“Mrs. Turnbull has a point,” the detective said, pointing at the paper and handing it back to him. “The company has posted a reward for any information that leads to your whereabouts.”
“What?” His uncle’s voice bellowed, mixing with Beau’s own protest.
“Two hundred dollars,” Mr. Ashe said. “Someone is really out for your hide, Mr. da Silva.”
Beau sank down in his chair, running his hand down over his face, before letting out a string of curses under this breath.
“People are going to come looking for you,” his uncle said. “And they are going to start with this house.”
“It would be best if we get you out of town,” Mr. Ashe said. “At least while I can do some work and follow up on some leads.”
“The Grove,” Aunt Veronica said, then looked to her husband, and they sat silently for a moment, seeming to have an entire conversation with only their eyes. She nodded, then turned back to Beau and Mr. Ashe. “It’s out of the way. You were here to sell it, Beau. Maybe you can put that off until this mess is behind you.”
Mr. Ashe leaned forward, clearly interested in the idea. “How out of the way?”
“Very,” she said, meeting Beau’s gaze. “Emily and I couldn’t wait to escape it. She hated the country. Your father was her escape.”
Beau’s mother had died when Jessica was barely two, and he was four. He remembered her vibrant smile and a loving nature, but little else.
“Would Beau’s presence be noticed?” Mr. Ashe asked.
Aunt Vee paused, giving a thoughtful sip of her tea, before shaking her head. “We could ask the Chandlers to help out—they’ve been looking after that property forever and I would trust them with my life. There’s a telegraph office in Windsor if anyone needed to get ahold of you.”
“Someone should be with him,” the detective said. “Just in case.”
“Who?”
“I have someone in mind, but it may take some convincing,” Mr. Ashe said, coming to his feet. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll stop by the Chronicle offices and talk to Ben Miller. He might be able to tell me more than what’s in the paper.”
The others rose, and Archie took Mr. Ashe’s hand. “You will do this, Mr. Ashe? Whatever your rates are, I’ll pay it and more to find out who is determined to have my nephew swing.”
“This is my problem, Uncle,” Beau interjected. “I appreciate your kindness, but this is my mess. Whatever you need, Mr. Ashe, you’ll have it. Name your price.”
Chapter Three
Phillipa Hartley, Everwell’s head mistress and unofficial head of The Everwell Society, was in the library examining the book that had been at the focus of the Scandalous Spinster’s latest efforts.
“I can honestly say this might be the most unexpected ending to any job we’ve ever done,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as the others stood gathered around her. “And given the last two ended in marriages, that is saying something.”
It was mid-afternoon, and Maddy was still boondoggled by the entire thing. More to the point, she wasn’t entirely sure what was the most remarkable bit of it all—that the job had wrapped up so neatly, or that Maddy’s knees had managed to weaken at the thought of man with eyes like a summer sky and a smile that outshone the sun.
Weaken, that is, until a throwaway comment from his objectively beautiful mouth landed like a burr in her ear.
Poor old spinster.
Quite miraculously, her knees and every other part of her that had found itself in some state of discombobulation recovered. If she was being charitable, Beau da Silva was technically correct on all accounts. She wasn’t rich. At thirty-seven she was certainly not young. And she was most definitely not married. Besides, she’d been called far worse in her youth.
You must agree the girl is quite homely, Patrick. She needs a good dowry if we’re to get her married.
I got her, boys. I snagged the prized cow?—
“It was more than unexpected,” Elouise said, her enthusiasm interrupting Maddy’s maudlin thoughts. “He was absolutely enthralled with you, Maddy. I think he would have bought you the lot of them if you’d batted your lashes at him.”
The very idea of any man being enthralled with her almost made Maddy want to laugh.
“I do not bat my lashes,” she said, tamping down this rather absurd feeling that had been chasing her since the moment he’d spoken to her. Besides, they hadn’t heard his true feelings as she had. “He probably just wanted to goad his aunt. We all know what she and her kind think of us.”
“Seems a rather expensive joke, don’t you think?” Elouise crossed her arms and shook her head. “I saw the way he was looking at you. Rimple would side with me.”
