Heiress for Hire, page 22
“We will see if we can keep it from being too complicated.”
Jeremy just looked at him with a half smile on his face. Something amused him, and Chase suspected it was he himself. “What?” he asked, when that gaze continued.
“I’m just thinking how Minerva is the smartest person I know, and you seem to have your wits about you too, but neither of you can see it.”
“See what?”
“Hell, if you are going to share workers and you are going to share a bed, why don’t you just share a business?”
The notion had never entered his mind. Yet it made some sense, especially because their methods complemented each other.
Ridiculous, of course. He could name five reasons why it would never work, and might well ruin too much. Still, he had to give Jeremy some credit for his own wits.
“I will go now. Oh, I had a question on another matter. When you would visit London with the Finleys, where was the house they let?”
“Old Quebec Street. Up a ways off Oxford. It is near Portman Square.”
Chase left Jeremy to go get his breakfast, and let himself out the side portal. The image he had seen when entering the bedchamber held steady in his memory while he mounted his horse. Before Jeremy had pulled on the shirt, while he bent to the basin, marks had been visible as raised lines on his shoulders. He had been beaten at some point. Chase had seen marks like that often enough in the army, only deeper and wider, on men who had been whipped.
These scars had healed better than most. Time had gone far to fade them. That meant they were quite old, and the back on which they were laid had been young. The mere act of growing up had changed them.
Finley had been a brute with more people than his wife, it seemed.
* * *
The caller came two afternoons later. Chase was not expecting anyone, least of all this man.
Mr. Martin Monroe, the card said. Private Inquiries.
Monroe entered the sitting room and looked around, as if taking its measure and assessing its worth. Chase waited for him to do the same thing with the apartment’s owner.
A big smile beamed on Monroe’s florid face. In his early middle years, he had thickened around the middle and a few gray hairs salted his dark hair. The smile made balls form on his cheeks. The blue eyes, however, showed more shrewdness than his bonhomie manner suggested.
“I’ve come on a professional matter,” he said once they had greeted each other and he had sat. “Professional courtesy, actually. I’m told you and I share a calling.”
“You have been conducting inquiries into me, I see.”
“Well, I saw you at the concert and asked my friend who was that there and he told me. He’s not a friend of yours, but he knows that box and the family that uses it.”
It all sounded innocent, but Chase heard the architecture behind the façade. “Why did you ask about me?”
“Ah, that is the whole of it, isn’t it? I’ve some information that may be of use to the man in that box and needed to know his name. Imagine my surprise to learn it was a duke’s relative, and one whose days are spent much like mine.”
“Of course if what you know is of some use, I will be grateful to hear it. Perhaps you should inform me of your fees before you share the information itself.”
Monroe was not insulted. He was in the business of information, after all. Still, his smile demurred before his words did. “No fees as such. My thinking is that if I do you a good turn, professionally speaking, that someday you will return the favor. Our sort needs to stick together, right?”
Apparently, Mr. Monroe had sought him out with the best of intentions. “I have been remiss as a host. Let us share some brandy while you visit.” Chase went to the decanter, poured two glasses, and brought them back.
Monroe sipped his, expressed delight, then set it down. “So, here it is. That woman you were with at the concert. I know her. And, to be honest, I’m wondering if you really do.”
“I think so.”
“She uses the name Hepplewhite now. But she was not six years ago Margaret Finley. That’s her real name. Married she was, to one Algernon Finley.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Are you now? Do you also know she killed the man? Came within an inch of hanging for it.”
Chase kept his reaction in check, but astonishment slowed time for a solid ten count.
Monroe saw his surprise despite his efforts to hide it. “I know of what I speak. This is not idle gossip.”
“How do you know?”
“I was in Dorset on another matter. When it finished, I stayed on a spell and did a spot of work for her husband. An inquiry. Into her.”
“Algernon Finley wanted your services regarding his wife?”
“He did indeed. She’d left him, and he was sure there was a lover behind it all. Had me looking into that. Not the sort of work I much care for, but there I was and I thought it would be an easy assignment. I was wrong. The woman was sly. She guessed I was watching and that lover never came to her house. Sometimes she would get out somehow without my seeing, and she probably met him then. I was working my way into a friendship with a neighbor who might know something, when Finley turns up dead. He went riding in nearby hunting lands on occasion, and one day he got shot there.”
Hell. Finley had not merely died. He’d been shot.
“A hunting accident, most likely.”
“So the coroner eventually said, but no man who dies by an accident ends up with a lead ball directly to the heart, does he?”
Hell. “Pistol ball, mind you. Not a musket. Who hunts with a pistol?”
Almost no one.
“She carried one, tucked into this shawl she wrapped around herself back then. I saw it once. She said she was in the market at the time it happened, but the market people didn’t know just when she was there seeing as how it was so busy. Could have been then, or earlier. I had learned about how she left, and knew her husband assumed the only way she got the money to live was from another man. I saw how that lover could have helped her or done it for her. I swore down that information.”
Minerva had told him most of this. Not about the pistol wound to the heart. Not about Monroe looking for a lover. She had to know she was being watched by Monroe, though. She was too good at inquiries to miss when one had her as the object.
