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Chapter Twenty-Three
The ring of the front bell made all the women around the table straighten in their chairs.
Aunt Sarah gave a dramatic groan and tossed back the brown, sludge-like concoction that she swore by to cure all ills, then shuddered. Her gray hair hung wild and curly in front of her face, hiding the worst of the dark rings around her eyes. Chastity did not think the rest of them looked much better—not from the late night but from the amount of punch her aunt had imbibed last night. Chastity doubted even her miraculous drink would give Aunt Sarah a clear head.
“Who could be here at this hour?” grumbled Aunt Sarah.
Chastity picked at the buttered toast on her plate, unable to find the food interesting at all. For her, it had nothing to do with the punch. Her stomach had become a whirl of anticipation since the ball last night and it refused to slow or cease.
Could it be Valentine at the door? Surely he would know better than to call so early after a ball but perhaps he was eager to see her and with any luck, not just to discuss the investigation. Unfortunately, they had not discovered Julian’s killer. By all measures, their plan could be considered a failure. However, she was certain they had discovered something else.
Love.
The word filled her with a sense of awe, spreading through her and making her tingle down to her very toes. She loved him.
And she was certain he loved her too.
Why else shave and dance for goodness sakes? He loathed dancing. She could not be feeling this all alone. The trouble was, she did not know what they would do next. Did he want them to have a long-term affair? To court?
This was new territory. Even the butterflies she felt when she had met John could not match what she felt now. Against all reason, she loved that man. He’d tried his best to be disagreeable and gruff but there was no disguising the man he was underneath.
He was the man who understood her, who listened to her grievances with quiet compassion, who stopped wearing that awful cologne the moment she’d expressed a dislike for it. She did not think John had ever changed anything for her.
Demeter smothered a yawn with the back of her hand and Eleanor had her nose buried in a newspaper. With any luck, the ball had brought about some new gossip for the scandal sheets and there would be nothing to upset her. Even her brother Anton and his wife Eliza were quiet this morning, as though they were all held in reverence for Chastity’s new discovery.
Not that any of them would know of her love for Valentine. Not yet.
Not until she had figured out quite what she would do about it.
Footsteps by the door made her perk to attention. She managed to keep her gaze forward, focused on the elaborate mantel clock behind Demeter’s shoulder. If it was Valentine, she could not have her family see her practically panting to see him.
“A Miss Charlotte Summers,” the butler announced.
Chastity twisted in her seat and stood abruptly when Charlotte entered. Her cheeks were red, her hems grimy, and she had to pause to gulp down a breath before dropping into a deep curtsey.
“Forgive the intrusion, your lordship, my ladies.”
Chastity motioned for her to rise. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“I think I know who the killer is!”
Anton dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. “Killer? What the devil is going on now?”
Chastity grimaced. They’d managed to keep their antics a secret from their father and brother and even Elizabeth until now. If Anton got involved, it could spell disaster. As much as he loved them all, he had some old-fashioned ideas about what ladies should do—despite the fact Elizabeth was hardly a wallflower.
“It’s nothing,” Demeter assured him. “J-Just a little game we’ve been playing.”
“This better not be like that whole debacle with Cassie and Luke,” he muttered.
“All is well, Brother,” Chastity said sweetly. “I must speak with Miss Charlotte, though.”
She left her brother muttering about disobedient women while Elizabeth scolded him, and her sisters offered reassurance. She heard Aunt Sarah threaten to box his ears if he continued being such a dolt.
Shaking her head, Chastity led Charlotte into the drawing room. The maid paused, peered around the pretty teal room, her mouth ajar, then gave herself a little shake.
“To think you left all of this to be a maid.” She gestured about the room.
“Who do you think the killer is?”
