“Shemustbe whoring herself out,” Gertrude spat.
Roarke jerked his attention toward her. Here he had been surprised at the blunt language of his male cousins in front of her, but she was just as vulgar when it came to her stepmother.
“She has to have a lover,” Gertrude continued. “She probably had one while she was watching my father die in the bed beside her. And now she hides his…or eventheir…existence just so she can milk a little more away from Papa’s estate where it belongs.”
Roarke pushed past his cousins at last, his distaste finally overriding any duty he felt here. “No,” he said, walking toward the door. “Absolutely not.”
“Five hundred pounds.”
Roarke stopped as Thomas said the sum. He stared at the door, his escape. He usually got three hundred pounds a year from this lot, barely enough to scrape by and cover his mother’s carer. With an extra five hundred he could make her more comfortable, even give her a few niceties.
He swallowed and turned back to stare at the vultures who called themselves his family. They were smiling at him now. They already knew the trap was sprung, and he hated them and himself for the fact that it was true.
“You cared for your uncle, didn’t you?” Thomas asked.
Roarke pursed his lips. “Yes,” he choked out, and it was true. As a child he’d been close to his uncle, who had always been kind to him. But once his aunt had died, all that had changed. Thanks in part, he believed, to the very cousins who he stood before now. They had pushed him out and he had lost the bond to his uncle, except for fleeting conversations when they found each other at the same club.
“Flora was a monster,” Thomas continued, his tone serious. “Whatever you think of us, know that to be true. She took advantage of him in his old age, she played him for a fool all for what she could gain from him after his death. If you do this, you would be defending his honor.”
Roarke drew in a long breath. He had to give it to his cousins, they were experts at manipulation. Yes, the money was a tantalizing carrot to dangle in front of him, but the idea that he could do the right thing was even more attractive. If they were even a fraction correct that his late uncle’s young wife was using the situation for her own gain, then perhaps shediddeserve to have her schemes uncovered.
And if not…well, at least Roarke knew he wouldn’t lie about it. Not like some other investigators his cousins might hire if he refused them. He could be a dispassionate judge of the circumstances and either deliver the dowager from the lies her stepchildren told, or condemn her for being a mercenary and using his uncle.
Either way, when he told himself this, convinced himself, it made him feel a little less guilty. “When do I get the money?”
“I will put half in your account today,” Thomas said. “Along with the other amount we agreed to earlier in our meeting. And when you have given me your report, you’ll have the other half.”
Roarke folded his arms. “What if I find that the lady is innocent of the charge that she has taken a secret lover?”
All three of his cousins scrunched their faces as if in disbelief. “There is no way she isn’t,” Philip said. “Not with her beauty.”
Roarke’s stomach turned as Thomas flashed his brother a salacious grin. “What if it’s not true?” he insisted.
Thomas threw up his hands. “Then you get the rest, I swear it to you.”
Roarke wasn’t certain he believed that, but for now it would be enough. “Fine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I will do as you ask. I will look into the activities of the dowager.”
“Excellent,” Thomas said with a smug expression. “You will find her on Kent’s Row. At least she knew enough to deposit herself there with the other dried-up crones.”
Roarke sighed. First the woman was a flagrant whore with a siren’s beauty, now a dried-up crone. It seemed there was no consistency here except for their hatred of the woman. Which meant he had to be extra careful in any of his own judgements of her.
That was the least he could do under the circumstances.
CHAPTER2
Flora crossed the parlor, teapot in hand, and smiled as she freshened the cups of Valaria, the Dowager Duchess of Gooding, and Bernadette, the Dowager Duchess of Tunbridge. She had known both women for some time, Bernadette since she had come to Kent’s Row and joined the widowed duchesses who had made themselves somewhat of a conclave, and Valaria for about six months.
They were her dearest friends and she felt so incredibly lucky to have them in her life.
“The necklace Callum bought you is gorgeous,” Bernadette said, and reached out to finger the beautiful sapphire that rested against Valaria’s skin. “He does spoil you.”
Valaria all but glowed, and it was wonderful to see. She had been so closed off when she arrived on the Row months ago, just after the death of her abusive husband. She had been opposed to the idea that she could ever risk love, but Callum, the Duke of Blackvale, had earned her trust and her heart. Until the end of her official mourning period, though, they could not be public with their engagement. Not that it stopped them from outwardly showing their affection amongst friends.
“He does,” Valaria said with an even deeper blush. “I never could have imagined this, but it is better than any dream I ever had. To find someone who so entirely understands me is…” She cut off with a gasp of breath and the brightness of happy tears in her eyes.
As Bernadette leaned over to hug their friend, Flora retook her seat and smoothed her skirts, carefully keeping a warm smile on her face. She didn’t want her two friends to see the darker emotions that Valaria’s joy brought and ruin their day. She, too, remembered the bliss of having a solid and steadfast partner at her side. She missed that kind of easy happiness that she had felt during her marriage. And she hated herself for being even the tiniest bit jealous of Valaria’s glowing future.
“That is enough of my foolishness,” Valaria said, laughing as she wiped a few tears from her cheeks. “Honestly, you must get sick of me waxing poetic about how content I am.”
