Heiress for Hire, page 27
“If there is no charity doing that, you can start one. Do not deny yourself the wardrobe and carriage, though. Indulging yourself a bit will only use a tiny amount of what you will receive, and you should celebrate your good fortune.” He opened the carriage door. “We are here.”
She looked at the door of the Bank of England. Minerva Hepplewhite would withdraw fifty pounds today, from the account that held the income from her trust.
Wealth waited. A new life would start.
He cocked his head, his hand still holding hers, waiting for her to step down. She wished they did not wear gloves so she could feel his warmth on her palm. She gazed in his blue eyes, so warm and kind within that harshly handsome face.
“Will you stay with me through this?”
He coaxed her out with a gentle tug. “I will come in with you. And I will stay with you as long as you want me to.”
It sounded as if he did not understand what she had meant. Then again, maybe he had.
Together they entered that door. Side by side they found the man Mr. Sanders had referred her to.
A half hour later, she walked out an heiress.
* * *
Chase welcomed Nicholas’s message when it arrived. Call at one o’clock, if you can.
He had spent a restless evening and night. He had left Minerva with her “family” to celebrate that money she had taken home. He had not told her to come to him when she wanted to. She would know she was welcomed. However, he also did not make arrangements to see her on his own initiative.
In one half hour, much had changed. He could not pretend it had not. He had known it would, but experiencing the implications soured his mood. Beneath his rumbling frustration, nostalgia put down roots.
She had taken the first step to enjoying the fruits of her good fortune. She had no need of inquiries, or his protection. That inheritance, now in hand, would change things. Change her. He pictured her receiving calls from ladies, and attending parties and balls. He saw her in silks that would make that dinner dress pale in comparison.
He imagined men flirting with her. Not only fortune hunters. She would spot those immediately. Other men, however, would be drawn to her flame. Lords and industrialists and men of greater wealth than she possessed. The day would come, perhaps quickly, when he was only one of her friends, and not a special one at that.
He couldn’t stop any of it. He didn’t want to, yet he did. He did not want to see other men considering her as a prospective wife of good fortune, or as an inappropriate woman with whom to dally for a while. Even if she rejected them all, it would drive him mad.
He arrived at Whiteford House a quarter hour before one o’clock. He had rehearsed the words with which he would inform Nicholas that he had been conducting an inquiry for the Home Office even while he conducted one for Nicholas. It was time to do that, since Peel’s request for a report could not be put off any longer. He did not expect his cousin to take the revelation calmly.
Nicholas waited in the library. “There you are. Come in, and prepare yourself,” Nicholas said.
“Prepare myself for what?”
“Family doings. Walter and his wife are coming soon.”
“To ask for money?”
“Undoubtedly. However, from Walter’s note, I think there is more to it than that. He referred to information of the utmost importance.”
“Before they come, I need to tell you something, also of the utmost importance.”
Nicholas made a waving gesture with his hand. “We will talk after they have left. I can only take one utmost importance at a time.”
At exactly one o’clock, the butler delivered Walter’s card. “Of course he is promptly on time. One would expect nothing less,” Nicolas said.
Walter entered with Felicity at his side. After greetings, Nicholas invited them to make themselves comfortable.
Walter glanced at Chase, then addressed Nicholas. “I was hoping to do this with you alone. The matter is very delicate.”
“Chase is here at my request. If you intend to tell me that the Countess von Kirchen is not the widow she claims, I already know that.”
Walter colored. “I have no interest in your mistresses. This, as I wrote, is a matter of utmost importance.” He leaned in, very sober-faced. “It has to do with Uncle’s death.”
“Then Chase most certainly should be here. Perhaps you will share what you have come to tell me.”
“My wife was in town a few days before Uncle died. She had some shopping to do. She was on Bond Street and—”
“Perhaps you will allow her to tell it, since it is her story,” Chase said.
Walter frowned at him. He turned to Felicity. “Are you up to it?”
“I am sure she is, aren’t you, Felicity?” Nicholas said.
She nodded. “I was in town, shopping. I saw Kevin while I was on Bond Street. Riding down, as plain as could be. Later, when everyone said he was in France, I didn’t know what to do. On that day, at least, he was not.”
Chase glanced at Nicholas just as Nicholas glanced at him. Hell and damnation.
“You are very sure?” Chase asked.
“I would recognize one of my husband’s cousins, wouldn’t I?”
“Not if it were foggy, or you did not see him head-on.”
“I am sure it was Kevin.”
“It is rather late to be remembering this,” Nicholas said.
She colored. Walter looked ready to huff on her behalf. “I remembered at once. I did not say anything, even to Walter, because I did not want to cause trouble for Kevin.”
“And now you do?”
Chase had never seen Felicity show anger, or even much emotion other than wifely adoration. Now her expression sharpened. “I thought, since the matter remains unresolved, that I should tell my husband. He thought you should know.”