“Why was she not accused and tried?”
Monroe took another sip of his brandy. “Evidence too thin, the coroner said. No proof he was murdered at all, and none that she was in that forest. Then it turned out he left nothing, was in debt, so any motive fell apart, since I had never found that lover. But I’m telling you that she did it, as sure as I’m sitting here drinking your very fine brandy. Telling you unofficially, of course, and only due to our common profession. I know all about criminal libel and am making no actual accusations.”
“I thank you for all of this. I know it was imparted with the best intentions. Tell me, do you often work out of London?” Chase managed to keep an even tone, despite his silent cursing.
“Never do. I’m here on a family problem. For all the good it will do. Normally I am in the Midlands and such, and the northern cities. Liverpool at times. Manchester. Business inquiries. Financiers and industrial men. It’s more interesting than domestic matters, and for all their ruthlessness, cleaner. They aren’t gentlemen for all their money, but at least you don’t feel like you are pawing through someone’s underclothes.” He began to sip again, then stopped as if a thought had dawned. “One inquiry touched on your family, now that I remember. The last duke.”
“How interesting. You must tell me about it, if it would not be an indiscretion.” Chase rose and retrieved the decanter while he spoke. He refilled Mr. Monroe’s glass, to the man’s surprise and delight.
“I can tell you a bit, since we are colleagues of a sort, I suppose.” He enjoyed the brandy a moment before continuing. “Was up near Manchester. There’s a canal up there and them that own it were thinking of widening it. Only one of the partners would not agree. He said doing so would only benefit factories owned by two other partners, and not bring in enough to pay for the work or show a profit. Well, those two were angry, and one of them had me doing a few inquiries into the partner who stood in the way. Looking for secrets or such. Something that would be embarrassing if it came out. Was the late duke I was trying to learn about. He was the stubborn partner.”
The rogues had wanted to blackmail Uncle Frederick. “Did you learn anything of use?”
“Nah. First, it is hard to do inquiries on a duke. Then, I learned that he didn’t much care what was said about him, so what little I did find would not embarrass him. A taste for whores, for example. Common enough, but there’s those who would be mortified if the whole world knew. Was clear he didn’t hide it at all. I guess being a duke makes it all different.”
“Mostly.”
“I did learn that he would show up wearing costumes. Like he had attended a masquerade. Only he hadn’t. Took me a week to learn that. Wormed it out of a housemaid in his London home that he had a whole wardrobe of such things, and at times wore them in his house too, for no good reason. Even when he was alone.” Flush-faced now, he leaned in confidentially. “I confess I wondered if maybe he was a little mad, when I heard that.”
“Not mad. Only unusual.”
Those balls had taken permanent residence on Monroe’s cheeks above his big smile. He chortled, and firmly put down his glass. “Enough of that, and I thank you. Now I should return to my sister’s house and have some dinner. I am glad you received me, sir. I hope I have done you a good turn, as was my intention.”
“You have. I look forward to returning the favor.” Chase still expected a request for payment of some sort. When it did not come, he felt very cynical.
He accompanied his guest to the door. As the man started down the stairs, Chase asked a final question. “Who had you investigate the last duke?”
Monroe paused. “Well, now, I shouldn’t say.”
“I understand.”
Monroe stood there a minute, then came back to the door. “Excuse me. I’ve remembered that I need to write a quick letter to post when I leave. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Make use of the writing desk.”
Monroe entered the sitting room, went to a writing desk, and used the pen on a piece of paper that he blotted, folded, and slipped into his frock coat. As he returned to the door, the paper fluttered to the floor.
With an innocent farewell, he went down to the street.
Chase picked up the paper that had “accidentally” been dropped. He read it, then tucked it away in the writing desk.
He looked out the window and watched Monroe walk down the street. Jaw tight, he barely managed to contain his anger with himself.
He had been negligent. With his mission, with his duty—hell, with his honor. He should have made hard inquiries into this mystery woman who inherited so much of the duke’s money. Instead he had engaged in a flirtation with her, and become entangled. He had allowed desire to interfere with learning even the most basic information about her past in a timely manner.
Small wonder Minerva was so cautious with him, and so interested in the duke’s death. Not only her inheritance put her high on the list, but so did her past. If anyone learned she was once suspected of murder—
I know you did not kill him. Hell, right now he didn’t know anything at all.
* * *
Minerva gazed in her looking glass one last time. Huge dark eyes gazed back.
The duke’s invitation to dinner had arrived last week, and she had swallowed any trepidation until this evening. The only solace she found now was knowing Chase would be there, and she would not face this alone. She looked forward to seeing him too. They had been four days apart, as his inquiries kept him busy.
She pretended not to be nervous, but by the time she picked up her reticule she was in a state. Beth stood back and examined her. “That dress is very flattering, and the equal of anything worn by the other ladies that will be there, I’m sure.”
Minerva wore the primrose silk dinner dress that had mysteriously arrived at her house. Upon her writing to Madame Tissot saying there had been a mistake, the modiste had merely written back that her shop did not make mistakes.
