“You do not ask for yourself,” he said.
Her belly knotted with fear and hope. “I am not of your blood, my lord. I have no expectations for myself.”
He leaned back a fraction. It was a small movement, yet it felt like a wave withdrawing from the shore. She could not read what lay in his mind. He had the careful face of a man who kept his balance upon a dangerous height. Darcy could not trust someone so unreadable.
“Very well,” he said. “You will remain as my guests until I determine what is to be done.”
Relief trembled through Darcy. “Thank you, my lord.”
She rose and curtsied. Her knees felt untrustworthy, but she did not allow them to wobble. As she reached the door, he spoke again.
“Miss Whitley.”
She turned.
“You will be frank with me in all things,” he said. “I detest dishonesty. See that it does not mar our interactions.”
“I will be frank, my lord,” she replied. “I ask only the same in return so I might manage my expectations well.”
He did not answer, merely inclined his head in dismissal. She stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her with care. A sharp breath escaped her. It was not relief. It was not quite dread. They might have one more night under the earl’s roof, or they might have a week. Darcy also knew she could not rest their future upon the goodwill of a man who could look at them with such chilling indifference. The existence of three new sisters would not move him. He would likely take great offense at their illegitimacy. She must keep finding a way forward and not let herself believe they were saved. That would make her complacent, and she needed to be ready for every possibility.
CHAPTER 4
Sebastian leaned against his high-backed wing chair, adopting a relaxed pose considered too casual for a man of his consequence. Mr. Peabody sat upon the leather chair opposite, knees tight, hat on his lap, his polished shoes tapping a nervous rhythm upon the carpet. He had been his father’s solicitor; Sebastian had never employed Peabody’s services, preferring another firm. The solicitor was a careful man of fifty, accustomed to the quiet privileges of a long connection with a noble family. His hair had thinned and gone grey at the temples. His jaw worked once as if he had swallowed a stone before he smiled, then sobered when he elicited no reaction from Sebastian.
“My lord,” he ventured at last, for Sebastian had regarded him in silence these ten minutes. “You sent for me, my lord.”
“Tell me about the other family my father kept.”
The solicitor blinked and assumed an air of bewildered innocence. “My lord, I am at a loss to know your meaning!”
“You are not,” Sebastian replied. “I shall not ask twice. Speak plainly.”
Peabody attempted a small, uncertain smile. “You refer perhaps to certain charitable remittances made in the late earl’s lifetime. Matters of benevolence are often conducted with privacy.”
“If you insist upon lying, I will make you regret it. I detest liars.” Sebastian’s voice dropped to a silken quiet. “If you prevaricate again, I shall have the Lord Chancellor review every instrument you have lodged these twenty years. Should I discover fraud or concealment, I will see you ruined in every court that will hear me, or I might arrange to have your lying tongue ripped out. Now speak!”
Peabody’s lips parted and closed. A bead of perspiration showed at his hairline. “Yes,” he said at last, voice low. “The late earl made provision for a lady. His lordship lodged her in a modest, well-tended seven-bedroom cottage upon the Hertfordshire estate.”
Though he expected such an answer, Sebastian’s chest still squeezed. “How long?”
Peabody worried the brim of his hat. “I cannot be exact. Fifteen years, perhaps a little more.”
“What is this woman’s name?”
“Mary,” he said after a beat. “Mary Whitley. She styled herself Mrs. Whitley.”
Another sensation, dark and unknown wrenched through Sebastian’s chest. He drummed his fingers once upon the desk, thinking. If the woman had been beloved, why were she and her children left in such dire want? He frowned, recalling that the coffers of the earldom had not been flush; only his own investments, and yes, his luck at the tables, had enlarged what he inherited. “You paid this mistress a regular allowance.”
“I did,” Peabody said. “From a private account the late earl kept in town. I drew the quarterly sums upon his instruction, and he signed where required. Receipts were kept.”
“He had children with her.”
The solicitor colored. “Four, that I know, my lord. The eldest is now a young woman, then two girls close in age, and the youngest.”
“You are aware Mrs. Whitley died.”
“Yes, my lord. I verified the state of the property afterward. I spoke to the land steward when needed. I took no liberties.”
