“As am I. It might be best if he left England for a few months. A man has a better chance at justice here than anywhere else, but this is a duke’s death and if it is called other than an accident, there will be those looking for a resolution.” It soured his mood to think about that development, and how if it occurred it would be on his conscience that it had. He wrestled every hour with the weight of duty versus family. Versus love.
“If it becomes necessary, he can hop a packet.”
Nicholas crossed his arms. “Do you think there is any chance that he—I refuse to believe that.”
“Someday I will tell you about the dangers of refusing to believe that which the facts support. You asked if I think there is any chance. I do. However, I don’t believe there is any chance. Kevin will be at the mercy of what others believe and think, however.”
“This is a damnable business. I hope that you don’t hold it against me that I dragged you into it.”
“You did not drag me in. I was already there.”
Nicholas walked away, as if from the topic itself. “Miss Hepplewhite looked quite lovely last night. Very spirited.”
“I believe she had an enjoyable time.”
“Lord Jennings commented on her healthy appetite.”
“She paid dearly for the self-indulgence. It would embarrass her to learn others noticed.”
“Jennings was impressed, not critical. As for me, it was a compliment to the new chef. He just started a few days ago. Mrs. Fowler said all her old friends were gone, and she didn’t want to continue because it was not the same.” He wandered aimlessly around the sitting room before landing in an armchair. “Kevin asked about Miss Hepplewhite. Twice. I could not put him off the second time. I think he sees her as an eligible inappropriate woman.”
“What did you tell him?”
“You had warned me off when she was called Mrs. Rupert, but I did not know if you still guarded her. I would say protected, but I don’t want to imply anything.”
“Tell Kevin to turn his attention to the viscountess. She would love to devour him one bite at a time.”
Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “You are easily vexed when it comes to Miss Hepplewhite. I will assume that means that whatever had her fleeing Melton Park has been resolved. You appeared good friends last night.”
“I am not keeping her, if that is what you are trying to ask.”
“I am not asking that, although that dinner dress was far nicer than what the woman who visited Melton Park might wear and I don’t think she as yet has access to her new fortune. I am asking if I should directly warn Kevin off if he inquires about her a third time.”
“Tell him to stay away from her. Hell, tell him to go to the devil.”
He was vexed, and he did not know why. This was not a simple jealousy darkening his mind. The temporary nature of their affair ate at him.
They shared pleasure and a deep familiarity. They shared confidences and, he liked to think, a mutual affection that touched on the profound at moments. She was his lover, but not his mistress, and he had no rights where she was concerned. None. He did not even have the right to warn off his cousins. Or to protect her in other ways.
Nicholas headed to his dressing room. “I’ll have the valet send down word that you will be at breakfast.”
“I have a question before you start your dressing.”
Nicholas turned, waiting.
“Did you find any gold in the house? Coins.”
Nicholas looked surprised, then grinned. “Damn, you are good. I discovered a large stash at Melton Park the day after you left. I opened a drawer in an unused wardrobe off his dressing room, and there it was, behind a false back. Guineas half filled it. I enjoyed an hour of exultant relief before I started to wonder if I had to inform the solicitor and turn it over to the estate.”
“You inherited the ducal houses and their contents. That was part of the contents.”
“So I concluded. It was enough to balance the accounts for at least a year. How did you know about this?”
“Dolores mentioned something about it while telling me an old family story.” A fortune that he could carry out the door. On hand. At the ready. Uncle might have brought gold in, just for the bribe, but Chase did not think so. “I will be in the morning room when you are ready.” He gestured to the chamber. “There is probably more here, somewhere. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”
* * *
Minerva’s advertisement on behalf of Mrs. Jeffers produced results immediately. A letter came that very afternoon. An anonymous one. It said the man she sought, Douglas Marin, lived on Litchfield Street.
Grateful for something to distract her from her worry over what Chase had learned, the next morning she dressed in her serviceable gray, tied on her bonnet, slid her reticule over her arm, and set off on foot. Litchfield Street was not very far from her home, although as she walked east the neighborhood quickly changed for the worse, reflecting that she neared the Seven Dials.
Mrs. Jeffers’s cousin must have been down on his luck if he lived here. He would be glad to learn that his cousin sought him out and wanted them to make amends. There were times when conducting inquiries could result in good things for people, and it raised her spirits that this would probably be one of them.
Finding Mr. Marin’s building did not take long. A boy playing in the street pointed it out before running after his friend. She approached the front steps while a woman came down them.
“Pardon me, but are you Mrs. Marin?”
The woman burst out laughing. “As if I would marry such a man. There’s enough worthless drunkards in the world without going and marrying one of them.”
The man drank. She would have to get him sober before he met his cousin. “He does live here, though. Am I correct?”
The woman pointed over her shoulder. “Right there. First door to the right after you enter. Have your handkerchief at the ready. The place stinks.” She walked down the street.
When a woman who lived in this neighborhood said a chamber stunk, Minerva did not argue the point. She loosened the drawstring on her reticule so she could reach her handkerchief quickly. Then she mounted the steps, opened the front door, and found the first one on the right.
She hoped Mr. Marin had risen by now. If he drank perhaps he hadn’t. But then if he drank who knew when he would be awake or asleep. She rapped on the door.
Sounds came from within. Scrapes and thuds and at least one curse. The door opened a crack and red-rimmed eyes peered at her.
Mr. Marin looked younger than she had expected, even if bad living had aged him before his time. Blond hair hung around his head in tangles, long and ungroomed. He stood a little taller than she did. Mrs. Jeffers said they had played together as children, but she must have had at least a dozen years on him.
“Who are you? Some reformer lady?”
“No. Do I look like one?”
“A bit. No need for you here. You go above. There’s a man there with two women who need saving. They make too much noise all night.”
“Mr. Marin, I am not here to save anyone. I have come—”
“How’d you know my name?” He eyed her suspiciously.
“I have conducted inquiries in order to find Mr. Douglas Marin and I have succeeded, I believe. If you open the door another few inches, I will gladly explain why. It is in your interest to hear me out.”