The thought was so repellent it was sickening. Her first time in the marriage market, Emily had enjoyed the game. She had everything to win, and she had won. She had deserved to; she had played the game superbly. She had all the innocence and arrogance of inexperience.
Now she felt so much less sure of herself. She had tasted failure, very recently, and she had everything to lose.
Was Veronica York in the same position? Had she turned over these same thoughts in her mind? Her husband had been murdered, and presumably she was heir through him to whatever fortune the Yorks possessed. Did she now regard admirers with suspicion, in her imagination devising tests for them, to see if their love was truly for her or merely for her means?
What monumental arrogance! Jack Radley had never mentioned marriage, nor given Emily the slightest indication that it was what he intended or wished. She must control her thoughts, or she would end up saying something idiotic in front of him and betraying herself completely, which would make this entire situation impossible!
If only there were an urgent crime that she and Charlotte could come to grips with, something real and undeniably important, that would drive all this ridiculous speculation and dreaming out of her mind! How could any woman of the least intelligence occupy all her thoughts with giving orders to servants who knew perfectly well what to do anyway? The parlormaid could have easily organized the running of a household for one woman and a small boy!
So it was with very mixed and somewhat turbulent emotions that Emily greeted the butler the following morning when he came into the withdrawing room to announce that Mr. Jack Radley presented his compliments. He was in the morning room and wished to know if Lady Ashworth would receive him.
She swallowed and sat still for a moment, composing her features; it would not do for the butler to see her confusion.
“What an odd time to call,” she said casually. “There is a matter he was looking into for me; perhaps he has some news. Yes, Wainwright, ask him to come in.”
“Yes m’lady.” If Wainwright noticed anything at all it was absent from his smooth face. He turned slowly and went out of the room, as though he were part of a procession. He had been with the Ashworths since he was a boy, and his father before him, as head gardener. Emily still felt uncomfortable around Wainwright.
Jack came in a moment later, unhurriedly, as decorum required, but there was a lightness to his step and his face was eager. As always he was fashionably dressed, but he wore his clothes with such ease his elegance seemed a happy accident rather than something contrived. It was a look men paid fortunes to achieve.
He hesitated on the edge of telling her she looked well, discarding that lie in favor of a fleeting smile, and the truth.
“You look as bored as I am, Emily. I hate January, and it’s almost here. We must do something terribly interesting, to make it pass quickly, while we are too occupied to notice.
In spite of herself she was moved to smile. “Indeed? And what do you suggest? Pray do sit down.”
He obeyed with elegance and looked at her candidly. “We must pursue our detecting,” he replied. “Surely Charlotte will go back to the Yorks, won’t she? I got the distinct impression she was as keen as we were. In fact, was it not her idea?”
It was the ideal excuse, and Emily seized it without thinking.
“Yes it was! I’m sure she would welcome a chance to call again.” She did not need to add that it would require Jack’s assistance; they both knew that. No single woman in the position Charlotte had pretended to would press such an acquaintance herself. And anyway, Charlotte had not the financial means even to come in a carriage, let alone suitably dressed. Emily could provide those things, but not an escort. Charlotte must be prompted, in case she had forgotten about the Yorks in the excitement of Christmas.
“I will send her a note,” she added aloud. “And it is always possible Pitt will learn something further, so we should keep abreast of that too.”
Jack looked thoughtful, gazing at the floor. “I have tried, extremely discreetly, to sound out one or two acquaintances about the Danvers, but I discovered very little. The father, Garrard Danver, is fairly senior in the Foreign Office, which may be how they came to know the Yorks so closely. Although Society is surprisingly small. Everyone knows everyone else, at least by sight or repute, if not to speak to—but of course that is a different thing from calling upon them. There were two sons: one was killed in the Indian Army some time ago, the other is Julian Danver, who may or may not marry Veronica York, depending upon Pitt’s inquiries.”
Emily gave a little snort of irritation. She was developing an empathy with Veronica York which made the concern about her reputation all the more infuriating.
“I wonder if anyone has bothered to consider whether he is good enough for her!” she said tartly. Instantly Emily regretted the words; she would have bitten her tongue rather than say something so betraying of her own loathsome suspicions. Please God he would not make the connection! She opened her mouth to rush into speech and smother it, then was afraid he would realize that was what she was doing. Instead she brazened it out.
Jack looked a little startled. “You mean his reputation?”
Now she had no answer. To expect a man’s reputation to have the same purity as a woman’s was absurd; she would mark herself as eccentric to the point of idiocy if she suggested such a thing.
But the alternative was the truth, and that was worse. But how could she back out of this discussion without being caught in a lie? She could feel the hot blood in her cheeks. She must say something! The silence positively prickled.
“Well, they might be concerned that he was a man of honor as much as he seems,” she said, scrambling for something that sounded better, more specific. “Some men have most disreputable habits. Perhaps you don’t know, but having assisted in the investigation of one or two crimes, I have learned of some terrible things, which were quite unknown to their families.” She forced herself to look at Jack. She was talking too much.
“Would it have anything to do with Robert York’s murder?” he asked. His eyes revealed nothing.
“No,” she said slowly. “Unless, of course, he killed him.”
“Julian Danver?”
