First, however…
She cleared her throat. “Da, Bull isnotan idiot. He is not the rapscallion you remember, either. He has grown into a fine man with a successful business?—”
“Aye, a dangerous business, doing the sort of shiteIhad to do when I was his age.” He slammed the mail to the table, but kept one clutched in his fist as he glared at her. “The sort of shite we all vowed our children would no’ do. Only he turned around and started an agency to do it and he’s proud of it, with a shiny brass sign, and now he’s gotyeinvolved—the insidious spunkgoblin.”
“He is not a spy, Da,” Rosie said softly. “He has never had to do the horrible things you did when you worked for the Crown.”
Her father’s jaw tightened. “When IthoughtI worked for the Crown.”
Her parents had told her how they’d met, and why they were so close with the Dukes of Exingham, Stroken, Effinghell, and Peasgoode. Rosie suspected she didn’t know thefullhistory, but enough to guess at the rest.
So now she offered her father a gentle smile. “Bulldoesdo work for the Crown—for the Royal Family. And forworking families, and noble ones, and for businessmen and churches. He does good work for the world.”
“Wankbiscuits.”
It wasn’t much of an argument, but Rosie knew her father well enough to recognize that was the sort of thing he said when he didn’t have an argument, so she lifted her spoon once more. This soup really was delicious.
“Here,” Da grunted, shoving the envelope he was holding to her. “This one’s for ye.”
He bent back over his post, as Rosie took the letter curiously. Who knew she was here already?
There was no return address, but her name was printed in an oddly familiar script. Rosie frowned at it for a moment, trying to place it, before shrugging and opening the envelope.
And suddenly recognized it.
The handwriting…it belonged to the person who’d written that blackmail letter to Allie.
And now they were writing one to Rosie.
My dear Lady Rosie,
You know, I suspectyouare the one inconveniencing my attempts to acquire young Miss Hawthorne’s portrait. Mr. Lindsay would have taken the case, of course, but would not be sodiligentabout it, were it not for your connection. Therefore, I am writing to you directly.
Since you are the daughter of a duke—and a scandalous duke at that—I cannot threaten you with the same social ruin I did to Miss Hawthorne. For one thing, it is very difficult to ruin a duke’s daughter. For another, I suspect no one in your family would truly care. Therefore, I will threaten you with this:
If you do not satisfy me in this, I will tell all of London the horrible things James ‘Bull’ Lindsay has done. He has no family, no connections to prevent it. Few would ruin their reputation in a pathetic attempt to save his.
The newspapers will receive scandalous accounts of his traitorous activities, theft and falsehoods, and of course tear-filled accounts of his abuse of innocent maidens,et cetera, et cetera.
Trust me when I say I have the connections to make this happen. Imagine how his business would be ruined by such rumors.
Do I have your attention? Good.
You will bring the portrait to Balleter and be met at the train station by a man wearing a rose on his lapel. He will guide you to me. You will tell no one of this, especially Mr. Lindsay or your father. I know you have been an equal partner in this farce of an investigation, and I know you are quite capable of delivering the painting. I will reveal all once we are together, and you will be able to claim that you, and you alone, have solved this case.
Remember: tell no one, or I will follow through on my threat against your young man.
Signed,
Your Blackmailer
Rosie stared at the flourished signature, heart pounding in her chest, her breathing shallow.
The blackmailer. Her blackmailer? The one who had been one step ahead of them this entire investigation?
He’d contactedher.
He had threatened Bull!
