Chapter 9

Nine

HART AND SUMMERS, SOLICITORS, LONDON - JUNE 6, 1816

WILLIAM

The strangest thing about the sun was that it kept rising. It gave not a fig whether a man's entire life was torn asunder mere hours before dawn. The sun still rose and contracts still needed to be reviewed.

A quick glance in the glass told me what I ought to have guessed. My curls were loose and tousled in the way Mother scolded me over before she passed.

My lips were a bit redder than usual as well.

Carding my fingers through my hair solved the first problem. Time would manage the second. I strongly suspected no one would notice anyway. For all that the little slip of a marchioness had ruined me, physically I was unchanged.

Though Kit had promised to take yesterday's stack for me, I was in need of the distraction that only the examination of property records and financial transactions could provide.

After trudging down the stairs and out to the street, I unlocked the glass door below the weather-beaten wooden sign reading, "Hart and Summers, Solicitors." It needed to be replaced, but I had a strong suspicion that in a few months' time, I would need a version that read, "Hart, Solicitor."

Kit may pout and stamp his feet now, but he was a good lad and would step up to the earldom eventually. Much as he did not want it, it had its advantages.

I was making progress with the stack when Kit arrived, the bell above the door signaling his entry. His frown was even more prominent than usual.

"Kate couldn't find a woman willing to put up with your sullen face?" I asked.

"How would you know? I never saw you after ten." His scowl deepened with disapproval. "If you think I'm taking your entire stack for an hour of hiding upstairs, you've another thing coming."

"It was an educated guess."

"She paraded me about like a prized pig at the fair. And I mingled with clients, unlike some people."

"Right, sorry. Would you double-check those?" I gestured toward the stack I had reviewed yesterday. I was not prepared to field questions about my whereabouts, but I was more than prepared to hand him work until he moved on.

"All right. But I'm still cross."

"You're always cross about something. Your displeasure is noted for the record and overruled."

And so passed a relatively quiet morning. Mornings typically went that way with patrons generally arriving after tea and social calls. There was an occasional ding of the bell as the clerks we employed arrived—Matthews, Bates, and Williams. The repetitive scratches of quills on parchments, the taps on inkwells. Rarely, a cough from one of the men. But all was as usual.

So it was something of a surprise when the little bell chimed again, signaling a new arrival only a few hours after we opened.

I glanced up through my office door as one of the clerks greeted the unusually tall gentleman. I recognized him as one of Kit's brothers-in-law. Not Wayland, the youngest one.

"Tom, good to see you. What can I do for you? You didn't mention anything last night," Kit called from his office as he stood and went to meet the lad in the main room. Kit directed him back into his own office and shut the door, leaving behind only the scribbles of the clerks.

I was even more startled when the bell rang a second time not even a quarter hour later, signaling the arrival of yet another visitor.

What is Rosehill doing here?

Immediately, all my efforts to forget the woman with hair of spun gold and lips of sin were abandoned at the sight of her late husband's brother. There were only two possibilities: Lady Davina was in trouble again, or he had talked to Lady Rycliffe. The odds were a coin toss from where I sat.

In spite of his relations, I liked the man a great deal. He had still been in school when I left Yorkshire. After his father's death, he generously moved his accounts to my fledgling practice, proving to be one of our most loyal—and profitable—clients.

He often required our assistance to rescue his sister from whatever absurd misadventure she'd found this week. Kit usually handled those. He was more willing to work with foreign governments than me.

But Rosehill didn't spare a glance toward Kit's closed door. He was here to deal with me then. There was every possibility he was Lady Rycliffe's closest male relation.

Rising, I gestured him into my office and moved to the door while greeting him. I didn't need the staff overhearing my dressing down, or worse, a challenge issued.

"Morning, Will. Oh, there's no need to close the door. It's a bit warm today. I could use the airflow. In fact, would you mind opening that window?" He gestured in that exaggerated way of his, toward the large window on the side wall of my office.

He was acting strangely, but I had no reasonable excuse to refuse, so I made the effort. I returned to my seat across from him just as Kit's door opened. Tom peered his head around the corner, hand raised in a wave.

"Sorry, Will. Didn't realize you had a client. Oh, Rosehill! Repurchasing your sister from the pirates?"

Rosehill straightened, alarmed. "What? She's been consorting with pirates again? Which ones?" His voice had risen in panic.

Tom laughed, resting heavily against Bates's desk in the main room just outside my door. "I was joking. She's been ransomed before?"

"Why would you joke about something like that?" Rosehill's tone was clipped and horrified in a way he usually reserved for Lady Davina.

"Well, I thought it was too absurd to have happened previously. What are you doing then?"

