The duchess. Estella couldn’t quite bring herself to offer that suggestion. The duchess had been nothing but forthright about her desire to intervene. Subterfuge did not fit with her character.
And so the question continued to hang between them. Who would care enough…?
"A marquess," she said slowly. "A marquess who was Andrew's closest friend."
Thea said nothing. She just watched Estella in a way that made her feel like a particularly dimwitted pupil.
"I don't know." Estella shook her head. "I don't have proof. But it started right after Andrew died."
Thea crossed her arms. "Estella. If a man has been secretly managing your family's affairs for two years, paying your debts"—she paused here to widen her eyes meaningfully—"removing men he deems unworthy, and then appearing in London to serve as your personal guardian…" Thea paused. "I do not believe that is obligation, dear."
Estella's heart was beating too fast. "What is it, then?"
Thea’s lips quirked up on one side. "I believe that the common term is 'secret admirer.'"
"No," Estella said quickly. "No, that's— He doesn't even like me. He can barely look at me without?—"
"Without what?" Thea's voice was gentle but relentless. "Estella. The man is not indifferent to you. That much is clear. The question is whether his feelings are guilt, or duty, or something else entirely."
“Something else entirely.” The words seemed to echo inside her. But Estella didn’t dare hope that it was true.
Estella was forced to admit, however—she wanted it to be something else entirely. She wanted it so badly that she was afraid to examine it, because hoping made you vulnerable, and being vulnerable led to heartache.
"I can't prove any of it, though," she said, latching onto the logistical issue rather than inconvenient emotions. "Mr. Phelps and the like are long gone, and the debts were all settled in the country."
"Not all of them." Thea's eyes sharpened. "You said your father has accrued debts here in London."
"Yes. A place called—" Estella hesitated. "I don't even know its proper name. I suppose it’s the sort of establishment decent women don't speak of."
Thea’s eyes widened. "A gaming hell."
The excitement in the other woman’s tone made Estella wary. "Thea."
"What? I've read about them. The mathematics alone are fascinating. The way they calculate odds, the house advantages—" Thea stopped herself and started again. "If someone paid off your father's gaming debts, the proprietor would have a record. And the debts were settled here, in London, which means the trail is fresh. That's your lead."
"My…lead?" Estella stared at her. "You're suggesting I walk into a gaming hell."
"No, of course not."
Before Estella could sigh with relief, Thea continued. "I'm suggesting we walk into a gaming hell."
"Pardon? But?—"
Thea was already straightening and moving toward the door, pushing her spectacles up her nose as she went. Estella hurried after. "But we cannot."
"We can. I'll go with you, as your chaperone, of course."
Estella hurried to keep up with Thea, her mind racing. Her chaperone. But surely Thea wasn’t old enough to be considered a spinster yet. How could she be her chaperone?
They kept talking even as they exited the shop. "The proprietor won't expect two young women, which gives us the advantage of surprise. And frankly, I've been curious about the operational mathematics of these establishments since I read Bernoulli's treatise on probability."
"But…" Estella stopped short. "This isn't a mathematical outing, Thea."
Thea smiled. "Everything is a mathematical outing if you look at it correctly."
Estella should refuse. A well-bred young woman did not visit gaming hells, accompanied or otherwise. If anyone discovered them, the scandal alone would undo everything the duchess had done for her.
But even as she hesitated, that irritation she’d felt back at the musicale returned in force. Someone had been managing her life without her even knowing. They had been making decisions about her family—about her—without her knowledge or consent.
