Page 24 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

POLISHED TO DECEIVE

T he interior of the carriage was dim and close, the windows fogged with breath and the lingering damp of dusk. Hooves clattered over the cobblestones as we rolled toward Grosvenor Square, the lamplight outside flickering like uncertain stars through the mist.

Neither of us spoke. Steele sat across from me, silent, his gaze fixed on the glass. Whatever thoughts occupied him, I didn’t ask. I couldn’t trust myself to say anything civil.

At last, he shifted. His jaw clenched once before he spoke. “I went to the Caledonian Club.”

“Did you?” I didn’t look at him.

“I asked the steward about the crest we saw. The arc.”

Still, I said nothing.

“It’s the Arcendale crest.”

The name stirred nothing in me.

“Belongs to the Vale family.”

Now that was familiar.

“There are three brothers,” he continued. “The eldest—Lord Arcendale—is something of a recluse. Poor health, apparently. The youngest, Henry, is disreputable. Gambles, drinks. Known to take liberties with the staff.”

My fingers curled into the folds of my skirt.

H.V.

The fine linen handkerchief I’d found tucked in Elsie’s belongings at St. Agnes had those initials. And now we had a name—Henry Vale. He had to be the one. The seducer. The reason Elsie’s life had been snuffed out without a second thought.

I forced my voice to stay level. “And the middle son?” I asked, although I already knew.

“Nathaniel. A botanist. Polished. Reserved. The steward says he dines at the club now and then.”

I could have told Steele I knew Nathaniel Vale. That he’d dined at Rosehaven House. That he’d stood beside me just days ago, explaining a diagram of hybrid blooms. But I was still furious—from the alley, from the kiss, from the way he presumed to handle me.

He studied me for a beat, then added quietly, “Perhaps your brother’s familiar with him. You should ask.”

His olive branch was clear enough. But I turned back to the window, offering no reply.

The silence pressed in again, heavier than before.

When we arrived at Rosehaven House, Steele helped me down from the cab as if we hadn’t just argued in a grimy alley. As if he hadn’t pressed me to a wall and stolen my breath away. As if he hadn’t—blast him—kissed me. Worst of all, he’d shattered our one clear chance to discover who killed Elsie.

I didn’t speak to him. Didn’t look at him. When the front door closed behind me, I marched upstairs with my chin held high and murder in my heart.

I bathed and dressed for dinner without fuss, choosing a navy blue gown I’d worn countless times before.

It was practical, modest, a spinster’s choice.

I didn’t think about how it set off the copper in my hair or brought out the blue in my eyes.

I wasn’t dressing to impress. I wasn’t in the hunt.

I only wanted to slip into the evening unnoticed and unchallenged.

The drawing room had other plans.

I entered quietly—and stopped short.

Nathaniel Vale had returned.

He stood in the drawing room beside Cosmos, deep in conversation over a book of botanical drawings. I took one look at him and knew I’d been handed a gift.

Wrapped in velvet. Tied with a ribbon. Served on a silver platter.

I was still considering how best to approach him when Chrissie burst in like a breeze of spring air.

“There you are,” she said in a low tone, linking her arm through mine. Her smile was all mischief and urgency. “You missed quite the spectacle.”

“Chrissie,” I hissed under my breath, catching the glance Nathaniel cast our way before returning to his conversation. “Lower your voice.”

She pressed her lips together in mock contrition, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Steele came calling this afternoon. During at-home hours.”

My stomach jolted. “Did you tell him where I’d gone?”

“How could I? You didn’t say.”

“That’s true.” I allowed. But somehow Steele had figured it out. “Was Claire in attendance?”

“Oh, yes. As soon as I received word you would be delayed, I sent for her.” Chrissie went on. “Lord Sefton dropped by, too. But he barely glanced my way.” She pouted. “Why bother coming if he wasn’t going to speak to me?”

I could think of a reason or two.

“But never mind him. There we were—twenty ladies at least, a whole flock of suitors hanging on my every word. And then, like a bolt from Olympus, he arrived.”

