She went on to explain the five floors and eight towers of her new home. It sounded beautiful by all accounts.
But Verity couldn’t help but grow distracted when she heard Lord and Lady Hemphill coming together to a nearby round table. Lady Hemphill was fanning herself, leaning forward to speak in a staged whisper to two matrons.
“Did you hear the news? Dear Alfred’s cousin from the country works down at the morgue now. Poor man. But he just sent word to confirm. Not even the crown knows this yet. But Hampstead is dead!”
She stopped breathing.
“What?” Cried one of her friends. She fanned herself. “How tragic. However did it happen?”
“His heart gave out! Isn’t that tragic?”
As she listened on, Verity felt a cold trickle of dread trailing down her spine. It worked its way through her bloodstream. Soon her toes curled inside her boots, numb. She couldn’t feel the bonnet or the curls pressing against her brow on the hot day.
“There won’t be a wake, either,” Lord Hemphill joined in this time. The man preferred the countryside to the city, often leaving his wife joyfully on her own. But it seemed he had returned for a short spell. “They don’t want to show the body.”
Another person trailed over, hearing the chatter.
Verity watched the movement and nodded when Isabel asked her if she liked barn cats, and then commenced into a story about a fluffy kitten she’d taken in.
The new person said something she couldn’t quite hear. Something odd about the body. The family wanted privacy. They were already selling some of his belongings, whether or not they were tied to the poor gentleman’s death.
“I think it was murder,” said one of the ladies. “He’s not the only lord to die in the last year so suddenly!”
“No, I think he did it himself.”
Lady Hemphill gasped. “But that’s a sin!”
“It hasn’t stopped a lord before. Why are they selling anything? Think about it, friends. What if the money was a lie? What if there never was any money?”
“That’s happened before.”
Swallowing, Verity ducked her head down just as she felt eyes falling upon her. Because she knew of something like that.
As she sensed her hands starting to shake, Verity clutched them into fists. She tried to hide them. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened. But it was too late now… Too late to turn back her thoughts.
Her uncle. Born the second son, the spare, William Ashbourne had sought to make a name for himself as a banker. He had done very well for himself through the years.
But it hadn’t stopped him falling into debt. When he suddenly passed, debtors came out of nowhere to her home.
They’d been scared off by Cassian. Every one of them. But Verity didn’t know, she realized now, what exactly he had done. Were any of them paid off to keep their silence? Surely not, or else no one here would have known about it.
But they did know. They were looking at her.
“No matter what happens, I do hope the family is prepared to act accordingly,” said someone with a sniff. She managed not to flinch, knowing it was directed at her.
But the heat of embarrassment climbed up her cheeks all the same.
“Act in what way?”
The familiar voice of her husband surprised her. Jerking her head up so quickly it almost hurt, she spotted Dominic there with two glasses in hand. His gaze was set on the seated woman who stared back in bewilderment. She watched him with her mouth hanging open.
“Because I believe people are accountable for their own actions. We cannot control what another does, no matter if they are family or familiar,” he carried on. “Wouldn’t you agree? Especially when we have no proof?”
“I… Yes, I suppose so,” the lady finally agreed faintly.
“It is particularly unfortunate to hear about unfortunate circumstances from parties without the correct information. It would be a shame for anyone to be hurt through false truths and lies. Society is stronger when we stand up for one another. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Hemphill?”
Even the hostess managed to look pink with shame. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right, Your Grace. How wise you are.”
