Clear evidence. Proof. She reminded Minerva of her conversation with Radnor yesterday morning. Mrs. Oliver already knew the truth, but she needed evidence before she confronted her husband.
That conversation had stayed in her mind since she all but ran from his apartment. He had wanted to talk about those kisses, and probably about the ones that never happened. What a conversation that would have been! Not that she would ever explain any of that. It would be too humiliating. What could she say? It isn’t only that I can’t trust you. As it happens, these feelings are so new to me, so unexpected, that I can’t trust myself, either.
“I don’t think this should take long,” she said, forcing her mind to Mrs. Oliver’s problem and making plans on what to do. “I will need some information from you if you can get it. I want the names of both of those Brighton shops, and I also want the name of the agent and of other shops the agent calls on.”
“I’ll write to you this evening.”
“Then we will begin in the morning. Now, I must be indelicate and explain our fees.”
Five minutes later she brought Mrs. Oliver to the door where her carriage waited. “Leave it all to us. I will give you a report in five days and let you know if we are successful or need more time.”
Chapter Ten
Chase entered Nicholas’s apartment to find him reading in bed.
“Adopting the habits of your new position, are you?”
Nicholas looked up from his newspaper. He set it aside on the breakfast tray. “All that waits for me on rising are the complaints in those.” He gestured to a little stack of letters set neatly on the side of the bed, unopened.
“Not dunning letters, I hope.”
“I should be so fortunate. If you look closely you will recognize the hands. One is Phillip, who wants to borrow money and writes me daily. He even made it a point to chance upon me at my club.”
“Tell him to go to hell.”
“One is from Dolores, who still tries to persuade me to be less strict about challenging the will. And one, unless I am mistaken—it has been so long since I received a letter from him that I can’t be sure—is Cousin Walter.”
“What does he want?”
“I have no idea.”
Chase lifted the letter. “Let us find out. May I?”
“Enjoy yourself.”
He unsealed the letter. Walter had the practiced flamboyance in his penmanship that one would expect of a man with a high opinion of himself. Lots of flourishes and unnecessary ink decorated the capital letters. Chase read the one-page missive.
“Hmmm.”
“I don’t care for that hmmm,” Nicholas said.
“You won’t care for this letter either.” Chase waved it in front of Nicholas’s nose. “He feels the need to advise you on your duties, which he proceeds to do in a very Walter sort of way. In particular, he scolds about your lack of a wife and heir.”
“Odd, since if I die today he becomes the duke.”
“Frightening thought. You will endeavor not to die today, or soon, I trust.”
“If I do, assume he did me in.”
“Anyway, he scolds. He reminds you of that duty. And, you will be overjoyed to learn, he has even helped out by finding a potential bride for you.”
“Hell to that.” Nicholas threw off the bedclothes and strode to his dressing room.
Chase positioned himself outside its door. “She is a lovely girl, he writes. Sweet and demure and of course virtuous in the extreme. Well-bred and better raised.”
“Of course she is,” Nicholas’s voice said. “She sounds boring.”
“Walter would think that a virtue. Let me see what else he admires in her. Ah, here is more. Apparently, she is related to his wife. Her niece. Her brother Viscount Beaufort’s daughter.”
Nicholas’s face showed around the threshold. “I have seen this girl if she is that relative. We met. She had the temerity to ask when I thought my uncle would die and I would become duke. Not in so many words, but that was the question being broached. When I said Uncle was so healthy he would probably live to ninety, she suddenly lost interest.”
“Well, she wouldn’t want to wait too long, would she? Clearly you have become interesting again.”
Nicholas’s response came garbled. Chase entered the dressing room to find him being shaved by his valet.
“I wonder what Beaufort has promised Walter if this marriage occurs.”
Nicholas pushed away the valet’s razor and tilted his head up to look at Chase. “Knowing Walter, I would assume enough to set up a trust that brings him at least a thousand a year.”
“At least.”
Nicholas submitted to the valet again. “Any news on the inquiry?”
“I have continued advertisements in The Times, and added some county papers, searching for the other mystery women. If any by those two names sees them, I should hear within the week.”
“Not everyone reads the papers.”
“Most people at least know someone who does. I am hopeful. In the meantime, I pursue other ways.”
Face wiped and clothes ready, Nicholas rose. “I will be going down to Melton Park tomorrow. Perhaps you should come with me.”
“I may do that.” Chase wandered over to the window. A little row of men stood beneath it, waiting to enter the side door. The butler must be inspecting possible servants today.
While he watched, another person arrived and walked right past all of them, then on along the house. Not a servant.
Chase aimed for the apartment’s entrance. “We will talk again soon. Come to my chambers this evening, and we’ll go to the club together.”
* * *
Minerva marched past all the hopeful men awaiting inspection, then continued to the kitchen door of Whiteford House. Since she would be leaving town for a day or so, she needed to take care of this now.
She let herself in. Mrs. Fowler stood with her back to the door, peeling onions.
At her footstep, Mrs. Fowler looked over her shoulder. “What you doing here? Not hoping for work again, I hope. You won’t do. Too many airs.”
“I’m not looking for work. I was nearby and thought I would call on you.”
“Call on me, is it? I’ve food to prepare. I have no time for callers.” She returned to her onions. “Call on me, indeed.”
Minerva went over and stood beside her just as the woman wiped her eyes with her apron. “I will cut those if you give me a knife and a board. Then both of us will cry but be done quickly.”
Mrs. Fowler shrugged. She set a board and knife in front of Minerva. “Strange one you are.”
“I know.” Minerva began slicing the onions. Mrs. Fowler inspected them, nodded, and went back to her peeling.
“You’ve no one here to help you.” The kitchen quaked with silence.
“Up above they are today, tending to the chambers. Tomorrow more start, so I’ll have them back, plus another. Mrs. Wiggins has been taking on new servants fast.”
“Has she found her own replacement?”
“I fear so. I don’t like the woman. Came down here poking around, asking too many questions, telling me my business. Next week she starts.”
“It has been difficult, I suppose, having so many of the staff leave. Of course, with those pensions, one would expect it.”