All her hopes and dreams for being a shining light, someone people respected, a notable philosopher her peers looked to for guidance, and she’d failed at her very first trial. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. How could she effect change to help cure society’s ills when she couldn’t even help her family?
She lifted her chin. All she could do was move forward. Do better. And in order for that to happen, she needed to be free. “My brother most likely feels in his gut that something isn’t right, as well. It makes sense that he’d want to have me home. He thinks home equals safety.” And she wouldn’t be able to convince him he was wrong.
“So when he contacts the agency again to search for you?”
She raised a shoulder. “Tell him you’ve already performed that investigation and wish to move on to more interesting endeavors. You are under no obligation to take on every enquiry you receive.” But perhaps he’d be willing to take on what, in her mind, was an investigation much more compelling. She didn’t have a lot of ready money, but when she uncovered the plot against her father, she was certain he would pay the expense that saved his life.
“I don’t take the cases.” Brogan crossed his arms over his wide chest. “The owners of the agency and the manager make the contracts. I fulfill them.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. Yes, the owners. She, along with the rest of society, had heard when the five noblemen, the Duke of Montague, the Earls of Summerset and Rothchild, the Marquess of Dunkeld, and the Baron of Sutton, had formed their agency for discreet inquiries. Such an enterprise had been quite theon ditfor a fortnight at least. Matrons had sniffed with disdain at aristocracy sullying themselves in a trade. Gentlemen had laughed at the very idea.
But secretly, they’d all been jealous. Jealous of the nerve and adventure such an undertaking represented. Such men as who would create such an agency would have to be open to hearing her pleas. She should have begged for an interview with them before, shown them that the case they should be taking was hers.
Yes, she would throw herself on the mercy of the owners. Her brother wasn’t well-respected in society. She should be able to convince them hers was the better case to accept.
Although it would be a merry-go-round of easy money to work for Snow. She’d run from home; they’d pick her up and deliver her back. Run, catch, get paid. Run, catch, get paid. She grew dizzy at the very thought.
It would also leave her little time to uncover the plot against her father.
She drew her shoulders back. She would just have to be convincing. “When we return to London, we’ll go to your office and I’ll speak with one of the owners. Ask him to investigate my case instead of my brother’s.”
Duffy angled his body and kicked a muddy boot onto the seat next to her. “The owners don’t spend much time in the office. Only involve themselves in cases they think will be interesting.”
Her case was infinitely interesting. Of course, the owners would want—
“You can talk to Wilberforce. The manager. He’ll make the decision.” Duffy tugged the brim of his hat low over his eyes as he settled into the corner of the carriage. “Don’t get your hopes up. Even I can see it would be a conflict of interest taking your case.”
And with that, he ignored her for the rest of the journey, napping with the innocence of a babe. As though a man’s life, her father’s, didn’t hang in the balance.
Juliana crossed her own arms, glaring at the man. She tucked the blanket around his boot, making sure his mud didn’t dirty her skirts.
She was good at debate, one reason she was so eager to join Rose’s debate society. She’d managed to convince this lout not to turn her out of his carriage, after all. She’d convince this manager to take on her case.
She had to.
Because she was running out of ideas. As varied as her education had been, nothing had taught her how to investigate attempted murders. For a woman who prided herself on her ingenuity, she had been running dangerously low on new avenues to explore. Hiring professionals might be her only chance.
Duffy let out a low snore.
Even if said professional was an aggravating, impertinent beast of a man.
Chapter Eight
Her second visit to the offices of the Bond Agency didn’t improve her impression of it. Yes, the furniture was all well-made and expensive, and the layout efficient, but the rooms were much too dark, too masculine, to be truly welcoming. The light brown walls did nothing to brighten the aged mahogany floors. Even the light streaming in from the curtainless windows didn’t alleviate the office’s severity, although that could be because the sun was near to setting.
And the gloomy feeling might be all inside Juliana.
“But don’t you see,” she explained to the taciturn man who managed the agency. “Your employment with my brother ended when Mr. Duffy returned me home. Now you are quite free to work for me.”
Mr. Wilberforce scraped his palm across his jaw. His eyes, a lovely grey-green color, narrowed. “It seems a bit of a conflict of interest, if you ask me.”
Yes, one that Juliana hoped to exploit. After all, if she were a client of the Bond Agency then they couldn’t very well accept another job from her brother to find her.
“Does accepting an investigation put you under a lifetime commitment to Snowdon?” She glanced at Brogan, but there was no help to be found from that quarter.
After escorting her into the offices, pushing her in the direction of the manager, he’d plopped his rear end on the edge of his desk, picked up a bit of wood, and started whittling. He’d become a spectator to the debate, watching as she pleaded for her father’s life with seeming disinterest.
“Well, no—” Wilberforce began.
