Pleased that his morning duties had been completed to his own satisfaction, Brigsby left the chamber.
“Jeremy and Elise?” Minerva said.
“They live near each other, and worked at Whiteford House together and also now for you. It is not surprising that they have formed a friendship. Surely you do not disapprove.”
“If there is something more there, it could complicate my inquiries.”
“How so?”
“Jeremy might become protective and worry about her. He might interfere with assignments I have for her if he thinks she will be in even the slightest danger.”
He flipped through more mail, making his stacks. He saw one from Peel. Damnation. “I’m sure that won’t happen. He is reasonable enough and you would never endanger her anyway.”
He had almost finished with the mail when he noticed the silence coming across the table. He looked over to find Minerva regarding him with high skepticism. He quickly reviewed their brief conversation for whatever he had said to provoke that expression.
“I am happy that you are sure Jeremy will not become too protective. If you think that is the response of a reasonable man, I am reassured you will not now become too protective about me.”
That is different. It really wasn’t but, then again, it was. He had no intention of being careless regarding her safety, and fully planned to ensure she was not either. This, however, was not the best time to broach that topic, or the little list of changes in her habits regarding inquiries that would ensure she never was hurt again.
When he failed to react in any way other than to smile, Minerva raised the subject of her day’s activities. “I do not want to sit in the garden all morning,” she said. “I want you to explain what you said two nights ago, about being almost sure that the duke was my benefactor. You said it was a topic for another day. Well, here we are in another day.”
He looked out the window and checked the weather. “We will take the carriage ride now, not this afternoon. It will be easier to show you what I mean than only explain it with words.”
She finished her meal quickly. “I will fetch my bonnet and cape and return shortly.”
He made it to the door before she did. “I will get them. You sit here and do not go near the stairs.” He aimed for the stairway, hearing a long sigh behind him.
* * *
“I do like this carriage,” Minerva said. “I am very snug here.” Too snug. Not only was she encased in her cape, but Chase had tucked a carriage blanket all around her. He now sat across from her while they rode west.
“You are to tell me if the sway or jostling in any way—”
“Yes, yes, I promise. And the next time you are conked on the head you are to tell me if in any way riding in carriages, or on horses, or walking, or reading, or anything at all gives you discomfort.”
He did not like her repeated references to her unfair restrictions, and it now showed in his eyes. She only returned to the topic because she was sure that he was going to be a problem now, and attempt to issue edicts on her movements and decisions.
She could hardly conduct her inquiries if she had to answer to him about every move. She had no intention of explaining herself that way, to anyone. His concern and care touched her deeply, but she dared not allow either to turn her into a weakling.
She had been careless. She admitted that. Mrs. Jeffers had not been as forthcoming about her history with Mr. Marin as would have been wise. She could be excused for assuming this was a reconciliation that a man living in such a state would welcome. However, she knew that when she had seen him, in that first moment, she should have heeded her better sense which told her to retreat.
Had she been fully attentive to the matter at hand, she might have. A month ago, she most likely would have feigned finding the wrong door, or used some other excuse to turn and leave. Instead at least half of her mind had dwelled on Chase, and their affair, and on the way her heart weighed her love for him against the potential danger still hanging over her.
Love. She smiled to herself. She had not called it that before, but now it had simply emerged as part of her thoughts. She did love him, though. She marveled at that.
She looked across to find him watching her, his gaze warm and the smallest smile on his face. What did he think when he saw her? Did he still wonder about Algernon, and whether she had arranged that her estranged husband could never hurt her again? He had said that he hoped she had killed him, but that was a retort made after she questioned his belief in her. He had not said that he was sure she had not killed him, the way he was sure she had not harmed the duke.
The carriage rolled down Oxford Street. Since it was morning, it was fairly quiet. The afternoon would bring out many more people. She gazed out at the shops lining the street, their owners preparing for the customers who would arrive later in the day.
Chase opened the trapdoor and told the coachman to stop at the next crossroads. Minerva looked at the shops here, and across the way. She knew this crossroads very well.
Chase pointed out the window. “If you look at the rooftops over there, you can see that of Whiteford House. It faces Park Lane, but the back is very close to where we are. When my uncle went into town, to Oxford Street or most places in Mayfair, or even toward the City, he would not go down alongside the park. He would come out this way on one of the streets, east.”
“I expect so.”
He slid over to the other window and bid she do the same. She was so bundled that she could not slide. It was more a matter of waddling her rump. She knew what they would see from this side, though.
“I was told you lived up that street, Old Quebec,” Chase said. “Not far from my uncle at all.” He reached for the door latch. “If you are feeling up to it, let us take a turn.”
She fought her way out of the blanket and let him hand her down. The fresh air felt wonderfully crisp and the sun shone brightly. Chase escorted her across the street until they stood at the bottom end of Old Quebec.
“He often went out at night, Minerva. In the country he spent time at that parapet. I think here in town he went into the squares and parks. Portman is actually the closest, but he probably wandered some distance at times. So I can see him going to Portman Square, or walking through it, gazing up at the stars that are so hard to see in much of London.” He took her hand. “Let us walk to the square, if you can manage it.”
“Of course I can manage it.” She began striding off, to prove it, but halted in her tracks as if she had hit a wall.
“We can walk up the next street over, if you do not want to see that house,” he said.
She could see the house, and a bit of its door.
“Come this way instead.” He guided her back down Oxford, to the next crossroad. “Now, use your imagination. He leaves his home and walks. He aims for the square. Most likely, he walked past your house some nights. I think he passed it many times.”
She stopped on the street, at about the spot of that house on Old Quebec. “You think he saw or heard something, don’t you?”
“I do. This area is quiet at night. Sounds you might never hear during the day can be clear. Lamplight inside the houses reveals more than one ever sees in daylight.”
It sickened her that others might have seen or heard what happened. “How would he learn who I was?”