“I am not averse to selling the shares,” Elizabeth said calmly. “What use have I for them? I possess more than enough and am to marry a wealthy man.”
“Now is not the time to be hasty,” her grandmother warned. “Let us hear what he has to say. I would wager the matter will arise before the call is through.”
A man of advancing years entered the drawing room. His hair was stark white, and though he appeared friendly as he bowed and greeted the ladies, there was an indefinable air about him, one that Elizabeth attributed to certain dissolute habits. Despite his outward cheer, something in his voice caused her heart to stutter painfully. A shiver of dread settled in her limbs, and she struggled to maintain her composure.
“You are the picture of your mother,” he said to Elizabeth. “She would be proud of the lady you have become.”
“I understand you were my father’s business partner.” Elizabeth offered a thin smile, hoping he did not perceive her discomfort.
“Yes. Such a tragedy when…well.” He paused, then added with false solemnity, “Have they ever discovered the miscreant?” Mr. Winters looked curious, but not nearly grieved enough by his partner’s death.
“No, the Runners made no progress,” Lady Montrose replied, reaching out to take Elizabeth’s hand. “It appears to be a crime of passion or a burglary gone awry. I fear we shall never know.”
“I was thrilled when I read the announcement in the papers,” Winters said. “With Miss Montrose as your heir, she will no doubt wish to sell her father’s shares. I stand ready to offer a fair price.”
Mr. Winter’s misuse of her honorific did not go unnoticed. He had clearly not heard the latest.
He named a figure that sounded absurdly low to Elizabeth’s ear. “I thank you for the offer,” she replied with polite composure. “I shall consult my uncle, who is far more versed in such matters, and will contact you in due course.”
“Very good. Your man has my direction.” As he turned to leave, Winters paused at the door. “A shame that Robert Bingley died before you were found. He was never quite the same after it all happened—seemed rather guilty, if you ask me.”
And with that, he left the room, giving neither lady a chance to say another word.
“Do you think it is possible?” she asked her grandmother. “I cannot see it. I do not remember Charlie’s father well, but he was no murderer. Could an evil man have raised two such good-hearted children?” Elizabeth deliberately excluded Mrs. Hurst. She was not at all pleasant.
“I hardly know, Elizabeth. I suppose we never shall have the answers we wish.”
Winters
“I’ve news, sir.” Jarvis entered the room so silently that Winters startled, nearly upsetting his chair.
“Confound it, man! Must you be so…stealthy?” He scowled as he mopped up the brandy he had spilled in his agitation.
“I wouldn’t be ‘alf so good at me job if I weren’t.” Jarvis replied, dropping into a chair and propping his feet on the table with deliberate insolence.
“Out with it.” Winters waved an impatient hand. His books beckoned.
“The brat’s engaged already.”
He froze. No. No, that was not good at all. “Are you certain?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“‘Eard it from a maid who ‘eard it from a maid at Bingley’s ‘ouse. She’s set to marry thatDarcy fella in March, so’s it said.”
“This could ruin everything. Elizabeth Montrose owns her father’s business only so as long as she isMissMontrose. Once she weds, her husband will have full control of her assets.”
“The Darcy bloke is already flush—wager ‘e’ll give it up rather than deal with the stink of trade.”
Jarvis’s reasoning was sound, but he could not risk it. “We must separate them. Or…”
His man’s face split into a wide grin. “Or finish wot was begun twelve years ago,” he said maliciously.
Winters shuddered. “I would rather not go so far if we can avoid it.” The first time had been an accident, or so he had long told himself. He had not meant to… “No. We will begin with division. The Montrose name is old and respected. Lady Montrose will never allow her granddaughter to marry a man with a sullied reputation. Here is what you will do…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
February 3, 1812
Montrose House, London
