Percival laughed as well. “Repulsive, isn’t it?”
“And here I was, repulsed by mere incest.”
Percival grimaced. “Barbaric practice. Not that I would say that publicly, lest I offend our dear queen. But I think we in the nobility may be a touch too concerned with the purity of our ancient blood, if it supersedes the health of our children.”
Elswyth paused. Percival’s criticism of Queen Viscaria, even in the privacy of his own house, bordered perilously on treason.An eccentric or a dissident? And one with a seat in the House of Lords.
“Well, all the more reason to marry quickly,” Elswyth said, “if Mrs. Rose ever lets me leave this house. Is etiquette in London really so stringent that I must spend weeks preparing before I am even allowed in public? I don’t think I shall ruin my prospects completely if I wear the wrong fabric.”
Percival looked hesitant. “Do not underestimate the ton. There are too many wealthy people with endless time and nothing to do. Society’s rules are a little game to keep them occupied.”
“And yet you do not seem to play,” Elswyth said, “or you would not be plying a lady with brandy.”
Her uncle smiled. “I am not considered polite society. The rules are different for bumbling eccentrics. I also have no interest in marriage, which is, unfortunately, your aim.”
Elswyth frowned, running her finger along the rim of her glass.Why had Percival never married? She had begun to realize that Lord Devereux was something of an outcast. Was it only because of his eccentricities? Or had society rejected the great hunter for some other reason? Did his lust for bloodsport like hunting extend elsewhere? Did society shun him for his strangeness, or did they sense something darker in him, like a herd of sheep aware of a wolf in disguise? She lingered on the thought over a sip of brandy. Then she said, “And if I have other aims, with my time in London?”
Percival considered her, his blue eyes shifting from mirthful to something more discerning. He put down his glass and folded his arms over his chest. “I take it you do not speak of pursuing scholarship, but of pursuing Persephone’s murderer.”
“Is that so offensive? That a woman might seek justice for her sister, when it seems as though no one else will?”
Percival considered. “That is not so offensive. Your searches of my house, however…”
Elswyth froze, watching his face. She had indeed searched Percival’s quarters the day before, once Percival had left for Parliament. She’d found nothing suspicious, but number 4 Devereux Place was a large house and an old one. She was sure it had its secrets. “Uncle, I—”
Percival raised a hand to stop her. “I do not fault you for suspecting my involvement. The constabulary certainly did. I am, after all, the closest man to a missing young woman. If we had not been at the Explorers Club the night of her disappearance and had many to attest our presence, I think I would be in prison now. Kehinde, even with the score of people who saw him that night, almost wound up taking the blame. It took an unfortunate amount of political sway to ensure he was not made a scapegoat merely for the color of his skin. The police have mostly stopped pestering us,but I think we will never be free of suspicion. At least until the real killer is found.”
Elswyth struggled to meet the man’s eyes. She felt sudden guilt at suspecting him, even more at suspecting Kehinde, though many in the ton would be eager to pin the blame on a servant.
She wanted to believe Percival. She wanted to trust this man, to have an ally, a confidant. But something—something cold inside her, something deeply suspicious—held her back.
“You disapprove, then, of my search,” Elswyth said.
Percival shrugged, swirling his brandy. “On the contrary, I understand. I would expect nothing less from Cerise’s daughter. And if it had been my sister, I would have done the same.”
Elswyth straightened in her chair. “Perhaps, then, you could assist me. I intended to visit the Metropolitan Police today and discuss—”
“I said that I understand,” Percival said, cutting her off. “But I cannot encourage you.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You are a young lady in a dangerous city. You must be chaperoned at all times. I would escort you, but this business with the famine is rattling the government, and the city is in hysterics over these murders. I cannot spare the time.”
“And what of Kehinde? Perhaps—”
“Kehinde has his own life and his own business to attend to, Elswyth,” her uncle said. “You will stay put unless you have a proper escort.”
“You cannot simply lock me in this house.”
Her uncle fidgeted. “It is not a prison, Elswyth. It’s merely—”
“What else does one call a building that they cannot leave?”
“As I said, you can leave.Witha proper chaperone.”
“Which you will not provide for me.”
“Mrs. Rose—”
