There she went again with the plural pronoun. But it was a sound suggestion, confirming she had somewhat of an analytical mind. “I had intended to call on them. Confess I am investigating the thefts. But perhaps it would be best if we went together, continued the pretense of brother and sister. If we can separate them, Mrs. Shelton might tell you something she wouldn’t want her husband to know.”
“I wonder how much Mr. Shelton might not want his wife to know.” She stared over his shoulder, pressing her palm to her abdomen.
Charles frowned, taking a step closer. “Are you unwell, Miss Moore?”
She snapped her gaze to his. For a moment, he thought he saw a hint of a personality in the dark depths. A fire that could warm any man straight through.
She blinked, and her eyes and expression were as flavorless as unseasoned broth once more. “I am perfectly well. What time shall we leave for the Shelton’s?”
Charles rubbed his jaw. Being with this woman made his own stomach the slightest bit unsettled. “I’ll pick you up here at one,” he said curtly.
She nodded, turned, and slipped inside the house, as difficult to pin down as an apparition.
He stared at the faded blue door for a full minute. The woman was… perturbing. She didn’t fit, and it was as irritating as ants crawling over his skin. It was why he’d become an investigator. He liked taking things that were muddled, unexplained, and putting them in their proper place.
But Miss Moore wasn’t one of his mysteries. It wouldn’t do to investigate her or try to uncover the true woman hiding beneath her docile exterior. And what if there was nothing more to her than a woman who didn’t have a sixpence to scratch with needing a job? How disappointing would that be?
He turned and strolled back down the pavement towards his own home. So his new assistant didn’t fit into his classifications and he had neither the time nor inclination to discover more about her in order to make her fit. A different solution was called for.
Perhaps Miss Moore deserved a new category, one created specifically for her. One that, once she was slipped inside, would put his mind at ease and allow him to give his full attention to his investigation.
He picked up his pace, whistling for the cab down the street. Yes. He could add a box for his new assistant. And once she was inside it, he wouldn’t give her another thought.
Chapter Ten
A cacophony of horses’ hooves clattering over cobblestone rattled through Cassie’s brain. It kept the thoughts that had been racing through her mind since yesterday company.
Lydia. With child. And she’d never written Cassie to tell her. Had Lydia even known? She must have, or at least, she must have known it was possible.
“Miss Moore?”
Lydia’s letters home had always been so cheerful. She’d written of flirtations, but never indicated anything serious with a man, much less—
“Miss Moore? We’ve arrived.”
Cassie blinked, the carriage around her, the man across from her, blooming into awareness. “So soon?”
Mr. Strait’s forehead creased. “We’ve been traveling twenty minutes.”
“Oh.” She smoothed a hand down her skirts. “Yes, of course.”
Giving her another frown, Mr. Strait opened the door of the hackney cab they’d had to call as the agency’s carriage was otherwise occupied, and jumped out. Turning, he held out his hand to assist her down.
Cassie looked up at the home before them. Mr. and Mrs. Shelton lived well, if the elaborately carved frieze above the door and the Corinthian columns on the porch were any indication.
“Remember,” Mr. Strait said as they climbed the steps to the entrance. “I am Mr. Sargent and you are—”
“Mrs. Alberto. Yes, I remember.”
“Damn.” He took her elbow and turned her to face away from the home. He pulled something from his pocket and took her hand, tugging down her glove. “Your wedding ring. I picked it up at the office earlier.” He slid the gold band with the large amethyst onto her fourth finger, the rough pads of his fingertips sliding along her skin.
It was a surprisingly intimate moment, even though she hadn’t truly been married and Mr. Strait wasn’t even the man she was supposed to have wed. But she didn’t know if any other man would ever put a ring on her finger.
She used to think she would marry. Of course, she would. But the idea seemed almost childish now. A girl’s naïve dream. The world was too ugly to allow for such foolishness.
They turned and made for the door. Had Lydia expected to marry the man who put a babe inside of her? Cassie would have thought yes, but the more she learned, the more she realized she might not have known her sister as well as she’d thought she had.
The more important question was whether the father of the child expected to marry Lydia. Had he killed her sister to avoid it? It seemed far-fetched. A man’s reputation wouldn’t be destroyed the way a woman’s would be. He could have laughed in Lydia’s face and then gone drinking with his friends with the least inconvenience. Certainly some in society would look down upon such behavior, but he wouldn’t be shunned. Not made an outcast like an unwed mother would be.
