Page 9 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke (Notorious Sisters of London #3)

Chapter Nine

“ E mma, watch out!” A concerned voice drew her attention moments before she felt a strong, firm hand grip her wrist and pull her to the side.

Strong arms wrapped around her just as a man, carrying a stack of three wooden crates wider than he was, barreled through.

She was so stunned at the near-miss that it took her a second to realize that Donovan had grabbed her and pulled her close against his chest. She tried to thank him but stuttered and blushed profusely.

The London streets, which looked choked and chaotic from the inside of the carriage, now seemed to be a new place altogether.

There were crowds and chaos still, but in Emma’s eyes there was a flow to it.

Everyone was moving with intent, and if you integrated yourself into that flow you moved with surprising ease.

Stop paying attention, and you were likely to be run over by a delivery man or merchant.

Emma had to be saved from a man carrying more boxes than allowed him clear sight because she had been distracted by a shipment of passing colorful fabrics on a cart.

“Just try and be careful. Londoners are a lot of things, but unfortunately “observant” and “considerate” are not high on their list of traits,” Donovan warned and gestured for her to follow him closely.

The first place they visited in their investigation was the business of a tailor and haberdashery.

The building appeared to be closer to a factory than a shop, but it was more likely something in between.

When they walked in, they were greeted by a cheery, portly gentleman who was finely, but humbly dressed.

“Good day to you, My Lord, My Lady,” the shop man said with a smile, “My name is Mr. Nott. What can I get for you this fine day?”

Donovan cursed inwardly. It was going to be harder to obfuscate his title then he previously thought.

Before he could say anything, Emma stepped in to correct.

“Thank you for your offer of help, sir, but you are mistaken. We are not of titled land. I am Miss Bradford, and this is an investigator in my employ, Mr. Connor.”

Mr. Nott gave Donovan a curious look. “Strange, as a point of business I make sure to know my faces. Thought I recognized you,” he said.

“My brother and I both share a resemblance; perhaps that is what you saw,” Donovan said dismissively.

The curious look on Mr. Nott’s face returned to one of polite cheerfulness. “Well then, all the same, here you are treated as a Lord and Lady would be,” he said with a laugh.

“That is appreciated very much,” Emma assured the shopkeeper, “but we are here in regard to other matters.” She glanced over to Donovan, encouraging him to take the reins of the conversation.

“Yes, you said your name was Mr. Nott?” Donovan asked, flipping through the notes he and Emma had put together. “Am I mistaken to assume that you are Mr. Andrew Nott, owner of Nott’s Fine Wear?”

“That’s me, proudly the one and only,” Mr. Nott confirmed.

“And you had contracted the services of a solicitor, a Mr. Benjamin Bradford?” Donovan followed up.

“Yes, I did. And I am sorry to say that I’ll tell you what I told Mr. Bradford’s apprentice. I didn’t see him two days ago,” Mr. Nott said confidently.

“Thank you for reiterating that. Could I ask you a few more questions?” Donovan continued without looking up from his notes.

“I don’t see why not,” Mr. Nott shrugged.

“What was the nature of your business?” Donovan inquired.

“Relatively small matter. I have to deal with a lot of fur traders. Normally, I don't draw up contracts; I like to keep my business simple. But with the traders spending half of their time in the colonies, I thought it wiser to get their promises to me legally established. So, I hired Mr. Bradford to draw up that contract, which he did, and I have kept him on my retainer for consultation on matters of similarly legal nature.” Mr. Nott’s explanation was simple and straightforward.

“And do you believe that anyone would want to harm Mr. Bradford as a result of his dealings with you? One of your competitors or the like?”

Mr. Nott seemed to think it over for a moment before shaking his head. “The fur traders were happy with the deal they received, and even my most contemptuous competitors would gain nothing from attacking my solicitor.”

Donovan seemed to think for a moment before nodding and tucking his small bit of charcoal and notebook into the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Nott. That will be all for now. If I have any other questions, I will come back.” He turned to Emma. “Shall we move on with our list?”

Emma nodded and followed him closely back onto the busy street.

“It wasn’t him, was it?” Emma asked.

“I don’t believe so. Everything he said added up,” Donovan remarked.

“What if he was lying?” Emma asked, this framed as a question but not an accusation.

“Did it seem like he was?” Donovan’s words were framed much the same way. They were feeling one another out, getting to know what the other saw.

“No…” she said, her voice fairly confident. “Suppose he doesn’t have much to gain all things considered.”

“No, not really.” He shook his head again. “Though, an investigation isn’t just finding clues and making accusations. It's about eliminating possibilities until only one solution remains.”

Emma nodded, taking the information in.

“So,” Donovan continued, “we make our way to the next stop on our list.”

“Okay, wait, I am bit muddled. What are you here for again?” The elderly man who sat across from them asked with a confused look on his face.

“You have enlisted the services of a Mr. Bradford.” Donovan said with a frustrated sigh, “and his family, in particular his sister Miss Bradford here,” Donovan added while gesturing to Emma who sat next to him, “have been unable to locate him. I was wondering if you perhaps have any insight into where he could have gone.”

