“Where is Lucy?”
“Lucy, ma’am? I wouldn’t know who Lucy is. You’ll have to ask Mr. Mossant.” The maid helped Eve to the bench in front of the vanity and began brushing out her hair. The calming strokes of a brush never failed to soothe her. Eve took another sip and closed her eyes again.
She’d dreamed of Niles. That he’d come to her. Held her and called her his ‘love.’ Oh, the fog was falling again. Had she fallen asleep sitting here?
“Eve, my love. You look ravishing.” A strong arm assisted her to her feet.
Weights seemed to hold her eyelids closed. She wanted to see but hadn’t the strength to fight. Where had Jean Luc come from? This man she now leaned upon wasn’t Niles.
Niles was taller. Stronger.
Safer.
By her will alone, she barely was able to crack open one eye.
She could make out a few forms, but they were shrouded in the black fog.
“Thank you,” she managed, and then gave into the arms holding her up. All she wanted to do was sleep.
Worry plaguedNiles as he made his way to the study for the reading of the will the next morning. A disquieting thought had struck him in the middle of the night.
Where had Lucy gone? Why hadn’t Eve’s maid been with her?
Had she taken ill again, herself? She hadn’t been well enough to travel initially. Or had she simply been occupied elsewhere?
He’d spent what remained of the night studying the numbers and transactions in the documents provided by Mosssant. Nothing surprising in the accounts. What had interested Niles was the page that had been torn out at the end.
He’d used a piece of charcoal to lift the indentions from the blank page beneath it.
A number had been written boldly and underlined twice. It was the precise amount of Eve’s winnings. And Eve’s winnings amounted to only three hundred pounds more than the negative number at the end of the ledger.
Regardless of whether the dead Mossant or the live one had written it, one thing was becoming very clear to Niles. The owner of Pebble’s Gate believed the answer to all his troubles lay in Eve Mossant.
The door to the study had been propped open, and the room was already mostly occupied. A few servants, including Mr. Forrester, had taken the chairs set back from the desk. Mossant and a woman draped in black, sat behind it.
Eve? Surely it wasn’t.
Only it was. He knew that posture. The lovely tilt of her head, but shrouded in black?
“Ah, Mr. Waverly, thank you for coming. We’ve been waiting for you.” The doors closed shut behind him, and Mr. Mercer Priebus, Jean Luc Mossant’s personal solicitor, gestured for Niles to take a seat.
Niles glanced at the clock. He’d been told the reading would be at ten in the morning. It was only now nine forty-five.
Mossant sat with a smug look on his face. Of course, he’d told Niles the wrong time.
Eve hadn’t so much as angled her head in his direction. Closer now, he could make out her profile, the outline of her lips, and her downcast eyes hidden behind the dark veil.
“Most of this is a mere formality. I’m sorry if any of you have traveled far with hopeful expectations.” Mr. Priebus donned a pair of spectacles and continued squashing the few servants’ hopes. “Although the deceased made mention of stipends for, ahem, Mr. Reginald Forrester, Mrs. Maude Cooley, Mr. Donald Smith, and a Mr. John Blaycock, the estate’s funds have been absorbed by debts incurred by…” And he went on to list a litany of vendors, some reputable and some not so much.
“Mr. Darius Mossant, as the next male in the deceased’s line of kin inherits the Pebble’s Gate estate and all debt and incomes incurred and generated.”
“Mrs. Mossant.” The solicitor addressed Eve. “As the deceased’s widow, you are welcome to reside at Pebble’s Gate at Mr. Darius Mossant’s discretion. In the event he decides to evict, a dowager house on the north side of the property shall be opened up and made available.”
Niles knew of Eve’s plan to reside in London. He looked to her for some response — any response at all. What had happened to the woman he’d known the past year? The woman he’d left here yesterday morning?
“I’d like a word with my client.” Niles rose and crossed the room to stand before her. “Mrs. Mossant?” He held out his hand.
“She has no further need of your services, Waverly. Isn’t that right, my darling?” Mossant placed one arm around her shoulders. Eve seemed to nod, almost as though moving under water.
