Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

W e’re at Lady Inglis’s house. Simpson never answered Gray’s question. He’d gotten up and walked out.

Gray had given him twelve hours. He did ask me about that, and I can grumble that his “consultation” came after he’d made up his mind, but I’ll give him this on the grounds that the parties involved are his casual friend and his former lover. They are also members of the nobility. Gray must take care where he places each step to avoid landmines.

Gray and Isla might choose to step on some of those social landmines, but it’s a calculated decision with equally calculated efforts to avoid stomping on enough of them to make life in this world untenable.

The next morning, we go to see Lady Inglis. If I’m to cut Gray a break in not consulting me on the timeline, I suspect that if it weren’t for me, he’d have given Simpson a full day, possibly even waited until after tomorrow, which is Hogmanay. Yes, that’s the deadline for the ransom, but I’ve already notified Lady Inglis that she doesn’t need to pay. Waiting until after the holiday would be the more socially correct thing to do, but in moving sooner, Gray is acknowledging that this is my investigation. And, maybe, he’s also acknowledging that while letting Lady Inglis enjoy Hogmanay in blissful ignorance may seem a mercy, I don’t think she’s the kind of person who would appreciate that. I know I wouldn’t.

I suggest Gray go alone. It may be my investigation, but this is still a personal-adjacent matter that might be easier without me there. He asks me to attend, though, and I can tell that’s not just Gray being polite. He’s uncomfortable visiting Lady Inglis on his own.

I do suggest he tell her in private. We don’t know whether Simpson has confessed. I suspect not. Either way, it will be easier for Lady Inglis to hear it from Gray alone.

I sit in the parlor while they go into another room. This time, I make sure the doors are shut and I can’t hear any of their conversation. When the clock strikes the half hour, Gray emerges. He shoots me the smallest shake of his head, which means no, Simpson did not confess. Coward.

Lady Inglis appears a moment later, smiling with false brightness, her eyes red rimmed from tears.

“Miss Mitchell,” she says. “If I might speak to you, we may conclude our business.”

“That isn’t necessary, ma’am. We can finish this up in the new year. I will leave you to your day.”

“I insist.” She tries for that smile again. “I would like to thank you. Duncan? Would you please have someone fetch your coat?”

Gray hesitates. He realizes he’s being dismissed, and his gaze shoots to me. I nod, and he leaves with obvious reluctance.

“Miss Mitchell?” Lady Inglis says, and leads me into the adjoining room, which is...

Look, I can’t tell one Victorian sitting area from another. Sitting room. Parlor. Drawing room. Unless it has books and I can clearly identify it as a library, I know it probably has a specific purpose—Victorian rooms always do—but to me, it’s just another place where people sit and talk.

Oh, wait. Scratch that. This one has a piano. That makes it a music room. Of course, it also has chairs, which means it’s probably mostly used for sitting and talking. Although, having been in a few of these while someone is playing the piano, I’ve discovered that just because there’s live music doesn’t mean people don’t also sit and talk. It’s like going to a piano bar... except the player is probably your poor spinster sister-in-law, whose job is to provide pleasant background music.

Lady Inglis walks to the piano, and for a second, I think she’s going to sit down and play, but she only runs her fingers along the top of it. Then she looks up abruptly, as if having forgotten I’m there.

“I do appreciate you resolving this matter, Miss Mitchell,” she says. “I realize it is an awkward conclusion, and there may have been some temptation to resolve it quietly, with me never knowing the truth, but I appreciate the honesty. I would not have wanted to be coddled with lies.”

“Dr. Gray thought you deserved to know.” I don’t add that I agree—there’ s no need to insert myself here.

She smiles a little wistfully. “Of course he did. He is a good man.”

“He is.”

She looks toward the window. “I suppose you think me foolish.”

“Not at all. Lord Simpson is very charming, and everyone we spoke to had nothing but praise for him.”

“Oh, I do not mean that.” Her smile turns my way, rueful now. “I am disappointed in Charles but, perhaps, not as shocked as I should be. I recognize his flaws, and I always thought they did not affect me unless I married him, which I had no intention of doing. I misjudged. That is my fault.”

She sighs as she walks to the window. “I have known for a while that the affair ought to end. I may retain him as a friend, if that is possible, but otherwise...” She shrugs. “While I loved my husband very much, I was young when we married, and after his death, I wanted to experience a different sort of life. That whim is passing, and I fear in a few years, I shall be much too dull for Charlie’s tastes, an aging widow with more interest in her charities and foundations than the latest gossip and balls.”

She gazes out the window long enough that I eye the door, wondering whether I’m supposed to leave.

“When I said you must think me foolish, I was referring to Duncan,” she says finally, still looking out. “You are aware I had a past with him?”

She glances over and then nods before I can say anything, as if my expression answered for me. “I thought as much. That is where I was foolish.”

She turns fully my way. “Shortly after I met Duncan, I made the mistake of saying I knew French. What I meant is that I know enough French to give instructions to a maid in a Paris hotel. He bought me a book in French—about Renaissance art, which is an area of interest for me. I could barely decipher five words per page. That book reminds me of Duncan himself. He is a story written in another language, one I do not know. One I pretended to know.”

She walks across the room. “I never knew where I stood with Duncan, what he truly thought of me, and so I made mistakes. Silly mistakes more becoming an infatuated girl than a grown woman. I am not certain why I did what I did. To make him jealous and force some admission of caring? Or to pretend I did not feel any depth of emotion for him myself?”

She makes a face and waves her hand. “You have no idea what I mean, and I’m prattling. My point is that I was foolish. I hurt him, and I lost him, and I know I am not getting him back.” She meets my gaze. “Do not make the same mistake, Miss Mitchell.”

“Dr. Gray and I are not?—”

“Not currently involved. I know, and if I ever thought otherwise, that was my jealousy speaking. Duncan would not employ a young woman with any other intentions. But you are more than that pretty face, and he is clearly fond of you. Consider me a soothsayer peering into the future and offering you a warning. Do not mistake his seeming lack of emotion for an actual lack of it. He does feel, and he can be hurt.”

Yes, I know that. I could say so, but there’s no point. This is advice offered genuinely, and it applies even to friendship, so I can take it as that, with only a solemn nod and a “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Good.” She brightens, but it’s still forced, the look in her eyes a little lost before she finds purpose with, “Let us get you paid. Best to settle my accounts before the year’s end.”