Other ladies. Of course there would be some. She had not thought about that, however. Now she wondered how many and who they would be.
Beth pinched her cheeks. “You need a bit of color, that’s all. Get your wits about you now. You are the ladies’ equal too. More than their equal. I doubt a one of them will have done as much as you have in life, or enjoy the freedom you do every day. Who knows, maybe if they learn of your inquiries, we will get clients we can charge very high fees to.”
“Beth, you know just what to say. I will find a way to make sure they do learn of my inquiries. This is a wonderful opportunity, and I intend to do more than eat an incredibly fine meal.”
“Don’t be slighting the eating part. It will probably be the best food you swallow in your entire life. I’ll be wanting all the particulars tomorrow. Every sauce, every savory, every joint—” She sighed. “I can taste it now.”
Minerva went below to wait for the carriage. It would not do to keep a duke waiting. When she heard it in front of her door, she collected herself and stepped out.
Jeremy waited to play footman. So did Elise, to gawk. Her arrival interrupted their conversation and laughter. Jeremy snapped to attention to perform his duties. Elise watched with wide eyes.
She was so distracted by them that she was at the carriage door before she realized how nice a conveyance it was. Not as large as a typical hired coach, it sported green paint and polished brass and the coachman wore a very neat coat and hat. Inside plump cushions in deep red waited.
Jeremy closed the door and peered inside. “You will roll up Park Lane in style.”
Chase had done this. It touched her that he wanted her to feel “equal to those ladies” when she arrived at his cousin’s home. She opened the curtains and peered out at the way the town glowed from streetlamps and windows while they rolled along.
Formality greeted her arrival. Two liveried footmen tended the door and carriages. One handed her down and escorted her inside, delivering her to the butler. He in turn handed her to another footman who brought her up to the drawing room.
At least a dozen people moved within, chatting. The duke came over to greet her. A bow and curtsy and off they went, winding through the little group that included some very fine ladies indeed.
She spied Chase across the chamber, chatting with a lovely woman in red who flirted with him boldly. He didn’t seem to be minding. That cleared the dazed befuddlement out of her head at once. She turned her full attention to the introductions, memorizing every name she heard.
“That is the Countess von Kirchen. She is visiting from Vienna,” the duke said, noticing where her attention kept returning.
“She is very . . . lovely.” She almost said voluptuous. Due to her ample endowments, the countess’s bodice revealed more bosom than it covered. Minerva glanced down at her own décolleté. Upon donning the dress she had thought it daring. Suddenly it appeared sedate enough for a church.
Eventually the duke brought her to Chase, and pointedly eased the lady in red away. The chance to flirt with a duke proved an effective lure. Minerva watched the red stroll into the group.
“She is beautiful,” she said.
“I suppose so.”
“Of course she is. You have eyes.”
“My, you are snappish. Are you jealous?”
“Of course not.”
He tipped his head closer. “Not at all? I am wounded. As for my eyes, I saw only you once you appeared. It was all I could do not to be rude, and to these eyes no woman here is as beautiful as you are.”
Now she felt foolish. She had been snappish. “Perhaps I was a little jealous. I suppose lovely women flirt with you shamelessly all the time. I should not make too much of it.”
“Still snapping a bit, I see.” He stepped back and looked at her from head to toe. “The dress makes you look seductive.”
It was not a word she would have used. Certainly no one else ever had. Yet his calling her that made her feel seductive. “Perhaps I should flirt shamelessly too.”
“Only with me, darling. Now we will walk over and join Kevin and that woman who has been pursuing him for months. She is a viscount’s wife—the viscount is that man over there—and apparently she finds Kevin’s preoccupation with his invention attractive.”
“Perhaps she only finds him attractive. He is a very handsome man in a somewhat dramatic way. All the Radnor cousins were blessed by nature. Even that one whose wife talks for him.”
They made their way toward Kevin and the eager viscountess. “Thank you for the carriage. It was a treat. I felt like a queen.”
“I’m glad. I bought it yesterday.”
She fingered the raw silk of her skirt. “Thank you for this too. I assume you were my mystery benefactor.”
“I make no claims or denials.”
Kevin greeted them with what looked like relief. The viscountess appeared less than pleased. Her expression cleared when she learned that Minerva aided Chase on some of his inquiries. With a long look she regarded them both. Minerva all but heard the woman’s head drawing conclusions. After that, the viscountess was very friendly.
* * *
“I am too full,” Minerva said. “I feel as portly as your cousin’s butler.”
Chase patted her stomach. “You did enjoy yourself heartily.”
“Blame Beth. She said she wanted all the particulars and I could hardly give them if I didn’t taste it all.”
They sat together in the new carriage. Chase thought the dinner had been successful for Nicholas, his first as the new duke. A small affair, he had invited people not given to hard criticisms. If any were there, Minerva at least did not notice them. She was bright-eyed and vivacious throughout it all, behaving as if of course she should be sitting with those lords. She had perhaps overindulged herself at the table, though. She had only taken the tiniest taste of most of it, but even that was enough to put her in her current state.
