She felt her gaze drawn to it, and her heart lurched. It was a framed miniature portrait—her portrait. The very one Sterling had shown to the staff weeks ago. She schooled her expression, hoping her anxiety was not as apparent as it felt. She lifted her gaze from the portrait to the man’s face, forcing her features into placid unconcern.
He looked away first but not before she remembered where she had seen the man before. He had been at Emily Lathrop’s house when she’d gone there with Joan. The runner who’d ridden up and spoken to Sterling and Mr. Lathrop on the stoop.
He said, “You have heard, perhaps, that Nathaniel Upchurch once courted a certain young lady, only to have her spurn him in favor of his elder brother?”
She swallowed. “I may have heard somethin’. But that was long afore I come.”
He glanced down at the miniature. “Many a man would fall for such a beauty. Would fight for her. Even kill for her.”
Margaret frowned. “Wha’ are ya sayin’? That Mr. Nathaniel tried to kill his own brother, over some vain chit wha’ knew no better? If you think that, then you don’t know Nathaniel Upchurch. He would never do such a thing. He’s an honorable, God-fearing man.”
One side of the man’s mouth quirked into a wry grin. “But you don’t mix much with the family, you say?”
She felt her cheeks burn. “We servants see things, sir—know things.”
He slid the miniature across the table toward her. Wiping her hands once more on the apron spread over her knees, Margaret picked it up. Looked at it without really seeing, heart pounding in her ears.
“Have you seen her? Has she been here?”
She took a deep breath and called upon every ounce of acting ability she possessed. “I ’ave seen her.”
He sat up straight. “Have you? Where?”
She handed the portrait back. “A man come here some weeks back. Showin’ off this pretty picture. One isn’t like to forget such a face.”
He looked from the portrait to her. The mantel clock ticked once, twice, three times. “No. One is not.”
Nathaniel sat in the library near Lewis’s bed, telling Helen about Mr. Tompkins’s inquiries. The door opened, and Lewis’s valet entered, toilet case in hand.
“Connor, there you are. How did it go with that Mr. Tompkins? He wasn’t too hard on you, I hope.”
The young man ducked his head. “No, sir. Fine, sir. He’s talking to Nora now.”
“Nora?”
The young valet looked up, surprised. “He said you knew. Told me you’d suggested he do so.”
Nathaniel’s heart began pounding dully. He didn’t like the thought of that man alone with Margaret. That man seekinghidden things.“I... did, yes. Still, I didn’t think he would need to speak with her after speaking with you.”
“And why’s that, sir?”
“Because you were there, of course, while she was not.” He turned to his sister. “Helen, might you come with me a moment?”
She set down her needlework and rose, unconcerned. “Am I to be questioned next?”
He took her hand and pulled her along with him out the door and across the hall.
“Nate, what is it?”
“Probably nothing, but I don’t trust the man.”Or whoever hired him.
He burst into the morning room without knocking. Margaret stood at the table poised to flee. Mr. Tompkins sat opposite, tucking something into his pocket as they entered.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nathaniel began, not sounding at all apologetic.
Margaret turned to them, face flushed, eyes unnaturally bright. “Perfect timing. I was just leaving.”
Mr. Tompkins rose. Nathaniel noticed his sister look from Nora to the bald man, and back again.
