“Oh, no, you shan’t wriggle out of it now.” Margaret was already on her feet. “You are in dire need of new gloves, and your father has given me pin money for precisely that purpose.I thought I would have to coax you, but this is far better. I shall fetch my bonnet.”
Elowen sighed softly as her mother hurried out of the room. Perhaps wasting a morning shopping for gloves was a small price to pay for her mother’s peace of mind—and for keeping her own thoughts from wandering toward whatever was being discussed behind the closed door of her father’s study.
Chapter Eight
Lucas stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a murderous scowl etched upon his face. Spread across the desk before him lay a series of letters Frederick had uncovered, arranged neatly by date. With each one, the late duke of Beaushire appeared increasingly unhinged—his words shot through with paranoia that was wholly unlike the man Lucas had known.
He could scarcely reconcile the stern, imperious father who had ruled his household with an iron hand with the desperate man who, in his final letter to Lord Redley, had all but begged him to stop whatever he was doing.
What exactly that was, however, his dear father had decided to leave out. And these were letters that had remained in his possession, never sent.
Still, one thing had become clear: the late duke had not fallen to his death by accident. Lucas had always known as much. Now, he intended to prove it.
Frederick burst into the study with his usual air of flustered urgency, though Lucas scarcely spared him a glance. He moved instead to the sideboard—experience had taught him that he would require a drink before this conversation was through.
“Your Grace,” Frederick huffed, collapsing into a nearby armchair, “I must insist that our future meetings take place at my office. There we are far less likely to encounter your cousin—or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Would you like a drink, Frederick?” Lucas asked without turning.
“If it is no great inconvenience, Your Grace, a glass of port would be most welcome,” the solicitor said, still catching his breath. “Goodness me.”
Lucas poured it for him, opting for something far stronger himself, and crossed the room. The solicitor was already dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief.
“I take it you and Catherine exchanged words again?”
“She all but accosted me, Your Grace!” Frederick spluttered, swallowing half his port in one go. “She insists I be invited to dinner in the near future and refused entirely to heed my objections.”
“For the sake of my amusement, Frederick—what is your stance on the matter?”
The solicitor looked as though he might faint. “My stance, Your Grace? Why, it should be perfectly obvious!”
“Not nearly as obvious as you seem to think.”
“I can imagine few things worse,” Frederick continued hotly, “than sitting through an evening of Miss Beaumont’s chatter—”
“Careful,” Lucas drawled. “That is my cousin you malign.”
Frederick blinked, visibly composing himself. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I have overstepped.”
“It’s nothing,” Lucas said with a faint smile. “Catherine enjoys making you uncomfortable. Almost as much as I enjoy watching it.” He gestured to the papers. “Now, I trust you came here with something more pressing than tales of my cousin’s tyranny?”
“Ah—yes, indeed.” Frederick rummaged through his satchel. “Our investigator has submitted several reports which I believe Your Grace will find rather interesting.”
Lucas accepted the bundle, suppressing a grimace at the solicitor’s disordered papers. “In the interest of time, why don’t you summarise?”
“Gladly!” Frederick perched forward, spectacles slipping down his nose. “Our man reports that Lord Redley frequents gambling hells far more often than a gentleman of his rank ought. It appears he has amassed significant debts.”
Lucas sipped his drink, eyes narrowing. “A gambler, then. And where there is gambling, there is leverage.”
“Precisely. Only, Redley’s case is unusual.” Frederick jabbed a finger toward the report. “He remains in good standing with his creditors—almost too good. Our investigator observed several meetings wherein Redley seemed to provide… updates of some kind. He could not hear the particulars, but it seems the man’s debts are being rather carefully managed.”
“Hm.” Lucas skimmed the page, brow furrowed. “Curious. You would not think that he is so heavily in debt on the surface. He carries himself very much the same as normal, from my observations.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. It is too early to tell whether this connects to your father’s death, but we shall keep our eyes on him.”
“Do so,” Lucas said, setting down his glass. He returned the papers to the desk, adding them to the growing pile of mysteries. “Is there anything else?”
Frederick hesitated. “Ah, yes—though I confess, I do not quite see what relevance it bears to your investigation.”
