Flynn nodded. “Lady Bellingham is a sensible woman.”
“Aunt Catherine employed them a year or so ago after losing her most valuable jewels during a spate of robberies that targeted theton.” She frowned. “She will be upset to find me in a similar position.”
He kissed her hand. “I have business to attend to tomorrow, but I’ll drive you to Slough on the following day.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. And I fear I don’t deserve it. May I offer you food and wine before you depart? I’m sure Aunt Catherine will be sorry to have missed you.”
“Please relay my regrets to your aunt. There is someone I must see.”
Althea cast him a careful glance. “I’d forgotten about your own investigation, Montsimon. I trust it will soon be brought to a satisfactory end.”
Flynn bowed from the neck. “As do I. Goodbye.” He climbed back into the coach as Althea and her maid entered through the front door.
*
The butler informedAlthea that Catherine had retired early with a megrim.
“Please don’t disturb her. I believe I’ll retire, too.”
“Shall I have Cook prepare a light meal?”
“No, thank you, Blenkinsopp. Some hot chocolate and a biscuit perhaps, I should also like a bath.”
Althea drooped as Sarah helped undress her in the sumptuous bedchamber decorated with floral silk wallpaper, a dense, powder-blue carpet covering the floor. She stepped into the hip-bath placed near the fire. As Sarah sponged her back and poured fragrant, warm water over her, Althea closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to flow.
Montsimon hoped she’d remember something relevant. She reluctantly turned her mind to the events in those last few weeks before Brookwood had been mortally wounded in the duel. His death had been hushed up by the other party. The duke’s son would have been banished from England should it become common knowledge. She was grateful, for it would have drawn her into a most frightful scandal. As Brookwood’s gambling debts spiraled out of control, his anger had turned to despair and frustration. His violent moods were taken out on her and the servants. When he struck a maid, Althea had tried to reason with him and suffered a bruised cheek as a result.
“My lady.” Sarah broke into her thoughts as she held out the towel. Althea rose from the bath and once dry, donned a dressing gown, then she sent her maid down to the kitchen for her dinner.
She sipped hot chocolate beside the fire. Once roused, she could not banish the memories. Brookwood, after a long night spent at his club, bursting into her chamber in the early hours. Inebriated, he’d talked wildly of some promising new venture. When she tried to question him, he had turned on her. She was too inquisitive. In a woman, it was decidedly unattractive. Why couldn’t she be like other wives, placid and amenable? Make him feel like a man instead of a weakling?
At the time, she’d attributed his elevated mood to a windfall at the gambling tables, but now she wasn’t sure.
Althea was too tired to think. She removed her dressing gown, climbed into bed, and blew out the candle.
Her aunt was still abed when Althea rose the next morning. Althea’s sleep had been deep and dreamless which surprised her after all that had happened. After breakfast, she wandered in the formal gardens surrounding the mansion. No sign of snow clouds, but a chill breeze blew a fine misty spray over her face from a fountain where marble nymphs frolicked.
She continued to follow the long stretch of lawn, which ended in a flight of stone steps. The gardens seemed subdued, breathless, waiting for spring. She pulled the Paisley shawl tighter over her cherry-red wool gown and sat on a wrought iron garden seat placed in a bower. With deep breaths of cold, lavender-scented air, she watched swifts dip and swerve in the gray sky. Brookwood had been away from the house a lot in those final days. Business he’d said. As far as she knew, he had never been involved in business. He always said a gentleman never got his hands dirty. As he left her to her own devices, more often, she discovered his newly acquired mistress. Althea had enjoyed those weeks of peace. She suffered no desire to challenge her husband about it.
Cold, she rose from the seat and continued her walk.
If anyone was able to discover what lay behind this, it would be Montsimon. How extraordinarily strong and clever he was. Montsimon’s image replaced her anguished thoughts, his compelling gray eyes, his elegant features, and the confident set of his shoulders. She was suddenly terribly pleased to have him as her friend.
“Althea!” Aunt Catherine appeared at the top of the steps. “My darling girl, I’m so delighted to see you.” Her aunt flung her arms around her. “I’ve wanted to speak with you. I gave you the most dreadful advice about Montsimon.”
“Oh, did you Aunt?” Althea breathed in her aunt’s floral fragrance with a sense of unease.
“Lady Shewsbury told me Montsimon doesn’t have a feather to fly with, my dear. Some improvised Irish estate is all. He won’t do. Won’t do at all. The pair of you would have to live like church mice.”