"Oh, I was planning to do a bit of traveling, and I wanted Will's advice first."

He wants to travel? That did not follow my experience with him.

"Where are you going?" Tom asked.

"I do not know. Yorkshire? Scotland? I'm still considering my options. That is why I'm here."

"Right, apologies. I'll just leave you to your considerations… Kit, see you tonight." Tom rose, nodding to his brother-in-law before heading out the door, bell announcing his departure. Bates adjusted his stack of paperwork irritably.

Kit wrapped himself around the door, peering his head in my office. "Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace. Will, I need to leave a few minutes early tonight. Kate wants a family dinner."

"And she wants you there? Did she find you a wife?"

"Funny… No. Tom thinks Jules is expecting and Kate wants to have the whole family there for the announcement."

"I hope you're right. If that's the case, congratulate them for me. Tell Wayland he can come in if there's anything to discuss. Or one of us can call on them." Kit nodded, returning to his office and paperwork.

Turning back to Rosehill, I said, "Apologies. You said you wished to discuss travel plans?"

"Good for Juliet," he muttered, seemingly to himself. That was when I recalled the marriage settlements I had drawn up and destroyed some weeks later. She had been Rosehill's wayward fiancée.

"I'm sorry. We should not have been discussing that in front of you."

"No, it's just… She worried she wouldn't be able to have children. I'm pleased for her. Regardless, I suppose that is none of my concern."

"So, travel?" I asked, trying to drag us back to a more appropriate subject. "You do not usually consult me on such matters." Especially not the morning after I ravished your late brother's wife on the balcony of a gaming hell.

"Well, I've been meaning to travel for some time, and I expect I may settle more permanently at one of the estates. I would need to set up provisions for Mother and Davina. Gabe traveled a great deal. Did he have anything in place?"

What is he up to ?

"Not that I'm aware of. But I was not his solicitor, your father was still alive, and your sister was still a child. I imagine the arrangements were somewhat less complicated."

"Right. It's been so long I nearly forgot. I'm so forgetful. You were friends, right? You and Gabriel?"

" Friends is a strong term… Why are you asking me about your brother?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of something gold through the window. It was not possible. There was absolutely no way she was outside, eavesdropping.

"Oh, you know, just reminiscing."

"Right. You mentioned Yorkshire and Scotland? If you're looking to make improvements, I would recommend the Scotland property. It has been left relatively untouched and could probably use some work. I think it would be well worth your efforts. If it were in better repair, should you choose to take a wife, you could summer there. Or you could sell it at great profit."

Just outside the window, a commotion sounded, and a distinctly male voice all but shouted, "Bonjour, madame!" His accent made my eye twitch.

A sharp cracking noise was followed by a thunk against the wall.

Perhaps a feminine form breaking a milk crate she was leaning on, startled by the greeting.

I rose and moved to peer through the window.

"Will?" Rosehill's tone was high-pitched and when I turned to him, he was striding toward the window as well.

The source of the thunk answered, drawing my attention once again.

"I donna know who ye think I am, but I'm no Madame. Please leave."

It had to be the most abysmal Scottish accent I'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

The man's response was startled and unintelligible, each word more distant than the last.

Dragged away then.

I turned back to Rosehill, brow raised as I waited for an explanation. He was backing slowly out of the room.

"Well, that was strange. You've given me a great deal to think on. I should be going now. Do you think you can draw up some paperwork to keep Mama and Davina from bankrupting us if I travel for an extended time?"

I turned to follow him out. "I can— You're really not going to address that?" I asked, nodding toward the window.

"I have no idea what that was about. Some poor Scotswoman accosted on the street."

"Right. I'll draw up some paperwork, perhaps daily and weekly spending limits with the most likely culprits, modiste and such. You go see to your poor Scotswoman." We continued walking, predator and prey, through the main room.

"Yes, perfect. Thank you!"

"Of course. Rosehill?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, come alone?"

His shoulders fell a bit at that. "All right."

"Have a nice day," I said, holding the door open. After closing it behind him, I turned to face all the clerks and Kit observing me with interest.

"What was that about? Is Lady Davina in trouble? Do you need me to contact anyone about it?" Kit asked, feigning disinterest from his office.

"No, as far as I can tell she's fine. I think that was about me."

His shoulders dropped with something like relief.

"Why would it be about you?" he questioned.

"It's a long story."

"I have nothing but paperwork and time."

"I think I have a spy? It's unclear." An enemy with haunting, horrified green eyes—burned in my memory.

"You? Who would want to spy on you?"

An excellent question, if somewhat insulting in tone.

"I suppose we'll find out."