The oddest of thoughts crossed her mind and became stuck there. Did she look at Lord Kemble like that? Ridiculous. She had never yearned after a man—indeed, she neither needed nor wanted a man in her life. Her father and her brother had bothbeen disappointing in their own ways, and the lesson had been reinforced during her marriage and even more in her years as an investigator. Men could not be trusted, and were more trouble than they were worth.
Kemble was, of course, a magnificent physical specimen, and his loyalty to his brothers was genuine and admirable. But, by all accounts, he abandoned his wife when she was carrying their second child, and he somehow—nobody she had spoken to knew the circumstances—lost his first child shortly after his wife died.
Her heart wanted to believe there was another side to the story. But her logic and her investigation so far told her that more than bad luck was behind the disasters that happened to the wives of the Marquess of Teign and his sons.
The marquess was guilty. Meeting him had dissolved the last of her doubts. And the sons—or at least some of the sons—were also victims. The evidence pointed in that direction, and what Winifred confided added to her conviction. But Mel had seen enough of life to know that victims often preyed on weaker victims.
Falling in love with Lord Kemble would be stupid, and Mel had no intention of allowing free rein to such treacherous emotions.
Forget about Kemble. Rejoice in the fact that, for the second night in a row, she was able to put her daughter to bed. Or at least, since Harriet was ten years old, supervise the child’s bathing, read her a story, and hear her prayers.
“Will you still be here in the morning?” Harriet asked, once she was tucked up in bed.
They had already had this conversation.
“No, darling. I must go back to work. I have loved being with you, but the money I earn is what pays for all of us to have a place to live, clothes to wear, and food to eat.”
Harriet pouted. “I want you to stay with us. At least at night. Why do you have to go away?”
“I have explained this, Harriet. Living in a particular place is part of this job. Sometimes, I can come home each night and work only during the day, and sometimes I must live where I am told by my employers. This is one of those times.”
She bent to kiss her daughter, who squirmed away and covered her face with her hands. “I do not want you to go, Mama,” she said.
“I shall come back as soon as I can,” Mel promised. “Sweetheart, is Aunt Harmony not good to you?”
That had the hands dropping. Harriet’s eyes sparked with indignation. “I love Aunt Harmony. And Benjie. But I want you, too, Mama.”
“And I want you, but I also want you to have a roof over your head and enough food. Harriet, I shall see you as soon as I can. Go to sleep now, there’s a good girl.”
Harriet turned over in the bed and buried her face in her pillow. Mel backed out of the room. These painful farewells tore at her heart, but what else could she do?
Two widows left penniless by a spendthrift father and brother, and careless husbands. Two children who deserved to be raised as the young lady and young gentleman they were by birth, and given a chance at a decent life as adults.
Someone had to earn the money—not just for the house, food, and clothes Mel had mentioned, but for lessons, too. Benjie was already outstripping Harmony’s knowledge of Greek and science, and Harriet would also soon need more from her education than Harmony could provide.
Above all, for savings, since illnesses or accidents could strike without warning, and one day both children would be young adults, needing money for whatever path they chose in life.
Perhaps it would be easier if Mel had not returned until the job was over and she could stay longer. But no. One day, Harriet would look back and realize that Mel came home as often as she could, because Harriet was the most important person in Mel’s world.
She retreated to her own room to dress for the night at the club, selecting a deep red gown that she normally wore with a fichu to make the plunging neckline more modest. Not tonight. Her aim was to make sure that none of the brothers recognized her, and if they were studying her decolletage, it was unlikely to occur to them that this was the unwanted male guest their father had foisted on them.
To further confuse the issue, she chose a wig of white-blonde hair, with ringlets cascading from a high pile of artfully pinned curls. Yes, even Lord Kemble’s sharp eyes would not see Mel Black in this guise.
But throughout her preparations, her mind went over the conversation, wondering what she could have said to have made her daughter happier about her absence. But when she went out to the parlor to wait for the hackney she’d sent for, Harmony assured her that Harriet’s feelings were natural and so were Mel’s.
“She wants an ideal life, of course,” said Harmony. “She is not yet old enough to know that ideal lives belong in story books. You are doing the best you can for all of us, Melody, darling. I, for one, am so grateful to you for earning the income we need to live.”
“And I am grateful to you for caring for my Harriet so that I can earn.” Mel hugged her sister, who hugged her back, just as the knocker on the door sounded. A moment later, the little maid of all work announced that Mrs. Blackmore’s hackney was here.
“I shall be home as soon as I can, and I shall write if I cannot be here in seven days at the most,” Mel told her sister. She was soon in the hackney, and wrenching her mind away from what she had left to think about what was waiting for her.
Tonight, she would get some more answers, she hoped. At the very least, she could find out what the Sheppard brothers actually did at the Golden Adonis.
*
Many of theladies who patronized the Golden Adonis must be out of town or tied up with family, for the club was quiet this evening, and Allan had little to do and a surplus of time to keep an eye on his brothers and worry away at the problem whose name was Mel Black.
Baldwin’s regular lady was an early arrival, and they had disappeared into a private room. If other nights were an indication, they would not appear again until the club was nearly ready to close.