“Steele.”

She nodded, eyes wide with delight. “Right in the middle of tea. Every conversation stopped. Every fan stilled. It was delicious.”

“I’m sure it was,” I said dryly.

“He made it quite clear he’d come looking for you. And after he left? That was all anyone could talk about. Mrs. Langston nearly swooned. And Lady Yarmouth said?—”

“Let them talk,” I interrupted.

Chrissie blinked. “Aren’t you the least bit?—?”

“No.” I cut her off with a smile I didn’t allow to reach my eyes. “I’m tired of trying to live a life shaped by society’s expectations when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

But even as I said it, the kiss rose in my mind—unbidden and vivid. The heat of it. The pressure of his hands. The maddening thrum beneath my skin.

I shoved the memory down, straightened my spine, and crossed the room toward Nathaniel Vale. It was time to play the part of a woman intrigued by a quiet, scholarly gentleman—never mind that someone in his family might be guilty of murder.

He and Cosmos didn’t notice me at first—too absorbed in a debate about leaf structure or petal symmetry, I couldn’t tell which. I let the silence stretch just long enough for them to feel it.

Cosmos looked up first. “Ah—Rosalynd. You remember Nathaniel?”

“Of course.” I offered a curtsy and a practiced smile, as if I were genuinely delighted to see him. “Doctor Vale. A pleasure to see you again.”

He bowed. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Rosalynd.”

Cosmos stepped aside, gesturing to the spread of intricate floral drawings on the escritoire. “Nathaniel brought these from Kew. Fascinating specimens.”

“I’m sure they are,” I said, before turning to Vale. “I didn’t realize you were joining us for dinner.”

“I hope it’s not an imposition.”

“Not at all.” I lowered my lashes, then looked up at him again—slowly, deliberately. “I hope the city’s been treating you well.”

His gaze swept over me—subtle, assessing, not quite indifferent. “As kindly as I could wish,” he said, warmth slipping into his voice.

I turned to the desk, letting my fingers hover above the drawings, careful not to touch. The sketches were precise—blossoms and stems rendered in clean ink lines, each labeled in an elegant hand.

“These are exquisite,” I murmured. “Are they recent discoveries?”

Vale’s expression shifted slightly, pride flickering beneath the surface. “Some are hybrids of my own design. The others are coastal specimens forced to thrive in rocky soil and salt-laden winds. They’ve been refined through careful selection. Only the hardiest survive.”

“Resilience,” I said softly, “is an admirable trait.”

He inclined his head, eyes gleaming. “But it’s not enough to endure. True strength lies in refinement—eliminating what weakens the line. Only then can something reach its full potential.”

Cosmos chuckled. “Don’t let her modesty fool you. Rosalynd knows more about botany than she lets on.”

I laughed, lightly. “I wouldn’t call it expertise. I just like to know what’s growing around me.”

Vale studied me more closely now. I met his gaze without flinching, allowing just a hint of intrigue to rise behind my expression.

“I imagine your work brings you into contact with all sorts of rare varieties,” I said. “Some requiring delicate care. Others that might prove . . . unexpectedly dangerous.” I tilted my head slightly, smile still in place. “I should very much like to hear more.”

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, perhaps. Or was it something else?

Dinner passed along a similar vein.

I sat beside Vale, feigning interest in every word that dropped from his mouth. Pollination cycles. Soil acidity. Crossbred cultivars. I nodded, smiled, asked thoughtful questions, and even made a wry observation about root rot that earned a small, surprised laugh from him.

I had him.

Or at least, I had his attention.

Chrissie watched me with growing suspicion.

Not alarmed, but intrigued. Her eyes narrowed slightly every time I leaned in just a little too attentively.

Once, when Vale described the natural defenses of a certain flowering shrub, I murmured something about how useful such defenses could be in a hostile environment. Chrissie nearly choked on her soup.

I kept my smile polite and my posture perfect.

