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“I fail to see how that is of my concern, Florence.” Diana found a towel and turned to the vanity to wash her hands and face but her cousin took hold of her arm. “You will listen to me or I will tell Mother what I found in your bedchamber this morning.”
Diana’s thoughts immediately went to the letter from Crawford, but she tried not to allow her thoughts to be betrayed as she asked, “What did you find?”
“Money,” her cousin replied with a sneer. “A lot of it.”
Chapter 22
“Where did you find it?” Diana asked, wresting her arm from her cousin’s grasp. She had hidden the money well and wanted to believe Florence could never have accidentally stumbled upon it.
“Why, in one of your books, of course.”
Relief filled Diana while Florence folded her arms across her chest as though she had just exposed her deepest secrets. What her cousin had found were the hundred pounds that Diana had set aside for Crawford.
“Go ahead. Reveal it all,” Diana said confidently.
“Did you steal it?” Florence challenged.
“One cannot steal what belongs to them. I think you should go and ask your mother why she is truly reluctant to purchase a new dress for you.” Diana smiled coolly. “Also, ask her how much money is still set aside for your dowry.”
“What?” Florence blinked. “What do you mean?”
Diana simply shrugged and turned to the vanity, saying over her shoulder, “If you have taken my money, I suggest you return it to me.” Her voice was low and cold.
“I have not taken it,” her cousin said, sounding nervous.
“I would like to be left alone then,” Diana said and began to wash her face.
Florence left her, and after patting her face dry, she went to lock her door before checking the book to ensure the money was there. She also went to the side of the fireplace to be certain the place she had hidden the rest of the money was untouched.
Despite the place looking as she had left it, she wanted to be sure, and she found an awl, which she used to pry out a brick from the side of the fireplace. Behind the brick was the small tin box she had placed the money in. It was intact, and Diana replaced the brick, pushing it in to make it inconspicuous. She had spent hours loosening the brick with the awl, then the one behind it so she would have enough space to hide the money.
After putting the awl away, she sighed and flopped onto her bed, and closed her eyes. She would give Crawford the money he had asked for, but she would not give him any more after that. Now that she had some money, she was greatly considering running away. Matthew’s offer of courtship and her forthcoming inheritance were the only reasons she was yet to decide.
Unable to think of anything but Diana and her confusing manner, Matthew decided to ride to Albert’s house shortly after dinner.
There was more activity in the house than usual when he arrived, and Emma was in the front hall speaking to the housekeeper and butler. This concerned Matthew, and he immediately asked her if something unfavorable had happened.
“Well, it is Albert’s leg,” she replied. “He rode a horse and it is giving him quite a bit of trouble. He is also in a foul disposition and would not see the physician.”
“I will see him,” Matthew said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Where is he?”
Emma pointed down the narrow hall just beyond the stairs, and Matthew knew where to find him. He strode to the music room and knocked.
“Who the devil is it?” Albert asked, and Matthew’s brows furrowed. He must be in considerable pain.
“The physician,” Matthew answered. “May I come in?”
There was silence, which was all the permission he needed, and he opened the door and walked in to the sight of Albert sitting on a chaise by the window with his injured leg stretched out in front of him, and the other one on the floor. He had a closed book on his lap, and atop it was a sheet.
“You are not the physician,” he said when he saw Matthew.
“You already knew that,” Matthew said, going to pick up a chair and carrying it to where Albert sat. “Emma is worried.”
Albert passed a hand down his face. “I did not mean to worry her… It is just this damned leg.”
“Where did you ride to?” Matthew asked gently, glancing at the sheet to find that his friend was writing music. He usually wrote or played music to bear the pain of his wounds.
“Ramsgate,” Albert replied, and Matthew’s brows rose.
