“It is not that I find them unsuitable,” she added with that pleasant smile she always wore. “Rather, I worry they won’t make you happy.”
He appreciated her concern, even though he believed she was wrong. “I think there’s a chance Lady Angelica might.”
Her eyes held his. “Is she not a bit too unpolished for the position?”
Randolph couldn’t help but laugh. “You speak as though we’re looking to hire a new servant.” Although to be fair, he had made it sound much the same in his invitation.
“Well, the process you’ve chosen is not so very different, is it?”
He instantly sobered. “No. I don’t suppose it is.” He’d been interviewing the women, judging them, taking his time to carefully gauge compatibility. Only two had shown potential: Miss Harlow and Lady Angelica, with Lady Angelica as the clear winner.
“Perhaps I am wrong about her. Although…” She sighed and dropped her gaze. Her smile slipped a little.
“Although what?”
Looking uncharacteristically uncertain, Mrs. Essex glanced back up. “She was in the gallery the other night.”
“And?”
“She wanted to see your wife’s portrait.”
Numbness, starting at his fingertips, spread up his arms and reached inside his chest. “Curiosity is a natural thing.” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“I don’t think she will relent until she has all the answers.”
His jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. “What answers?”
Mrs. Essex drew back, visibly surprised. “Forgive me. It is a sensitive subject and I… I did not mean to overstep.”
“You should go.” He knew his voice was harsh and he knew he was being unfair when all she was trying to do was help him, to warn him.
Something disturbing flickered within her blue eyes. There, then gone. She’d composed herself completely. Her smile was back in place. “Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to ponder your decision.”
Randolph leaned back in his chair and did precisely that. Angelica was inquisitive and direct. She liked to know things and if she suspected there might have been foul play involved in his wife’s death, she’d want to look into it. She’d want to know every detail.
Steepling his fingers, he considered the possible dilemma she posed. If she were his wife, would she stand by his side and protect his secrets, or turn him in for murder?
A gentle knock at the door drew him out of his reverie.
“Enter!”
It was she. The woman who filled his every thought, the one he wanted to make his own. He stood in order to greet her.
“Angelica. Is everything all right?”
She looked strange. There was a haunted look about her, an eerie disquiet.
“Where’s your wife’s portrait?” Her voice was precise, calm, completely at odds with her expression. “It is not in the gallery. I’ve already looked.”
His gut roiled with ominous concern. Every muscle in his body tightened to the point of snapping. “Why do you ask?” He ground out the words without any finesse.
“Because I want to see it.” She glared at him, her eyes hard and determined.
Randolph tried to breathe. He tried to tamp down the rising panic. Each thump of his heart sent a painful jab straight through his chest. “It’s in the attic,” he managed. “I packed it away for a reason.”
“Because her death broke your heart.” He almost laughed. Yes, it had broken his heart all right, though not for the reason she thought but rather for countless others. “It must have been terribly difficult,” she continued, “but it wasn’t your fault. It was—”
“Stop.” He couldn’t bear anymore. “Is seeing the portrait a stipulation?”
