Page 23

Chapter

Twenty-Two

TEA, TATTLE, AND TACTICS

I spent the following morning helping Julia settle into Rosehaven House. Hoping to lighten her mood, I’d chosen the brightest guest room for her. Once Julia’s things were properly tucked away, her maid suggested bed rest for her. Not unexpected. It was what the doctor had recommended, after all.

There would be no bed rest for me, however—nor, indeed, any rest at all. Not that I required it. With several siblings needing attention in one form or another, I had matters to see to before dressing for Lady Farnsworth’s tea.

Lady Claire had arranged to collect me at two, and though punctuality was rarely her strong suit, she arrived precisely on time—a small mercy I genuinely appreciated. Her sunny disposition, as always, lifted my spirits. The drive to Lady Farnsworth’s Mayfair townhouse was brief, owing to its convenient location.

We stepped from the carriage into the bright chill of Mayfair, my gloves smooth and snug as I adjusted them with the nervous precision of someone preparing for battle rather than tea. The townhouse loomed ahead—white-bricked and respectable, with nothing at all to hint at the social carnage that often unfolded within.

I glanced at Claire, whose eyes sparkled like someone arriving at a costume ball where half the guests might be unmasked before the scones were served.

“Ready to sip scandal from china cups?” I asked under my breath.

She gave a silvery laugh. “Darling, if scandal were served on toast points, this crowd would be positively stuffed.”

The front door opened before we reached it, and a footman ushered us inside with stiff decorum. Lady Farnsworth always did love a dramatic entrance, even if it wasn’t her own. The drawing room was a riot of pale pastels, gilded frames, and lace doilies. The scent of jasmine tea and lemon curd wafted through the air.

“Lady Rosalynd," Lady Farnsworth cooed, squeezing my hands. "How lovely to have you among us. So rare, a lady of principle joining us vultures."

"I'm merely here for the tea," I replied.

She turned to Claire to greet her. “And Lady Edmunds, how delightful. Do come in.”

The room stilled. Not silent, exactly, but the sort of pause one hears in a theatre just before the curtain lifts. I could feel the weight of their eyes—their curiosity cloaked in politeness. Then, like clockwork, conversation resumed with a touch more animation than before. As if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t all just catalogued my every move and wondered how close I truly was to the dead man’s widow. And more importantly, what gossip they could pry from me.

Claire leaned in, whispering with amusement, “I do believe you’ve just stolen the room.”

“I’d rather steal the truth,” I murmured. Together we swept toward a table already occupied by Lady Ponsonby and Lady Ashcombe, who were not so much known for conversation as for strategic dissemination of information.

The tea was hot, the cakes dainty, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics—seasonal events, minor scandals, and the latest flutter of fashion. But beneath it all was something sharper. Tension. Unspoken curiosity. I might as well have walked in trailing a cloud of sulfur.

“Have you tried the violet macarons?” Lady Ponsonby asked, offering a tray with the exaggerated grace of a peace treaty.

“Thank you,” Claire said smoothly while placing two on a plate. Seated beside me with her teacup poised just so, she waited until a convenient lull before speaking. “I recently came into a modest bequest,” she said lightly, as if the matter were hardly worth mentioning. “Not a fortune, of course, but enough to require thoughtful consideration.”

Several heads turned with interest, though no one interrupted.

“I’ve been wondering,” she continued, glancing around the room with a pleasant smile, “if any of you have heard whispers about promising ventures. Something quiet. Respectable. Discreet.” Her delivery was effortless, perfectly timed, and I offered the faintest tilt of my head in silent approval. We had rehearsed this in the carriage. Claire would cast the line, and, if anyone knew of such ventures, the bait would surely draw them out.

She leaned in slightly, her tone casual but carefully pitched. “I heard someone mention a silver mine the other day. An American one, I believe. Out West. Supposed to yield quite a return.”

That drew an immediate reaction from Lady Danforth, seated nearby. Her fan paused mid-wave, and after a quick glance around the room, she leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“My dear, do not touch anything connected to that,” she said, eyes narrowing with the memory. “My husband was taken in by such a scheme not eight months ago—Nevada, I believe. Or possibly Colorado. The company claimed they’d struck a rich vein and offered shares to a very select few. All looked aboveboard. He lost eight thousand pounds before we realized it was nothing but smoke and mirrors.”

Claire blinked, just enough to suggest surprise. “How dreadful.”

“Utterly humiliating,” Lady Danforth muttered, fanning herself once more. “And quite impossible to recover as the person who talked him into it is quite dead.”

“You don’t mean ... ?” Claire wondered, all wide-eyed.

“Walsh.”

“The gall of the man," Lady Pickering declared, gesturing with a spoonful of lemon curd. "To sell shares in a mine that doesn’t even exist! My cousin lost three thousand pounds. She had to part with her diamonds."

"Diamonds! My dear, Lady Wilmot had to let go of her footman. And she was particularly fond of him.”

