been rather at loose ends ever since.”
    “Uncle Mason has been awfully good to me. My faith meant a great deal to me too after I was left an orphan.”
    “I can understand how you felt.” He looked up again, making his expression exaggeratedly sincere. “At the tender age of nine, I was left an orphan.”
    “You were not,” she said with a giggle.
    “I was,” he insisted. “But, being so young, I hadn’t a clue what to do with it, so I sent it back.”
    Her laughter was covered by the fireworks’ grand finale, a last salvo of green and red and blue, hissing and booming, answered by thunder from the clouded sky. Then, save the faint sounds of music and laughter from the house, there was silence.
    They sat for a few minutes not saying anything, and Drew felt as if he could stay there with her for a very long while indeed. He’d never felt quite this way about any girl before, especially not so suddenly. But did she—?
    “Madeline?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and conversational.
    “Yes?”
    “I think . . .” He reached over and took her hand. “I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve already grown terribly fond of you.”
    He waited expectantly, but she said nothing. She didn’t even look at him.
    “You haven’t told me how you feel,” he pressed after a moment, and she turned her

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