“Wonderful, I have a whole month.”
“We’ll see how we—you and I—work together. I need to ask another question.”
“Haven’t you had your fill?” I waved at him to proceed as I snorted into his handkerchief.
“Was Lionel’s mother here when you were hired?”
Tell him.Tell the duke and end this farce.
“Your Grace . . .”
“Yes, Mrs. LaCroy?”
He glanced at me, and again I was captive, this time with fear.
The duke would turn me out for playing another masquerade.
Or he’d not believe me, thinking I was a crazed widow who tried to claim another child as her own. I bit my lip a moment and told the truth he’d accept. “Markham hated her. He rid the place of her. I think that’s how he put it.”
“Or the woman ran off. Depressed over my cousin, she might have run away.” His head lowered for a moment. “I have one more thing to ask.”
“Another ting . . . thing? Go ahead, by all means. Read me like a book of sport.”
“A Shakespeare reference,Troilus and Cressida. Such a learned nanny. What other surprises do you have?”
Lord Gantry knocked along the threshold. “Repington, sorry to interrupt, but your box is here.”
“Oh, good. Mrs. LaCroy, we’ll need to continue this conversation later.” He popped up and dropped in the chair behind the desk. “This will be such an improvement to the outside.”
My stomach flip-flopped. I’d been dismissed for a box. I swiped at my eyes. “What needs improvement? You’ve cleared snow, even trimmed the brush that awakened in the warmer weather.”
His impish smile returned. “You’ll have to wait. You’re not the only one with secrets. Good day, Mrs. LaCroy.”
I’d been set aside. Lord Gantry and the duke ogling a wooden box meant sending me away like Colin had when I interrupted that last loud meeting.
My rise from the chair was slow. I watched as an outsider to the glee the men shared, spreading out the mysterious papers coming from the box.
I looked away, my eyes catching the sparkle of the silvered glass.
The mirror.
The one that held Markham’s fingerprints.
There was a secret behind it. This one could set me free.
Finding time to get to it was all that mattered. I would not be distracted by the duke’s questions or the feeling he actually cared about my tears.
CHAPTER 13
STORMYNIGHTS
Astorm raged throughout the night, but that wasn’t what kept Busick awake.
He took a swig of his rum. His leg had ached all afternoon from the vigorous marching regimen. Now this turn in the weather set him in agony—rain, more snow. The change brought pain.
His back felt stiff, achy.
Maybe he was doing too much outdoors.