“I understand that. I just don’t know why anyone would kidnap a blueberry salesman. I know they aren’t exactly easy to come by, but it’s just a fruit.” The old man shook his head sadly. “What has the world come to?”

Donovan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Emma’s face seemed to struggle on deciding between a giggle and frown, so it settled in an awkward expression in between.

“As I have explained, Mr. Gesett, Mr. Bradford is a solicitor, not a fruit salesman.”

The confused look returned to the man’s face. He looked down at the paperwork in front of him again.

“Lidia!” Mr. Gesett shouted suddenly, causing Donovan and Emma to jump. “Lidia, bring me my spectacles. I can’t read these darn notes.”

A younger lady, likely Mr. Gesetts daughter, came into the office from the front shop area and handed the older man some reading spectacles that seemed to have been well used.

As the man cleaned his glasses before putting them on, Lidia leaned in to read the paper.

“They said they are looking for Mr. Bradford, our solicitor, not Mr. Brodfield.” She glanced up at the two guests, “Mr. Brodfield supplies our overseas produce.”

“I see,” Donovan said, not thinking it wise to say much more. Since Mr. Gesett was still squinting at the paperwork, despite the spectacles, the investigator decided to ask his questions to the one person who had managed to give them sensible answers, Lidia.

“Do you know what business he had here the other day?” Donovan asked the younger woman.

“We had a dispute we needed to resolve with a dye supplier over the wording of a contract. Mr. Bradford came to evaluate and resolve things to everyone's satisfaction, which was done. Mr. Bradford left in good spirits, and I don’t think we noticed anything strange.”

Donovan gave a gruff thanks, off-put by the difficulty of the situation. He was given pause when Emma stopped and expressed great gratitude for the woman’s help.

“Even if we don’t have the answers we need, each answer we get brings us one step closer to my brother. Thank you.”

Donovan was left speechless at the humility of this woman and thought it might be good for him to take a bit of that into himself. He thanked Lidia again, succinctly but politely this time. She had helped them, after all.

Donovan was unsurprised to find that each of the remaining dozen or so contacts yielded little information or less. It was clear that Benjamin did most of his business with moderately successful businessmen, but none who made enough money to warrant anything malicious, as far as he could tell.

Despite spotting a few names that could have outed his true identity, Donovan was not willing to compromise the investigation to preserve his lie.

He was, of course, oblivious to the irony that his being an investigator was part of that lie.

Twice the people being met were house workers who had made deliveries to his estate.

One was even the nephew of his chef, but the blissfully dense boy didn’t recognize him.

Still, with each heart thumping rise, he pressed on.

The hardest part of it all wasn’t the investigation or the questioning.

Truth be told, Donovan had been looking into the deaths of his parents for most of his adulthood, so the circumstance was almost refreshing given that there might be a chance to help the living.

No, the hardest part was watching Emma’s face fall each time they left a questioning without any new leads.

He didn’t think she misunderstood the circumstances or chances; her disappointment was rooted purely in the diminishing hopes of quickly finding her brother.

Donovan had told himself that he did this out of obligation to a friend.

That this had nothing to do with the kiss they shared or the emotions he felt were spurred.

Rather his friend needed his help, but each time he looked her way, he could not help but see that beauty that captivated him the first time they ever met.

He wanted her…. Even if his logical mind knew that this was not the way to her heart, that saving her brother was no way to indebt her to him. Still, even if he knew it in his head, his pining soul pressed into further action. He needed to have her close, to feel her close, within arm’s reach.

“I was hoping,” she turned and said to him suddenly, “that we would have luck on this first day.”

“It rarely goes as we hope it does,” he said apologetically.

“True, but my brother would have been able to provide you payment for your services, and I have no access to funds. I did not intend to ask you to work for free,” she spoke haltingly, clearly embarrassed by the circumstances.

“I wasn’t expecting payment at all,” he told her, keeping his voice neutral as not to embarrass her.

“What? No! I cannot expect you to perform your services without compensation,” she said insistently.

But Donovan shook his head again. “Are we not friends? This is something I want to do for a friend.” Then he added, to make sure that his lies did not earn him false pity or false humility, “I am not in need of money; there is no great sacrifice in my assisting you, don’t worry.”

“Oh, that's good then,” she said quietly and uncertainly.

“I think,” Donovan said while looking towards the smoke-laced London sunset, “it would be best to call it a day from here. We will renew the search for your brother in the morning.”

“I suppose that makes sense. But from where Mr. Connor? We have no leads.” The tone in her voice made Donovan think she was hopeful that he had a quick answer, so he came up with a quick answer to provide relief to that pretty face of hers.

“We will, unfortunately, have to talk to some more unsavory characters. People who might know if Benjamin had any run-ins with the criminal underbelly of London,” Donovan said, thinking of his words as he spoke them.

“You know people like that?” she gasped.

“I may. Having to find those people is essential to the job of an investigator,” he said hushedly, “as unseemly as it may be.”

“Well, I will be nervous tomorrow, but if it means finding my brother, then I will go with you,” she said, reassuring herself as well as him.

He laughed lightly to himself and nodded. “If you insist. Come along, let's get you back to the apartment.”