“It is lovely, isn’t it?”
Beth ran her palm over the very fine lawn fabric. “Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Perhaps that dressmaker just wanted you to have it.”
“Dressmakers do not make gifts of such as this, to patrons such as me. Pack it up and I’ll ask Jeremy to—”
“Could be that Mr. Radnor wanted you to have it, as compensation for all the help you have given him.”
If she had given him much help at all, she might convince herself of that. Still . . . She joined Beth in gazing at the garment. “If he did, it would be inappropriate for me to keep it.”
“Very inappropriate.” Beth fingered some lace, rubbing it. “I never thought to call such a thing delicious, but the word fits.”
Minerva marveled at the tiny pearl beads on the neckline of the dress. “Sad to return them, but I must.”
Beth gave a subtle shrug. “That all depends, doesn’t it? You listened to my long scold about having no more to do with him, and seemed to agree. But you didn’t actually do so, nor have you avoided him like you should.”
Minerva felt her face warming. She doubted her old friend would place a wager on how matters would develop with Chase. Minerva had no idea herself, especially now. Last night she debated at length with herself, weighing her ache for intimacy against all the reasons ever going to him would be a mistake. For both of them now.
“I don’t blame you,” Beth said. “I just wish he were a merchant or a fishmonger or doing anything other than these inquiries that seem to touch on you.”
“As do I, Beth. As do I.”
Beth lifted the undressing gown and carried it to the wardrobe. “Why not wait a few days, and see if that dressmaker writes to tell you they were sent by mistake. If she doesn’t, you can always send them back next week if you choose to.”
Chapter Seventeen
The letter from Chase contained one terse sentence. I demand that you explain why you had cause to inquire as to my cousin Kevin’s whereabouts last month. Nothing indicated when and how she was supposed to provide that explanation. By letter, presumably.
He had reached the point on his list where he checked his relatives’ stories, apparently. On learning about Kevin, he had realized her own reasons for visiting the packet office.
Their conversation after he found her there had not been one that any decent man would conclude with an interrogation on her reasons for that visit.
She rather wished she had blurted the lie she had devised as an explanation, should he ever ask about that. I was wondering if I could find out where my uncle and cousins landed when they left England. He would never know that she had looked into that when she first came up to London five years ago, to no good conclusion.
She sat down to write to him, but after a few jottings her pen paused. How cowardly to give bad news this way. She was about to hand him a problem worse than he imagined. He had a right to ask his questions and have quick answers.
She pulled forward a clean sheet of paper. I will call at eight o’clock this evening to tell you what I know.
She sent Jeremy off to deliver the note, then tried to concentrate on the rest of her day. A new client called, sent by Mrs. Oliver. This woman, Mrs. Jeffers, wanted to find her cousin, with whom she had been long estranged. Minerva was glad for the new inquiry, and grateful for the distraction. Once that meeting ended, she had nothing but thoughts about her next one in her head.
She ate dinner with Beth and Jeremy. When it ended, she went to her chamber to wash and change her garments, and to settle the errant strands of hair that had escaped during the day. For some reason she became all thumbs and did a poor job of it. All the signs of nervousness plagued her, so much that she almost left without her reticule. Finally she went down and asked Jeremy to go out and bring her a hired carriage.
“I don’t need to,” he said. “One will be here in a few minutes. It came half an hour ago and has been waiting. The coachman decided to walk the horses a bit but will be back soon.”
“How thoughtful of you. Such foresight.”
“Not my doing. I didn’t know you were leaving, did I?” He gave her appearance a suspicious scrutiny.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of her house. Jeremy accompanied her outside and helped her in. “Don’t you be walking home late at night,” he said.
“I expect to be back in an hour at most, and I think my return will be accommodated just as my departure has been.”
“Let’s all hope it happens that way.” He stepped away and gestured for the coachman to go.
* * *
He paced the library. It was not a large one, so he kept pivoting and retracing his steps. His agitation threatened to create a valley in the carpet.
Anger sent him on this hike to nowhere. So did a different kind of fury. Upon receiving Minerva’s note, his first thought had been Finally. Only she was not coming for the reason he had hoped. She wasn’t even calling out of friendship. He had demanded an explanation and she intended to give it to him. Nothing more.
If his body did not accept the truth of that, it probably had to do with the way in which anticipation over the last few days had primed it to ache for relief. Telling himself he was an ass hardly helped. Desire did not have a logical mind.
“Sir, I prepared some negus. I will keep it warm until your caller arrives.” Brigsby appeared out of nowhere to announce that. “Should I plan for two for dinner? I have some fowl that would not take long to cook.”
Would she have eaten already? Hell if he knew. He doubted she had invited herself to dinner, though. “I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps you would like me to cook it for you, then. For after your caller leaves.”
“Do whatever makes sense to you. I don’t give a damn right now.”
Brigsby’s eyebrows rose. His mouth pursed. He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, his steps going down the stairs to the kitchen far below. Almost at once his steps came back up, hurriedly. He passed the library door smoothing his hair and straightened his cravat. A moment later the sounds of a visitor broke the silence of the house.
“Sir, Miss Hepplewhite has called.” Brigsby handed over a card, as if Chase needed proof.
“For the sake of—bring her in. Get on with it, man,” he hissed.
Again those eyebrows rose. A minute later Brigsby ushered Minerva into the library and closed the door.
She looked especially lovely. For some reason tonight her face appeared even more luminous and her eyes dark like mink. He looked at her too long before he welcomed her and invited her to sit.
“I thought I should respond to your rude letter in person, lest you misunderstand my explanation in some way if I wrote.”
“Did you find it rude? I thought it was direct.”
“Directly rude. However, I understand why you were displeased. You thought I would tell you everything, like a good employee. Only I was never one of those.”
“I thought you would tell me what you learned because we were sharing information equally.”
“I see.” She raised her chin and lowered her eyelids. “So you have told me everything?”
An awkward, damning silence ensued.
“I didn’t think so. Well, here I am. Ask what you want and I will answer as I can.”