“He often went out at night, Minerva. In the country he spent time at that parapet. I think here in town he went into the squares and parks. Portman is actually the closest, but he probably wandered some distance at times. So I can see him going to Portman Square, or walking through it, gazing up at the stars that are so hard to see in much of London.” He took her hand. “Let us walk to the square, if you can manage it.”
“Of course I can manage it.” She began striding off, to prove it, but halted in her tracks as if she had hit a wall.
“We can walk up the next street over, if you do not want to see that house,” he said.
She could see the house, and a bit of its door.
“Come this way instead.” He guided her back down Oxford, to the next crossroad. “Now, use your imagination. He leaves his home and walks. He aims for the square. Most likely, he walked past your house some nights. I think he passed it many times.”
She stopped on the street, at about the spot of that house on Old Quebec. “You think he saw or heard something, don’t you?”
“I do. This area is quiet at night. Sounds you might never hear during the day can be clear. Lamplight inside the houses reveals more than one ever sees in daylight.”
It sickened her that others might have seen or heard what happened. “How would he learn who I was?”
“He would ask. Just as you and I ask when we want to learn who lives in a house or which house is the home of this person or that. A casual question at the shop on the corner would elicit the name.”
She pictured the duke casually asking at the haberdashery on the corner if they knew who had the house four doors up. She saw the haberdasher give the name, and perhaps also give a look that said all was not right there.
“How long have you wondered about this?” she asked.
“Almost two weeks. You said you did not know him, and I believed you even that first night. So how was it he made that legacy? He knew your old name, and your new one too. The money you received—it was almost bizarre that an anonymous gift like that was made, but he could be strange in his own way. However, I was only sure when you told me about what the messenger had said to you.”
Next time, fight back. That money had allowed her to. Not with fists, but with her wits and Algernon’s own weakness.
They strolled up the street, then over to the square. “I visited here so rarely even though I lived a few minutes’ walk away,” she said. “When Algernon left the house, sometimes Beth and I would come here if the day was fair, but only briefly. I dared not be gone when he returned. I was in London, but I had no freedom to leave the house, to have friends, to attend parties. I was in a different place, but still in prison.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I still don’t understand why the duke left me that fortune, Chase. He didn’t know me.”
“Perhaps he thought it would do more good for you than for any of us. He obviously knew about your husband’s death, and that you were making your own way in London now.”
“I tried so hard to make sure no one knew who I was.”
“Dukes have their ways. I expect he had someone conduct a discreet inquiry to find where you went after you disappeared from Dorset.”
“I wish he had sent a note with that money, so I could thank him.”
“I think he preferred your not knowing. He often did things without claiming credit. I believe he interceded on my behalf when I was leaving the army, so there would be no questions or scandal. He never said a word about it, but I’m convinced he used his influence.”
She looked at him. “So we both owe him much.”
They retraced their steps until they reached the carriage. She let him settle her in and even wrap her again in the blanket.
“A short ride in the park is in order,” he said.
“Please tell him to go past Whiteford House first. Slowly.”
Five minutes later they rolled past the house. Minerva looked out at it, feeling very close to the man who once owned it, whom she had never known.
* * *
That night Chase had made a decision. He needed to make some kind of report to Peel in the next few days. He saw no alternative but to pursue one more thread in Minerva’s history before he did. He might never need to use the truth about Finley’s death, but he wanted it in his pocket just in case he had to reveal it to protect her.
He slipped into her bedchamber after the house was quiet. He had sent Brigsby home, explaining that he would return himself tomorrow. Beth’s snoring hummed down the corridor as he closed the door.
He undressed, and slid under the bedclothes to hold Minerva’s warmth against his skin. She turned on her side to face him.