“How good of you both,” Nicholas said. He stood. “I will speak with Kevin about this, and if necessary, when necessary, inform the Home Office.”
Walter looked up in dismay, then rose to his feet too. “Come, dear. It appears the duke has a busy day planned and we should not impose on his time.”
Nicholas did not say one word to disagree with that.
“It may be time to tell Kevin to hop that packet,” Nicholas said after they were gone.
Chase had already decided last night to do just that. “You could have been more gracious. You all but threw them out.”
“I can’t abide Walter. He enjoyed telling me this. He is probably doing the calculations to see how much more he might get if Kevin is hanged.”
“He left feeling insulted. By tomorrow he will be a hot air balloon of self-righteousness.”
Nicholas slammed his fist on the back of a divan, cursed again, then calmed. “I will apologize. Now, what was your news of utmost importance?”
It would be better to give Nicholas some time to recover from Walter and his wife. “Call for your horse. Let us ride along the river.”
Nicholas went to the door. “I’m not going to like your news any more than I liked Walter’s, am I?”
* * *
“Walter seemed to believe the Countess von Kirchen is your mistress. Is she?” Chase threw out the question after they slowed their horses and walked them along the riverbank west of town. Nicholas had not accused him of betrayal outright when he revealed the Home Office inquiry, but the wait for his horse had been very silent.
“I suppose she is.”
“You don’t know?”
“‘Mistress’ implies an arrangement. There isn’t one. At least I have not willingly agreed to one.”
“Might you have, in a weak moment, agreed to one unwillingly?”
Nicholas laughed, more to himself than at Chase. “Possibly. There were a few weak moments in the last few days.”
Chase remembered how the countess had shown an aggressive side at Nicholas’s dinner party. When he foisted her off on Nicholas himself, he had not anticipated an entanglement. If he had been thinking about anyone other than Minerva, and how beautiful she looked when Nicholas brought her over, he might have guessed that the countess would make her own arrangement with the new duke, and quickly.
That was the problem with inappropriate women of a certain class. They had expectations, even if those did not include marriage.
“Speaking of mistresses, how is Miss Hepplewhite?” Nicholas asked.
“She is not my mistress.”
“Forgive me. Speaking of lovers, how is she?”
“Doing quite well. Sanders informed her that some of the funds were being released, and she availed herself of a few pounds. Also the valuation of that business came in handsomely high.”
“That complicates matters for you, I expect,” Nicholas said.
It was not a turn in the conversation that Chase had expected. “Somewhat.”
“In the least you do not have a clear field anymore. Word will spread fast. Every lord with more privilege than money will consider her a catch. If not for your interest in her, I would myself.”
“They will be wasting their time. She has no interest in marrying.”
“And here I thought I might be hosting a wedding breakfast soon. She doesn’t seem fitting for the inappropriate woman category either. I assumed she was your lover, but that things were moving to a more formal arrangement.”
“It is complicated, as you said.”
“Perhaps not as much as you think. It isn’t like you are a fortune hunter. She probably knows that your vocation is by choice, not necessity.” Nicholas turned a big smile on him. “Why not propose, and see just how uncomplicated it might be?”
Because she has said, bluntly, that she will never marry again. In light of her first marriage, he understood that. He would like to think she knew she could trust him to never be like Finley, ever, no matter how provoked or how drunk or how angry, but he wondered if she could believe that about any man.
He had not weighed marriage in a specific way because of that, but he did not want to lose her either. He certainly did not want to watch other men pursuing her, even if he did not think she would change her mind about marriage.
“My thinking on finding some semblance of a formal alliance has taken other directions,” he said.
“You had better finish that thinking soon. I give you a fortnight at best before the calls start. She met enough people at my dinner for a few families to have a foot in the door.”
“I was expecting to annoy you today, not have you annoy me.”
“You annoyed me plenty. I’m just getting revenge,” Nicholas said. “I am actually enjoying myself. Say, are you going to tell me why uncle gave her that legacy?”
“No.”
Nicholas shrugged. “I suppose it was another example of his eccentric generosity. I have received letters from some other recipients. They are hoping, I think, that I am just as peculiar as he was and will continue the tradition of passing out gold coins on impulse.”
Chase stopped his horse and grabbed at the harness on Nicholas’s. “Now I am truly annoyed. You might have told me about this.”
“I assumed you knew. You asked about the gold. You were correct, by the way. There was another hoard in Whiteford House.”
“Not about the gold, about his eccentric generosity of giving out those coins.”
“He had to be doing something with them. What did you think? That he sat in his study making stacks and counting them?” Nicholas jerked his horse free of Chase’s hold. “I think that he never left his house without some of them in his purse or pocket. One here, ten there—one letter said he would show up at an orphanage at night and hand a little sack of them to the servant at the door. He never told them who he was, but they made it a point to find out. Now they are hoping the visits continue despite his death.”
“Have they?”
Nicholas rode on a ways before answering. “Once. I doubt I can continue. The pile in Whiteford House won’t last long. But better that orphanage get it than Walter, the greedy scoundrel.”
