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She scanned the letters upon the desk. Most were estate matters and nothing that stood out. Cillian’s writing made her smile. So neat and cautious as though he had thought every word through thoroughly.
She shook her head. She shouldn’t be having soft thoughts about her husband. Not yet. Not when the blasted man kept avoiding her and skirting the truth. She’d hoped while her family was here, they turned a corner, but he’d retreated again.
Her sisters would be proud of her doing this, though. If Cillian would not tell her the truth, then she had to find it out herself. Whilst Lilly thought it would be better to confront him and Violet wanted Ivy to come and stay with her and her husband Duke, Clementine had encouraged her to do some digging herself. Naturally, her sisters had vowed to do their own investigating, however, considering Ivy’s intended questioning of Cillian had come to naught last night—interrupted by a brick through her bedroom window of all things—the need to find something out was growing urgent.
She wasn’t living with a killer. She was certain of that, no matter how much Violet worried for her.
So why did he not simply explain the matter to her?
“I’ve never really done anything with my life,” Muriel continued. “I wonder if I should go on an adventure.”
Ivy ignored her lady’s maid in favor of pulling open the drawers and rifling through the papers.
“Though I don’t like boats. I’ve only been on the ferry in Dorset, and it made me horribly sick.”
“Are you keeping watch, Muriel?” Ivy peered at the maid who at least remained facing away from the study and was hopefully looking out for people.
“I don’t really like carriage rides either.” Muriel sighed. “Perhaps I should climb a mountain.”
Shoving shut the drawers, Ivy put hands to her hips and glanced about the room. “If I had secrets, where would I keep them?”
“I don’t like the cold.” Muriel mused. “And mountains are usually cold. I knew a boy who climbed Snowden and the weather turned and he was lost for two days.”
“So no adventures then?”
“I suppose not.” Muriel gave a squeak and grabbed the door handle. “Someone is coming. Quick!”
Ivy’s chest tightened and she darted her gaze about then dropped to the floor when she heard incoming footsteps. Sliding under the desk, she drew in a slow, shaky breath. This was ridiculous really, hiding from her husband, instead of confronting him fully. But when had she ever been good at confrontation? Most certainly not when Ava Wilson called her fat or when George Fletcher compared her to the biggest pig on the estate.
“Mr. Shah,” she heard Muriel say sweetly. “What brings you here?”
“I would ask the same of you, Muriel,” the steward asked, his tone making Ivy frown. She’d never heard the man speak so softly. The man was fiercely loyal to Cillian, though, and she had no doubt the steward would inform his master if he caught Ivy in the office.
“Oh, I was just looking for the viscount. My mistress wished to speak to him.”
“You will not find him here. He’s in town.” Shah cleared his throat.
“Does that mean you have a few spare moments?”
Ivy frowned. Muriel was probably doing her a favor, ensuring Mr. Shah left the wing so Ivy could escape undetected but did the maid have to sound so flirtatious?
“I think I can spare a few for you, Muriel. What do you need?”
“Well, I, um...I needed you to take a look at something in the women’s quarters. Some, um, peeling wallpaper.”
“I cannot step foot in there without Mrs. Baxter, Muriel.”
“Perhaps we can sneak in. Just quickly,” Muriel suggested.
Ivy put a hand across her mouth to prevent a gasp. She eyed the pristine rug beneath her palms and focused on being as silent as possible. It shouldn’t have surprised her Muriel was capable of being quite scandalous. The woman was hardly the most subtle of people.
A few silent beats passed. Ivy struggled to swallow when the door creaked.
“Very well,” Mr. Shah finally replied. “But we best make it quick. Mrs. Baxter does not like either one of us.”
“Something else we have in common,” Muriel said slyly.
Ivy wondered what else the two of them had in common and what conversations they shared below stairs. At some point, she would have to quiz her maid on quite what was occurring between the two of them, if anything.
