Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,40

the will. It is understandable.”

“Not that part.” Felicity lowered her voice. “The part about the last duke’s death. He was pushed. Everyone thinks so, no matter what the official determination was. Someone . . .” She left the sentence unfinished and lowered her eyes, as if the words could not be spoken.

Minerva had been pretending not to hear, but now she turned in her chair so she could join them. “It is none of her concern, Felicity. Nor has that been proven.”

“No thanks to Chase. He was supposed to prove it one way or another. With some of his discreet inquiries. Only he didn’t. Even after I went to him and Nicholas and told them—”

“Enough of that nonsense,” Minerva said through a firm smile. “Your revelation wasn’t proof of anything.”

“He wasn’t in France as he said. Walter is shocked more inquiries were not made about that. One might think that perhaps . . .” Again, she stopped in the middle of a sentence. She pointed at Rosamund. “She has a right to know, if she is going to be—”

“Miss Jameson, if you desire to learn any more about this subject, please tell me and I’ll have Chase explain it all,” Minerva said pointedly. “It is hardly a topic for a dinner party.”

Felicity gave Minerva a slit-eyed, belligerent glare. She rose. “I will leave it at that, except to say this, Miss Jameson. Whatever you do, do not make Kevin Radnor an heir to your new fortune.” She strolled away, straight and proud.

“It was kind of you to interrupt and save me, Minerva. Although now I will have to ask for further explanations, won’t I?”

“At least they will be accurate ones,” Minerva said. “Come, let us take a turn on the terrace and speak of more interesting things.”

* * *

The night air felt wonderfully refreshing. Nor did Rosamund mind leaving the Radnor women behind for a while.

She and Minerva strolled along the terrace balustrade, looking down on the small but neat garden. When they reached a spot as far from the drawing room doors as possible, Minerva stopped. “I have learned something more about that man you asked me to find for you.”

Charles. She realized it had been a day or two since she had thought about him.

“Is he back in England?”

Minerva shook her head. “Nor is he expected.” Minerva turned her gaze out over the garden, which meant she could not see Rosamund’s expression.

Rosamund was grateful Minerva gave her that small privacy while she absorbed this news. Charles always had loved the Season, and she had assumed he would return for it. It had been a mistake to do that, or to allow her old dream to create a theater in her head, with scenes of reunion and romance.

Rather suddenly, her excitement about her new home dimmed. Her lessons appeared foolhardy. She could have found a house for one third the rent in a different neighborhood. A milliner did not need to live on Chapel Street.

“How did you learn this?” she asked so the silence would not turn too heavy, although a tiny bit of hope still burned. One that said Minerva could be wrong.

“We have had one of our agents strike up a friendship with one of the family’s servants. When there was no evidence of this young man’s return, our agent drew the information out of this servant.”

“You went to a lot of trouble. I did not ask you to learn this for me.”

“I thought you would want to know.”

Minerva had guessed all of it if she thought that. What other reason could there be for wanting information about Charles other than an old tendre?

Inside the drawing room, someone began to play the pianoforte. The melody trickled out, muted by the closed doors, sounds that interrupted the night’s silence.

“Thank you. It is good to know. I expect that Paris is much more interesting than London, even during the Season.”

“I’m told it can be for some people.” Minerva finally looked at her. No pity showed in her expression. A warm kindness did, however. “I think I’ll return to the others. Why don’t you enjoy the night air for a while?”

“I think I will do that.”

Left alone, she released the disappointment building inside her. It flooded her so thoroughly that it left little room for anything else. Even the suspicion she had acted like a fool found no place in the dull ache growing thick and sad.

When she felt tears forming, she mentally slapped herself. Enough of that. Her plan