“You would know about sneaking into homes in ways I don’t.”
“Do you have a particular interest in Whiteford House, Mrs. Hepplewhite?”
She made a point of raising her chin and looking past him so she might appear vexed he delayed her. It also allowed her to watch that other man leave on his horse.
“Not at all, other than it being impressive.” She returned her gaze to him. “And it is Miss Hepplewhite.”
His blue eyes sparkled with humor, transforming his stern face into one much more alluring. Little stomach flutters almost distracted her from the house.
“You have chosen to style yourself as never married? What happens if you decide to wed again, and have to explain the truth?”
Her laughter burst out indelicately. “Oh, my.” She caught her breath. “I think it is safe to say that I will never marry. You see, a friend I would trust with my life once confided that marriage was worse than prison.” The details of what such a prison could entail cleared her humor in a snap, and dried her eyes just in time to see the duke ride off his property.
She squinted, trying to observe details.
Radnor looked over his shoulder. “Ah. It is not the house that interests you, but the family.”
She tried an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That is my cousin.” He stepped aside. “Look to your heart’s content.”
Although annoyed, she did look. The horse came onto the street and headed in their direction. She managed not to stare, but still take him in. A handsome man, he resembled Chase Radnor but had more regular features. The strong bone structure made him appear dashing, not harsh.
The duke passed within ten feet of them, then all she could see was his back. She gave up her examination to find Radnor watching her intently.
“He appears a sober sort,” she said.
“He is concerned about our uncle’s death,” he said. “He thinks it may have been a murder.” He bowed. “I must take my leave. The groom who is holding my horse no doubt has other duties.”
“Do you think it was?” she asked when he had taken a few steps away. “Murder, I mean.”
He looked back at her. “I am almost certain of it.”
Chapter Three
Minerva waited while Mrs. Drable considered the request presented to her.
Mrs. Drable fingered the white fichu at her dress’s neckline, her slender fingers straying on occasion to the cameo pendant that dangled below her throat. Although at least fifty years in age, Mrs. Drable appeared younger, due in part to her soft complexion and her vivid red hair. A neighbor for whom Minerva had done a good turn, they had met today for a professional reason.
“There is one young woman,” Mrs. Drable finally said. “I think she would do. She currently is without a situation, and I despair of finding her a new one. She is educated enough to write and read, and she has a decent hand. She has, however, no experience in what you describe.”
“Where is she now? I will visit her if you arrange it.” This young woman’s experience or education were secondary to her spirit. Minerva required someone with a bit of adventure in her blood. Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries would be no ordinary situation.
“She just started on a short hire. A week at most. The new Duke of Hollinburgh is hosting a family gathering and the housekeeper asked their usual service to supply extra servants just for that. They are woefully short of staff due to servants leaving with their pensions.”
That explained why Jeremy had found work there so easily. He had only hoped to be taken on for occasional service, but had been offered daily work once they saw he knew the labor.
Mrs. Drable sighed. “Well, it is not the sort of thing we do, is it? Nor are there many decent servants available for such a brief duty. So the word went out to all of us. Elise was available and I sent her over. That is her name. Elise Turner.”
By “us” Mrs. Drable meant those in the business of supplying servants to the better homes in London. Mrs. Drable owned one of the smaller, more discreet such offices. Minerva had come to know her as a neighbor and friend, but had stepped in when Mrs. Drable confided she needed help discerning who had pilfered money from her. The suspicion immediately fell on a housemaid recently hired, but Minerva had proven the culprit was instead Mrs. Drable’s