After the meal, Chrissie took her place at the pianoforte, choosing a slow waltz and playing it softly—just enough to give the illusion of background charm while allowing her eyes to flick discreetly in my direction.

Cosmos, predictably, returned to the floral drawings at the escritoire, already lost to the world of stamens and root systems.

I turned to his guest with a pleasant smile. “Would you walk with me a moment, Doctor Vale?”

He glanced toward Chrissie, then nodded. “Of course, Lady Rosalynd.”

We crossed to the far side of the drawing room near the tall windows, where the firelight didn’t quite reach and the shadows granted us a semblance of privacy.

“I hope you won’t think me too forward,” I began, “but I’ve always found family structures fascinating since I come from quite a large one myself.”

He nodded, folding his hands behind his back. “You’re fortunate in your siblings. There are only three brothers in mine.”

“And where do you fall in that group?”

“In the middle,” he said. “My younger brother Henry lives with me. The eldest, Algernon . . . well, he’s not been in the best health for some time. The doctors don’t expect him to make old bones. He lives in our Sussex estate.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Nathaniel shrugged faintly. “We’ve all made our peace with it. When the time comes, I expect I’ll inherit the title—and the Arcendale estate along with it.”

“I see.” I let just the right note of warmth color my voice. “That’s quite a responsibility.”

He looked at me then—properly. “It is. But I was raised to manage it.”

There it was. A flicker of interest. Not only in the subject but in me.

I tilted my head gently. “Are there any ladies in the family? Sisters? Or cousins perhaps?”

“No sisters or cousins,” he said. “But our aunt, Harriet, lives with us. She’s been with the family since we were children.”

“How lovely,” I said, carefully. “It must be a comfort to have someone with such . . . continuity.”

His expression softened. “She’s a force of nature. Keeps the house running. Keeps us from killing one another.”

I laughed lightly. “Every household needs someone like that.”

He smiled in return.

I smiled back, hiding the sharp turn of my thoughts behind the soft curve of my lips.

Harriet Vale.

Now we were getting somewhere. The note that had lured Elsie to her death had come from her. I was sure of it.

Just as I was about to ask more—perhaps something innocuous that might lead to something useful—Cosmos’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Nathaniel, can I trouble you for a moment? There’s a detail in this drawing that’s puzzling me. Is that Ranunculus asiaticus, or have you hybridized it with something else? The root structure looks completely off.”

Nathaniel turned, visibly reluctant. “Naturally,” he said, then glanced at me with a faint smile. “Excuse me, Lady Rosalynd.”

“Of course,” I replied, returning the smile with perfect ease. “Duty calls.”

He crossed the room to join Cosmos, bending over the drawing once more. The moment was lost.

Chrissie’s waltz had shifted into something slower, something wistful. I watched her hands drift across the keys, her eyes fixed nowhere at all. The spell of the evening was unraveling.

Not long after, Nathaniel Vale gathered his drawings and brushed a hand over the front of his coat, smoothing the fabric with unconscious precision.

“I should take my leave,” he said to the room at large—but his gaze settled on me. “Lady Rosalynd . . .”

I turned to him, lifting my brows with polite curiosity.

“If I may be so bold, would you permit me to escort you to Kew Gardens tomorrow? I’ve cultivated a few hybrids I believe you might enjoy.”

I let the barest flicker of surprised pleasure touch my lips. “I would be delighted, Doctor Vale.”

“Kew Gardens? Tomorrow?” Cosmos had apparently been listening in. “I’ve been meaning to see that new specimen from Madagascar—the one with the purple bracts.” His eyes lit with interest. “I told Lady Edmunds about it last week.” He grinned. “Perhaps we can make a party of it.”

“Of course, Cosmos,” I said, casting an apologetic smile toward Vale, as if we were sharing a private understanding.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Vale said, bowing slightly. “Shall we say noon? We can meet at the main gate.”

“That would be splendid.”

His bow was formal, his smile anything but. “Until then.”

When the door closed behind him, I exhaled slowly. My spine stayed straight. My smile remained intact.

But behind my composed exterior, plans were already forming.