Page 60 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Farah choked on her tea. “I beg your pardon?”

Dalia’s reply was an unperturbed, “Have I gotten ahead of myself?”

“No, I—I—”

“You haven’t been convinced quite yet, then.”

“It’s not about being convinced,” Farah sputtered. “It’s—it’s about Gr—Mr. Montgomery and—and Francis’s inheritance—and—”

Surprise flickered across Dalia’s features. “His inheritance?”

Farah took a steadying breath before telling all. She didn’t bother keeping a single detail to herself, knowing well that her aunt would listen without judgment. Tales of impropriety had never once shocked Dalia, who had forever been trusted to offer a kind, understanding ear to her nieces and nephew whenever it was asked of her.

“—and if I don’t find a way to recover the money that was stolen, Grey will have to pay the price,” Farah finished.

Dalia regarded her in silence, a small, knowing smile on her face. As Farah awaited a response, her aunt picked one of her many cats up and placed it on the chaise between them. It crawled into Farah’s lap, its eye on her cup of tea.

Certain she had waited long enough, Farah asked, “Well?”

Please tell me what to do. Tell me how I can avoid breaking my own heart.

It was an ask as big as it was impossible.

“The only real issue I see here is Francis’s inheritance,” Dalia said.

“Nothing else?” Farah asked in disbelief. “Even after I spent the ni—”

“That, I will leave to you,” Dalia interjected, much to Farah’s disappointment. “But the money I can help with.”

Farah straightened in her seat, causing the cat to slide off her lap. “You can?”

“I will give you the one thousand pounds,” her aunt said, as if she were offering Farah a biscuit, “and I will only do so because I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“Oh, Aunt.” Farah dropped her teacup on a nearby table to fling her arms around Dalia. “You’ve no idea what this will mean to—” She paused, her chin balanced on Dalia’s shoulder. “What’s the right thing?”

“It’s what I know you’ll do,” Dalia told her.

Farah considered this, despair beginning to simmer in her veins. The right thing. The right thing would be for her to admit what she’d known all along—that she would not be happy with Francis. The right thing would be for her to break off their understanding and return to Painswick.

The right thing would be to let Grey know that she’d given up on her grand plan and that he’d been correct all along.

The return to Gloucestershire would bring her back to the start. No prospects, no impending nuptials—just her herb garden and ointments. She’d told Grey that she wasn’t brave enough to give up, that she couldn’t be sure that anyone else would come along. She still wasn’t brave enough, but she could not in good conscience take her aunt’s money while continuing this cowardly charade. Even tucked away at home, she could try to make the best of things.

Parting from Dalia, she gave a resolute nod. “Very well.”

A knock came at the door, and the butler poked his head into the room. “A letter for Miss Rafiq, madam.”

“Oh!” Desperate for a distraction, Farah jumped off the chaise and plucked the letter off the silver tray that was presented to her. The handwriting on the front was familiar to her, belonging to none other than Kalila.

“And,” the butler continued, watching as Farah tore at the seal, “a Mr. Montgomery is at the door.”

*

Grey sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

The game was up. There was no use pretending anymore, no point in playing at being the stern solicitor standing in the way of Farah Rafiq’s wedding to his blasted cousin. All he was now was a man sick with emotions—emotions he had specifically sworn off after Susanna.

He needed to know what Farah’s intended course of action was before he allowed a single word about his damned feelings to leave his mouth. Speaking first would mean putting himself in the most vulnerable of positions, and he was in no way ready for that.