just brown.
“Afternoon, Ramsgate.”
The duke eyed him speculatively. “You look well given the circumstances. Allow me to offer my condolences.”
“Thank you.” Thomas worked to hide his dislike, which was how he now felt toward the duke after having met his abandoned daughter. How a man could ignore his own flesh and blood was not only beyond Thomas, it made him furious.
“I lost my wife five years ago, so I understand what you’re going through.”
Thomas doubted that. For so many reasons.
“It’s a bit different, of course,” Ramsgate continued. “You don’t yet have an heir, so you’ll want to find a new wife. I didn’t need to worry about that.”
That’s what he meant about understanding Thomas’s position? “How did you manage your grief, particularly with regard to your children?” Thomas wasn’t sure why he bothered asking, but he wanted to know. Mostly because he wondered if the duke truly ever thought of his other daughter, Miss Whitford.
Ramsgate waved his hand and scoffed. “Bah, grieving is for milksops. My children were fine. Both my daughters were already wed, so I was fortunate there. Managing unmarried daughters can be so troublesome!” He laughed, seemingly unaware that Thomas not only had a young daughter, but that she was standing just a few feet away with her nurse.
Thomas stared at him but said nothing.
“It’s good that you’re carrying on,” Ramsgate said. “That’s the way to go about things.”
The duke’s nonchalance was infuriating. Thomas couldn’t seem to let it go, particularly where Miss Whitford was concerned. She’d said her father had loved her mother. Had she been wrong? “So you don’t let death or loss concern you?”
“Why should I? The duchess lived a good life. I suppose our daughters were sad, but we didn’t discuss it.”
“Papa!” Regan wrapped her arms around Thomas’s legs. “Fly again!”
Thomas swung her into the air and twirled her around. She shrieked with glee, and he hugged her to his side. “Now it’s time to go inside for something to eat.” He looked over at the duke, who was gaping at them as if Thomas had stripped off his clothes and run around the square nude.
“Ramsgate.” Thomas inclined his head at the man before turning with Regan toward his house.
The moment Thomas stepped into his entry hall, he realized something was amiss. The butler, Baines, was not at his post. Instead, one of the footmen opened the door. And the young man appeared nervous, his gaze furtive and his shoulder twitching.
“What is it, Preston?” Thomas asked.
The footman glanced at Regan in Thomas’s arms. Thomas handed her to the nurse. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
The nurse clasped Regan to her side and nodded before going upstairs.
Thomas turned his attention back to the footman. “Is something wrong?”
“No, my lord. I mean, I don’t think so. There is a Bow Street Runner, er, constable, waiting in the sitting room. And another one is downstairs speaking with Baines.” His cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away.
“That troubles you.” Thomas gave him an encouraging nod. “Don’t let it.”
It seemed Mrs. Chamberlain had gone to Bow Street after all. Thomas entered the sitting room and immediately recognized the constable. “Mr. Sheffield.”
Harry Sheffield, brother to Thomas’s friend North, the Viscount Northwood, inclined his head. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Please, call me Rockbourne. Your brother is a friend of mine.”
Sheffield was a rather imposing figure, with broad shoulders and an inch or two on Thomas. His dark auburn hair was brushed back from his forehead, which was lightly creased. “That’s why I’m here. My colleague is leading an investigation into your wife’s death, and I asked to accompany him.”
Even from the grave, Thea would torment him. “May I ask why? Not why you’re here, but why is there an investigation? Thea fell from the balcony. It was a tragedy. She is already interred.”
“Her mother, Mrs. Chamberlain, is concerned it may not have been an accident. She asked Bow Street to conduct an inquiry. It’s a formality, Rockbourne.”
Thomas supposed he understood that. “What will this investigation entail?”
“We’ll interview everyone in the household and look at where she fell.”
Everyone? “You won’t speak with my daughter. She barely understands what happened.”
Sheffield shifted, his features displaying a slight discomfort. “That won’t be necessary. My apologies. I wish we weren’t bothering you at all.”
Thomas exhaled. “I understand. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you. Shall we sit?”
Gesturing to the settee, Thomas took a chair opposite. He waited for the constable to pose his first question.
Sheffield withdrew a small bound book and a pencil. He opened it and