Which was exactly what Uncle Frederick had concluded, Chase thought.
* * *
Chase wrote out his case, the one he would make to Minerva. It was his best chance, he decided, to line up the reasons she might agree to his ideas about their future alliance.
He examined his final paper, the one without all the cross-outs and comments to himself about being an ass to include this or that. The list of benefits to her appeared sadly small. That his own list also appeared small hardly helped his mood.
He had never before seen in ink on paper how little a permanent alliance between a man and a woman had credence, once you removed practical things like financial support, heirs, and social demands. There was damned little left to encourage a woman like Minerva to give up one whit of independence and freedom.
Fortunately, he had no intentions of asking her to do that.
He checked his pocket watch, and realized he had to leave or he would arrive late to her house. His horse would already be waiting. He gathered his wits but left the lists.
As he crossed the apartment to his door, he saw Brigsby there, receiving a letter. Brigsby turned with the missive in his hand. He brought it over ceremoniously. “Hand-delivered. From the Home Office.”
Two thoughts rushed into Chase’s mind. The first was a curse that Peel had been so impatient. The second was a prayer that Kevin had heeded his advice and hopped a packet to France. He opened the letter. Peel required him to call this afternoon at two o’clock. Not a request this time.
“Brigsby, send word to Miss Hepplewhite that I will be delayed. Better yet, to be sure she receives the message immediately, carry it to her yourself.”
“May I ask, sir, if this has to do with one of your inquiries?”
“It does.”
“So you are not expecting me to be a messenger, which is not part of my responsibilities. You are instead asking me to serve as one of your—I believe they are called agents.” Brigsby considered that. “How novel. It might be interesting.”
“Call it what you want, just make sure she gets the message.”
At two o’clock, Chase tied his horse outside the building that housed the Home Office. Peel did not wait outside this time. The meeting would be more official than that.
Very official, it turned out. Peel waited in his office. Chase sat down and set a portfolio on the desk. “I have the preliminary report that you requested.”
“I requested it some time ago.”
“I had a few details that I needed to check for accuracy first.”
Peel set his arms on the desk and leaned forward. “How did he die? That is the detail that matters most.”
“He was killed.”
Peel sat back and closed his eyes. Chase imagined the man was picturing the problems and complications awaiting his office now.
“Who?” Peel asked after a deep sigh.
“I have not determined that yet. There are currently several possibilities.” He handed over his portfolio. “Each page is one of them, with the evidence for and against such a suspicion.”
Peel removed the sheets and began to look through them.
“You have not yet identified this woman who visited him that day?”
“No.”
“It could have been one of these two who have not yet been found.”
“Possibly.”
He flipped again. “Ah. The one who has been found. Miss Hepplewhite.” He read down the sheet. “Her husband’s death was ruled accidental, you write, but also that it might not have been.” More reading. “Good heavens, poor woman. Did she do it? She certainly had provocation.”
“I was engaged to make inquiries into my uncle’s death, not her husband’s. However, she did not.”
“How can you be sure? Once murder is done, it is easier to do again.”
That was exactly the reaction that Minerva had feared. “I know she did not because I know who did.”
He looked up, surprised. “You should inform the magistrate down there.”
“I have a verbal confession, but no evidence. Nor, as I said, was I engaged to make inquiries into the husband’s death.”
He accepted it, but with a frown. He turned the page and looked up again. “You are more honest than I expected, if you have included your own cousin in this stack of suspects.”
It sounded like a criticism, not a compliment. “It is the sort of evidence that is easily found, should you take this further. There was no point of trying to hide it. He was in England, and he visited Melton Park. The day before, he said, but since he was not seen at all, I can’t prove it either way.”
“He seems to have had motive, if he was denied funds for furthering their partnership. Business can bring out the worst in men sometimes.”
Chase just let that comment lie there.
Peel turned that sheet, revealing the last. He read it, expressionless. For a very long time.
He looked up, right into Chase’s eyes. Scrutinizing. Weighing.
“What led you to include my father in your inquiries?”
“Evidence presented itself to me that there had been a falling-out when the duke refused to agree to widening that canal that would benefit only two of the partners. Your father was one of them. He did not take it well, and sought to find information that might persuade the duke to change his mind.”
“They were friends.”
“Not recently, if such persuasion was being considered.”
“Who gave you this evidence of attempted persuasion?”
“Someone I believe and trust.” He had not included Mr. Monroe’s name. “I verified the information about the canal independently, however.”
Peel turned that last sheet, rested back in his chair, and closed his eyes again. Chase just waited.
Alert again, Peel leaned forward and patted the pages. “Inconclusive. All of it.”
“I think so. Preliminary findings. Enough for your office to continue, however, if you choose.” Or not, if you choose.
Peel pursed his lips, still looking at the papers. “Even your determination of the manner of death is inconclusive and not sufficiently supported by facts.”
