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As she watched her father’s figure, riding off into the distance, she wondered who he really was. She knew who she had thought he was—an upstanding gentleman, a father who kept no secrets from his beloved daughter…There was more than met the eye. She had doubts, and it was more than a little unsettling.
* * *
Charles opened up Lady Arabella’s next letter to find that she had been doing some digging of her own. Accompanying her usual full page of musings, there was a list, written in an unfamiliar feminine script. It was a list of names. Frowning, he read her message.
Dear Mr. Conolly,
I’ve recently found out that my father has requested that you look into the act of vandalism during your stay at Tiverwell Manor. He does not know that I know. However, I have asked someone in whom I place the utmost trust in her veracity. She has provided me with this list of servants who might fit the description of “wronged and potentially vengeful servants.” You will find it enclosed. If you could keep the source a secret, it would be profoundly appreciated.
Do tell me—how is the investigation going? The Duke is keeping his counsel to himself…
The letter went on at length, but Charles set it down before he read the rest. He had known that she would realize that something was up. She’d gotten more done than her own father had. As Charles perused the list of names, he wondered—why had the Duke himself not brought these names to his attention?
What is the Duke trying to keep hidden?
His eyes went through the list, finding Rapson’s name near the end. He had a hunch that the list was chronological. He knew without a doubt that it was from Annette, Lady Arabella’s lady’s maid.
Now, the thing he needed to decide was—to investigate the names on the list, or to keep it to himself entirely. Until there was need to. He opened the drawer of his desk. He pressed the hinge which opened up the secret bottom and slipped it inside.
There was nothing to suggest that it was anything other than a simple act of vandalism. Except for the letters. It nagged him. He had the foreboding feeling that they wouldn’t know until all of the ton was in London for the Season.
By then, it might even be too late. He looked down at her letter. Her handwriting was no stand-in for the actual lady. Charles wished that he could conjure her. They would then be able to discuss the whole thing at length.
He took out a sheet of paper. He then endeavored to tell her as much as he could, without breaking the secrecy that her father had requested. The letter was on its way to her within the hour.