“He promised everyone they’d be independently wealthy,” Lady Farnsworth added, lowering her voice as if sharing the secrets of the Crown.

Offering a carefully arranged expression of concern, I leaned toward Claire and whispered, "We need more names.”

“Was any other lady involved?” Claire asked.

“Mrs. Greystone,” remarked a marchioness I barely recognized. Clearly, I hadn’t spoken as discreetly as I’d thought. “She was seen leaving Walsh House close to midnight—just a few days before his death. There was no earthly reason for her to have visited Lady Walsh, as she was not acquainted with her. And most especially that late at night. She could have invested in this silver mine.”

Mrs. Greystone was wealthy, discreet, and universally regarded as beyond reproach—which, in society, almost always meant she had something to hide.

There was a beat of silence, the kind that settles when something uncomfortable has been said aloud. Then Lady Farnsworth, ever the one to steer conversation in a direction she found more manageable—or perhaps more delicious—turned to me with a sympathetic tilt of her head.

“And how is Lady Walsh faring these days?” she asked, her voice honeyed with just enough pity to sting. “Such a difficult time for her, I’m sure.”

I placed my teacup down with care. “She is managing as well as can be expected, thank you.”

“She’s staying with you at Rosehaven House, isn’t she?” asked another lady. I couldn’t recall her name, only that she had a chin like a small anvil and the self-righteousness to match. “How admirable of you to take her in.”

There was no mistaking the tone, nor the glint in her eye. And then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added sweetly, “Though I do wonder how long Lord Nicholas will remain such a devoted visitor. These things tend to become ... complicated.”

She paused just long enough to sip her tea and let the silence stretch, then added, as if idly, “And of course, it must be ever so convenient for him now that Lady Walsh is under your roof. Far fewer proprieties to navigate when one doesn’t have to knock at her own front door.”

The room went very still. Fans fluttered. Cups were quietly set down. I felt Claire shift slightly beside me.

I smiled, calm and cold. “Lord Nicholas is a family friend, nothing more.”

“If you say so, dear,” she replied with a smile as thin as lace. I could tell she didn’t believe a word of it.

Lady Farnsworth gave a delicate shiver and fluttered her fan. “Walsh was never particularly charming, was he? Always prowling about like he knew something you didn’t. But really—cards at church, as they say.”

Claire raised a brow, her voice deceptively casual. “Are you saying he cheated?”

“Oh, brazenly,” Lady Farnsworth replied. “At Lord Bickerstaff’s, last winter. My cousin was livid. Of course, she couldn’t prove a thing. Walsh had a gift for making the honest appear hysterical.”

The conversation drifted after that, turning toward corset styles and the scandalous behavior of someone’s niece who had allegedly danced with an actor onstage. But I had heard enough. The useful part of the afternoon was over.

I leaned slightly toward Claire, lifting my napkin as if to dab at my lips, and murmured behind it, “Do be a dear and fake an indisposition.”

Claire gave the faintest flicker of a smile—barely more than a tightening at the corners of her mouth—then pressed a hand to her temple.

“Oh,” she said softly, with a flutter of her lashes. “I do believe I’m getting one of my dreadful headaches. Such a pity, I was enjoying myself.”

Several ladies offered murmurs of sympathy, and Lady Farnsworth immediately rang for a footman.

“Such a delicate constitution,” someone murmured.

“Maybe that’s why she never gave Edmunds a child,” said another vicious-tongued harpy.

Ignoring the jibe, I rose, all concern. “I’d best take her home at once. Poor thing can barely stand bright light when she gets one of her megrims.”

With Claire leaning ever so slightly on my arm, we made our polite farewells and were ushered out with the usual pleasantries trailing behind us.

Once inside the carriage, Claire said, “That,” she said, brushing an imaginary crumb from her sleeve, “was altogether too easy.”

“I thought it rather distasteful.” Gossip might be mother’s milk to her, but I loathed it. Too many lives were shattered by remarks dropped with casual cruelty over cups of tea.

“But you got what you came for?” she inquired.

“Gossip laced with truth,” I said. “The challenge now will be separating the wheat from the chaff.” I would need to unravel the tangled threads we’d gathered—some truth, some fabrication, and far too much veiled behind genteel smiles. Untangling one from the other would be no simple task. But one thing was certain. I would need to meet with Steele again. We had decisions to make and precious little time to make them.

“You were brilliant,” she said breezily. “You only looked horrified twice.”

“Three times,” I muttered. “Possibly four.” I reached across to squeeze her hand. “But I am grateful for your assistance. Thank you, Claire. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said with a wave of her fingers. “But I expect a full accounting when it’s all solved.”

I managed a smile, but unease had already begun to coil tightly in my chest. The web we were entangled in was more vast than I’d imagined. How in heaven’s name were we meant to unravel it all?

But the day held one final blow. Upon returning to Rosehaven House, I was met with alarming news—Petunia was missing.