“That is impossible!” Richard barked. “You are lying.”
The maid shrank back. “I assure you that I am not.”
Crosby stepped in swiftly, flashing the girl a reassuring smile. “Forgive my companion’s rudeness, Miss. He is… overwrought. Did Mr. Smith leave behind a son we might speak to?”
“No, sir. Only two daughters,” came the maid’s soft reply.
Richard’s hands curled into fists. Some trickery was at work—he could feel it. “Then fetch them. At once.”
The maid bobbed a quick curtsy. “I shall see if the mistress is available for callers.”
Richard added sharply, “Inform her that the Marquess of Wilton demands an audience and I will not be turned away.”
The maid’s eyes widened at the title, but she merely nodded and disappeared inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Crosby shot him a glare. “That was poorly done.”
“I will not suffer lies,” Richard growled.
“We are here to gather information, not frighten women out of their wits,” Crosby remarked. “If you charge through this investigation half-cocked, you’ll have nothing to show for it but a ruined house and a reputation in tatters.”
Richard said nothing, his gaze locked on the door.
“I understand your anger,” Crosby continued. “But justice requires patience, my lord. If you want to win, you must think.”
Before Richard could retort, the door creaked open again. The maid reappeared, her cheeks flushed. “Miss Theodosia Smith will see you now, my lord.”
Richard squared his shoulders. Of course she would. A country bumpkin with little status would not dare deny a marquess, especially not when he came demanding answers. He stepped forward, ready to confront whoever dared stand between him and the retribution his sister deserved.
He followed the maid down a dim, paneled corridor towards the rear of the manor. The house smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax polish, a humble but pleasant scent. At the end of the hallway, the maid paused before a heavy door, gave a small curtsy, and gestured for him to enter.
Richard strode inside, his mind braced for confrontation.
The room was surprisingly grand for such a modest manor: the walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books, a faded but elegant carpet underfoot, and a massive mahogany desk anchoring the space. Behind it sat a young woman, dressed in a simple blue gown that contrasted beautifully with her fair complexion. Her dark hair was gathered into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck, stray wisps framing her striking features—high cheekbones and a pair of disarmingly intelligent eyes.
He faltered for the briefest of moments, unsettled by her unexpected beauty, but steeled himself. He was not here for admiration. He was here for justice.
Straightening, he demanded, “Are you Miss Theodosia Smith?”
The woman lifted her gaze to his without the faintest flicker of fear. “I am. And I must assume you are the bad-mannered lord who so thoroughly frightened my maid.”
Her tone was calm, almost amused, and it caught Richard off guard. Few women dared to speak to him so plainly.
“I am here to ask the questions,” he snapped, recovering quickly.
Miss Theodosia’s lips twitched, though whether from irritation or amusement he couldn’t tell. “And I daresay I must wonder what I have done to earn your ire, my lord,” she said, her words edged with a distinct sharpness.
He ignored the bait and pressed on. “I wish to speak to the master of the house.”
She rose then, slow and deliberate, placing her slender hand firmly on the polished surface of the desk. “There is no master here. I am the mistress of this household.”
He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You? You can’t possibly be old enough to run an estate.”
Her chin tilted upward with defiance. “I am two and twenty years old. I can read ledgers, manage tenants, and balanceaccounts quite capably. But then, I suppose your mind cannot fathom a woman doing what a man might bungle.”
Richard stepped forward, closing some of the space between them in a manner that made the maid by the door fidget nervously. “You are lying,” he said.
Miss Theodosia’s green eyes sparked with indignation. “And you, sir, have worn out your welcome.” She resumed her seat, dismissing him with a regal grace. “You may see yourself out.”
