“There were three people this evening that mentioned Uncle Will, that’s what. Really? No one asked you anything?”
Verity’s body stiffened at the mention of their uncle. She was brought back to the moment Dominic looked at her steady on with the truth he had seen the gentleman pass on from this life. Wrapping her arms around herself, she struggled to answer the question.
“I… I suppose they asked me about the duke. And our brother.”
“That, too. As if they’re more interesting than we could ever be,” Octavia added with a snort. She opened both eyes now to glance her over. “Is something amiss?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because nothing is amiss with you until it is too late. I don’t know anything until it’s too late, and I should very much like to be ahead on something someday. We’re still grieving Uncle Will. We may not be wearing our arm bands any longer, but I still think of him often, you know. I think we all do. He was a good man and investor.”
That made her pause. “Investor?”
“Yes, I suppose he did quite a bit as a banker. I thought he merely worked on foreign merchant trades, but I suppose I was wrong. Someone mentioned he had helped them invest. We all knew Uncle Will liked to play with his cards close to his chest, after all.”
Swallowing, Verity looked out the window as she wondered about the puzzle inside her head. “Yes. He certainly did.”
His business required him to travel frequently, I recall. It made sense. He helped align financial trades and transactions for foreign deals. None of that should have impacted others,however. He wouldn’t have had a role as an investor. That’s different. So it can’t be right.
Which meant something was wrong. She simply didn’t know what it was. Not yet.
The rest of their conversation was a blur to Verity while she asked questions to see what else her sister knew. Octavia yawned a fair bit on their way back to the house, where she was finally dropped on. Only then did Verity turn the carriage toward her own home.
It was a short ride, but long enough to put her pen to paper. She scribbled and scribbled until her pen ran out of ink. Thank the lords she had removed her gloves seeing as her hands were covered in dark ink now.
Holding the sketchbook with her mind spinning, Verity entered her home. She nodded to the footman who took her shawl.
“You had a caller this evening, Your Grace,” he noted with a nod toward the serving tray. A single white card sat atop that she recognized.
It only took three steps for Verity to confirm that the card belonged to her brother. Cassian had come by. For her, not for her husband. She asked to confirm, “Did he see the duke?”
“No, Your Grace.”
More confounding. So he had come to talk to her after all. With a grimace, she wondered if he had known she was not at home. Could he have not stayed? These were hardly visiting hours. How obnoxious he could be.
“Is something amiss?”
“No, no, all is well,” she muttered while she wondered silently if it was even true.
The footman hesitated for a spell before offering a slight nod. He stepped back and waved toward the hall. “Your maid is ready in your chambers, Your Grace.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Can the kitchens have tea prepared? I shall not retire quite yet.”
Because the carriage ride had been quite enlightening. There were new names at play. New ideas. New information. She didn’t know what was truth yet, but she felt confident she could make sense of it. Or pieces of it. Her heart pounded. A thrill of hope soared through her chest while she thought about her new piece and how she could…
Faltering on the first step, Verity considered her husband.
Their conversation had been painfully enlightening. Her heart still ached. Though she’d come to enjoy her sister’s company, she’d struggled in the beginning while wondering what Octaviaknew. But it was evident too soon that she couldn’t know a thing. Her sister had never been good at keeping secrets.
Cassian on the other hand…
Huffing in frustration as she realized what she needed to do, Verity stepped off the stairs. And then she picked up her skirts to make her way to the study where she had glimpsed a thin strip of light from beneath the door.
She strode in without knocking this time. “Dominic.”
Lifting his eyes from the book in his hands, her husband said mildly, “Verity.”
“My uncle was an investor.”
