But Jean Luc had hated his heir.
“I was under the impression he was hosting a party at the time.” Jean Luc had always been hosting some sort of party or another.
Darius opened the door to the front drawing room and escorted her to an unfamiliar loveseat. It ought to be her who invited him inside.
Was she not the mistress still?
But no.
“Has the will been read yet?” Surely Jean Luc’s solicitor would have waited until she arrived. She wished Niles had entered with her.
Except he’d not been invited. By Darius, nor by her.
“Not yet.” Darius lowered himself to sit beside her. “My uncle’s solicitors have yet to arrive from London.”
Eve nodded, still trying to understand what was happening. “The roads are not good.” Which was an understatement, to say the least. “What did Jean Luc wish to speak with you about?”
Darius’s pale eyes shifted toward one of the few paintings that remained. He took a few uneven breaths before answering. “He was concerned about you. It’s almost as though he sensed his end was near.”
Eve could have laughed if the man wasn’t so very serious. What would Jean Luc have wanted to discuss with his heir?
Darius changed the subject, asking after Rhoda and Coleus and Hollyhock. He was aware of Rhoda’s marriage. Jean Luc must have told him. Although, he could have read about it. Or heard about it. The marriage and scandal surrounding her oldest daughter’s nuptials had created something of a stir. What with the bet and all…
“Miss Coleus will come out this spring then?” The questions sounded innocent enough, but his eyes gleamed with something of a suspicious light.
Eve straightened her spine. “She will not. We’ll observe proper morning, of course.” She hadn’t decided until that very moment. Something protective bringing her maternal instincts to the fore. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to view the body.”
At her request, his gaze settled thoughtfully upon her.
“But of course, Eve.”
Friends and Relatives
Sitting in the kitchen later that afternoon, Niles wished he’d yanked her away from the pompous ass who’d inherit Jean Luc Mossant’s worldly goods.
And the debts, of course. He’d inherit the debts as well. Niles felt not an ounce of sympathy for the bastard.
Instead, he berated himself. At the very least, Niles wished he had insisted upon following them through the damn front door. He didn’t like the idea of her being at the mercy of anyone related to her dead husband. He wanted to protect her from them.
But Eve had gone willingly inside. It was as though she could not allow herself to acknowledge the time they’d spent together. Of course, she’d been ashamed.
He’d seen the regret in her eyes when she’d ushered her maid into the chamber he’d shared with her for two nights. She’d feared being caught with him — her man of business — an employee. The thought that she was mortified of what they’d done disgusted him.
He’d given her a wide berth ever since. And yes, he himself needed to reestablish his professional position. He’d inspect the estate books for her, sit through the reading of the will, and then depart for London.
She’d mentioned having questions as to the girls’ dowries, as well as a trust her father might have insisted be put in place upon her own marriage. In order to discover anything, Niles needed access to those books.
An unwillingness to abandon her now had nothing to do with his decision.
Frustration coursing through him, he pushed back his chair and marched toward the stairs that would lead him to the main part of the house. Niles had tackled situations far stickier than this and knew he’d not find the answer by seeking out the new master.
No, the answers would be found far higher than that. He chuckled to himself.
He needed to locate Jean Luc Mossant’s valet.
Two hoursand several drinks later, the esteemed gentleman’s gentleman sat across from Niles in a nearby pub. Mr. Reginald Forrester, a very ordinary looking fellow who appeared to be nearing his fifties, hadn’t been all that difficult to track down. Niles experienced even less difficulty enticing him to talk about his former master’s last dealings.
Jean Luc Mossant hadn’t done a great deal to ensure much loyalty, that was for certain. For the price of a few ales, the man would spill the dead man’s darkest secrets to a perfect stranger.
