Sunday morning dawned bright and vivid. Perhapstoovivid for Sebastian—he had been up late into the night, poring over every bit of written evidence he’d collected, turning it over in his head. He’d ordered his newspaper clippings from oldest to newest, and surprised himself with how it had changed his perspective.
In his youth, he’d collected them as they had appeared, and the proliferation of them had dominated the news for weeks; months, even. But he had been just fifteen when the crime had happened, and it had been his very first interest in such things. He’d been fascinated with it, but had lacked the experience, the wisdom, to contextualize any of it.
Now he could see the unfolding story differently. It had started with the typical accusations—murder; arson. But it had been simple, then, and unformed. Just the bones of story. As the weeks had drawn out into months, so had the embellishments. The new Duke of Venbrough and his sister had stretched muscle and flesh over those bones, painting it up in an appallingly macabre fashion, and ensuring that it would continue to thrive.
The people who had lost interest in a bland murder and house fire that had occurred far to the north had once again beenrivetedby the descriptions of the murderous duchess; beautiful, flighty, and cruel—judgments that Sebastian doubted very much that the Amberleys had been qualified to make on an acquaintanceship of no more than a week, at their own admission.
It hadn’t been until months later that the added accusation of stolen estate jewelry had worked its way into the reports; a detail that Sebastian found highly suspect. There was also the fact that none of the allegedly stolen jewels had ever turned up, which seemed highly unlikely—a young woman in Jenny’s position would not have had the knowledge to find a fence who would not ask too many questions, nor would she have either the tools or the skill to refashion the jewels in order to avoid detection.
If shehadhad them, she would certainly have sold them—and they would certainly haveturned up. But she hadn’t, andtheyhadn’t. So why had Venbrough and his sister so accused her?
Several suspicions rose in his head, the first and foremost of which was that the jewelry belonged not to theduke, but to theestate, as part of the dukedom’s entailment—which meant that they could not, legally, be sold. But whether or not they could legally be sold had nothing to do with whether or not they could bestolen. And a sufficiently talented thief knew well enough how to cover their tracks and avoid detection.
Quite possibly, Venbrough had simply reported the jewels stolen—with a conveniently-missing duchess already under suspicion of murder to blame—and then had them stripped from their settings to sell himself. It was the perfect crime, with a ready suspect to accuse and a tidy profit to be made from the illicit sale of the gems.
It was also entirely too close for comfort to the recent thefts that had plagued London. It almost felt like…practice.
Chapter Twenty Three
Jenny had gone to bed sometime after sunrise on Sunday morning, expecting, quite reasonably, to sleep through the day. Unfortunately, she had carried with her into sleep a bit of a pique over the unexpected arrival of a couple of profiteroles, which she could only assume had been sent over by Sebastian.
She had refused them, sending them back with the maid who had brought them to her—but she had not liked being reminded of those morning walks they had shared, and what they had once meant to her. In the whirl of activity that came with managing Ambrosia—and the various complications that had been thrown into her path just recently—it had been easy enough to let her day-to-day life consume her thoughts until there was no time, no room, to consider anything else.
But those profiteroles. He hadhadto claw back some space within her mind with them. As if he had the right to any part of her.
She had gone to bed with that unpleasant thought clinging to the back of her mind, and had fallen into a fitful sleep, interrupted by odd fits and starts, shreds of nightmares, and a twitchy sort of anxiety that had made a mess of the bedclothes, tangling them about her legs. At last she had jerked awake to a scratch upon her door, her heart hammering in her chest.
The afternoon sunlight still filtered through the tiny gap in her curtain. Normally she wouldn’t have been woken until full dark—and it wasSunday.What could possibly have happened that would require her attention now?
“Enter,” she called, wiping one hand across her forehead, which was misted with sweat. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she reached for the glass of water upon her nightstand, hoping to drown the nasty sensation.
Alice slipped into the room. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” she said, fisting her hands in her apron. “There’s a…situation.”
“The woman who arrived last evening?”
Alice’s brows drew together. “Eliza? No, ma’am, she’s still abed.”
“So she stayed, then.” Jenny wasn’t certain whether or not she ought to be pleased.
“Yes, ma’am, she did, and right grateful she was about it.” A tiny hesitation. “I hope you don’t mind, ma’am, but some of us had a little talk with her—once we’d got her patched up. She seemed to have formed a…mistaken impression.” The tightness of Alice’s lips, and the slightly disgruntled tone suggested she had taken at leastsomeoffense to Eliza’s opinions.
Jenny cast off the covers and slid out of bed to retrieve her dressing gown. “Thank you, Alice, but you needn’t have bothered on my account.”
“I couldn’t let her say such things of you, ma’am.” Alice busied herself with collecting Jenny’s discarded clothing from the day before, which would be taken out to be laundered. “We told her the truth, we did. She knows better now. Reckon you’ll have an apology from her soon enough, now that she knows what’s what.”
Of course, Alice was steadfastly loyal—she had been ever since shehad arrived, in a worse condition even than Eliza. One of the rare ones who hadstayed,Alice had since proved herself a hard worker and a capable employee. It had taken more than a week of confinement to a bed before she had healed enough to leave it, but once she had, she had decided that she was safer in Ambrosia than she had been with her husband.
Jenny belted her dressing gown at her waist, her brow furrowing. “If not Eliza, then—”
A vicious pounding rattled from two floors below, and shout pierced the quiet. “Jenny! Open the damned door!”
Alice heaved a sigh. “Thatwould be the situation, ma’am. Itoldhim we don’t allow men, but—”
“No, I know,” Jenny sighed, brushing back her tangled hair. “I’ll handle it myself, Alice. Thank you.” And she steeled herself for yet another hostile confrontation.
∞∞∞
Sebastian had been pounding upon the door for perhaps ten minutes before Jenny finally arrived. It had earned him a caustic glare from the man stationed beside it, which he had ignored. Italsoearned him a scowl from Jenny when at last she cast the door open.
