Miss Flora studied his face with eyes that suddenly seemed all too canny. “Would I be correct in presuming Mr Grigsby is not yet informed of the loss of these certain papers?”
Too late, Wren realized everything he’d let slip despite his efforts at subterfuge. Miss Flora had proved more astute by half than he’d given her credit for. As he watched her expression, willing his own into an impassive mask, he thought he detected the wisp of a smile in her eyes. Yet, to his surprise, it did not seem an unkind smile. He dared not look at Sukie.
“If at all possible,” Wren said after a moment’s contemplation, “I should like to recover the papers without causing Mr Grigsby undue distress.”
Not, technically speaking, a lie.
Miss Flora fixed him with a gaze that made him feel as if he were an object in a still-life watercolour exercise. A stick of goat willow in a vase, perhaps, or a stuffed goldfinch chained to its perch. She continued to study him for a long while before she spoke. “I appreciate your taking me into your confidence, Mr Lofthouse. Perhaps I might one day return the favour.”
Wren managed to disguise his astonishment—barely. He couldn’t begin to fathom what secrets a young lady like her could possibly have.
“For today, however,” Miss Flora continued as if she hadn’t said anything at all alarming, “I have some particular questions for you regarding the trust left to me by my family.”
“I shall do my able best to answer them,” Wren replied when he’d recovered his composure. He could do little else.
“How much may I withdraw from my trust before I attain my majority by either reaching my twenty-first birthday or by marrying?”
Wren attempted to disguise his bewilderment as he named the sum.
Miss Flora didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “And is there no way to withdraw anything further?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Wren, his unease only growing. Her questions reminded him all too well of Felix’s repeated visits to Staple Inn.
First and foremost, Wren was Mr Grigsby’s clerk. As such, he was beholden to the same confidences as Mr Grigsby. Both Felix and Miss Flora were Mr Grigsby’s wards, which meant, amongst other things, that Mr Grigsby would consider their interests as secrets to be guarded with his life. Just as Mr Grigsby couldn’t communicate anything specific about Felix’s finances to his Uncle Tolhurst, nor could Mr Grigsby tell Miss Flora anything about Felix’s finances—or tell Felix anything about hers.
However, at present, if Miss Flora intended to bankrupt herself to rescue her profligate betrothed, that action would have grave consequences for her own fortunes. And Mr Grigsby, with her best interests at heart both professionally and personally, would do everything in his power to dissuade her from such a disaster. Nor could Wren, as Mr Grigsby’s clerk, do anything less.
Yet how to do so without breaking both his own and his master’s confidence with Felix—particularly when Miss Flora insisted on having her favourite housemaid stand witness to their meeting?
Wren attempted a delicate enquiry. “Mr Knoll has told you how he stands with his own trust?”
“He has not told me of his debts himself, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Miss Flora. “But I have heard of them. To my knowledge, they are considerable.”
This revelation made Wren’s position a great deal less awkward. “If you’re intending to wipe out his debts with your own fortune—”
“I am not.”
Wren, who’d been on the brink of warning her against that action, choked on his own admonition. “Then, if I may be so bold as to ask, what are your intentions?”
“You may ask as boldly as you please, Mr Lofthouse. Whether or not you shall receive an answer is another matter altogether.”
An astonished laugh escaped Wren. He hastily turned it into a cough, which allowed him to compose himself beneath his handkerchief.
“I hope you won’t think me too forward,” Wren ventured after he recovered his breath, “if I remind you it is within your power to break off the engagement, for whatever reason, whenever you see fit, and with your guardian’s complete confidence.”
Miss Flora said nothing.
In gentler tones, Wren added, “Even such infamy as a broken engagement may be lived down in time.”
Miss Flora shot him a disdainful look. “Have you lived down such infamy, Mr Lofthouse?”
“I haven’t,” Wren admitted. Though, if whoever now held his manuscripts should bring them to light, he would have to live down far worse infamy than Miss Flora might ever encounter in all her days.
A faint curl came to Miss Flora’s lip. “While I admit I have not quite the regard for Felix that a wife ought to have for her husband, it is advantageous to me to remain engaged. For many reasons. Not the least of which is, a betrothal does a great deal to discourage other would-be suitors.”
Wren thought that last remark rather pointed at him in particular. While his very nature made him no danger to her in that regard, he could hardly tell her so. And so he said nothing.
“Is that all you wished to discuss with me, Mr Lofthouse?” Miss Flora asked coolly.
