Page 3 of A Whisper and a Curse (Raven & Wren #3)

T ilda pivoted in front of the mirror, surveying—to the best of her ability—the gown she’d just purchased.

As with the last two gowns she’d recently acquired, she’d bought this already made.

She’d even gone to the same shop where she’d found the others.

And, as with the others, this one had required a bit of alteration.

Mrs. Acorn, her grandmother’s housekeeper, had adjusted the first two gowns, but Tilda’s new, temporary maid, Clara, would take up the hem a half inch and tighten the bodice.

“You’re sure you can finish this by tonight?” Tilda asked the maid, who was just a year younger than Tilda’s twenty-five.

Clara nodded. “I’ll have it finished this afternoon, Miss Wren.”

“You must call me Tilda.”

The maid’s brown eyes flicked downward briefly. “You’ve been too kind, miss. I don’t know where I would be without you.”

The maid had worked for a former client—a woman whom Tilda had been helping in the matter of seeking a divorce.

The divorce had become moot when her husband had been murdered.

The widow, Beryl Chambers, had been left nearly destitute, and she’d been forced to return to her parents’ home outside London.

That had left Clara Hicks without employment.

And since she’d no family and not enough savings to lodge anywhere that was safe or clean, Tilda had welcomed her into the household temporarily, until Clara could find a new position.

It could not be permanent, no matter how much her grandmother said Tilda ought to have a maid. They simply did not have the household budget to support another mouth to feed. Especially not after they’d so recently taken on a butler they didn’t need.

Vaughn had worked for Tilda’s grandfather’s cousin, who’d been murdered several weeks ago.

He was past seventy and hunched, and there was no pension for him.

He’d been injured by the man responsible for Tilda’s grandfather’s cousin’s death and had recuperated here with them.

Then he’d simply taken up a post as their butler.

Two murders and two new members to their household. Tilda’s grandmother had joked that if Tilda solved another murder, they may find themselves with a footman or even a groom. Since they didn’t even own a vehicle, that would be ridiculous.

Taking on retainers on an already-thin household budget was also ridiculous. And yet here they were. Tilda was glad she had a new client.

Tilda changed from the gown for that evening into her gray dress, one of her two new day ensembles. After donning her hat, she grabbed her gloves and reticule and hurried downstairs. Hadrian would arrive shortly.

As she descended the stairs, she thought of her meeting with him and his mother the previous day. Indeed, it had occupied much of her thoughts, both because she was excited to begin her investigation and because she’d been concerned by Hadrian’s reaction to his mother’s request.

She understood his concern that his mother must not be disappointed by a fraudulent medium, but his assumption that Mrs. Frost would be a charlatan had surprised her. How could he not have even a shred of curiosity, given his own inexplicable abilities?

Spiritualism was quite popular, particularly amongst his class. Was he not aware of how many notable people attended séances?

There was a third thing on her mind since the day before—and for the past three weeks—and that was her relationship with Hadrian.

Things between them following the kiss in his coach had been strained.

They’d both apologized, but really Tilda was most at fault.

She’d made him think she might be amenable to a kiss, though that hadn’t been her intent.

She was woefully unskilled in matters of romance, nor did she wish to alter that.

Content to be a spinster, she had no plans to surrender her independence.

But she’d missed working with him and the friendship they’d developed. Hopefully, that would return, and things could go back to the way they were before the imprudent kiss.

“Is Clara working on your gown for this evening?” Grandmama asked as Tilda entered the parlor to await Hadrian’s arrival.

Her grandmother was seated at the small table drinking tea.

Petite, with snow-white hair and twinkling blue eyes, she was as dear to Tilda as her beloved departed father, which made sense because she was his mother.

“Yes, she says she’ll have it ready by this afternoon. Must I really wear the feather in my hair?” Tilda asked. Her grandmother had gone to the shop with her that morning and insisted Tilda needed a new pair of gloves and a feather headpiece that Clara would pin into her hair.

“You will look splendid,” her grandmother assured her. “Trust me.”

Tilda noted that Hadrian’s coach had stopped in front of the house.

His coachman, Leach, opened the door, and Hadrian stepped out.

He cut a fine figure with his hat and exquisitely tailored ensemble, not that Tilda could see the specifics from this distance through the window.

Still, in her experience, she’d never seen him look anything less than spectacular.

And it wasn’t simply his expensive, handsome clothing.

With his thick, dark-brown hair and deep-blue eyes, he was exceptionally attractive.

His features were those a sculptor might choose to copy—a square jaw, slightly fuller lips than one might expect on a man, and a strong, expressive brow.

The only imperfection was the slight bump in his nose, but, in her opinion, that added to his allure.

“Lord Ravenhurst has arrived?” Tilda’s grandmother asked, likely noting Tilda’s focus.

“Yes.” Tilda pulled on her gloves and moved toward the entrance hall.

“When are you going to ask him to tea again?”

After they’d finished their first case, she’d invited him for tea.

Since the kiss, however, she wasn’t sure doing so would be a good idea.

And yet, she also wanted to return to the friendship they’d enjoyed, so perhaps tea would help ease any awkwardness the kiss had wrought.

Still, Tilda didn’t need a reason to see him, for they would be working together on his mother’s case.

Clearly, she was thinking too much about this. “I will consider when it would be appropriate, Grandmama. For now, we must conduct our investigation.”

“Of course,” Grandmama said, though there was a flicker of disappointment in her expression.

Tilda was fairly certain her grandmother was nursing a dream in which Tilda wed the earl.

No, that wasn’t a dream. It was an impossibility.

Tilda could no more fill the role of countess than she’d be hired by Scotland Yard.

Vaughn shuffled to the door and opened it. “Good afternoon, my lord. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, Vaughn,” Hadrian said with a broad, genuine smile.

He was always kind to the members of Tilda’s household.

Indeed, he treated them as if they were friends too.

She’d seen him interact with his own staff in small amounts but wondered if his overall relationship with them was more friendly than she would have anticipated in an earl’s household.

She supposed she expected everyone in his class to behave more formally.

Hadrian turned his attention to Tilda’s grandmother. “Mrs. Wren, it’s always a delight to see you. I hope you are well.”

“Quite, my lord,” Grandmama replied warmly. “Tilda told me about your new investigation. I confess I wish I could attend the séance with you this evening.”

“Is that so?” Hadrian asked.

Tilda sensed a slight reticence in his query. He was firmly against spiritualism, it seemed.

“My friend, Harriet Richardson, attended a séance a couple of months ago and was most enthusiastic about the experience. She said the medium moved an object on the table, whilst it was tipping to and fro.” Grandmama grinned. “I should like to see that.”

“That does indeed sound extraordinary,” Hadrian said without any of the zeal Tilda’s grandmother displayed.

“We should be on our way,” Tilda said, both because she was eager to begin her investigation and to spare Hadrian further discussion. Tilda bussed her grandmother’s cheek and preceded Hadrian from the house whilst Vaughn held the door.

As they walked toward the coach, Hadrian asked, “Where are we going?”

“The London Spiritualism Society has a headquarters located in Cadogan Place.”

“In Belgravia?” Hadrian asked, sounding incredulous.

“You think such an establishment should not be located in such an esteemed area?”

“I’m merely surprised,” he said flatly.

She approached Leach where he stood holding the door to the coach for her. “Good afternoon, Miss Wren. I’m glad to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Leach. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Indeed, miss.”

“We’re going to number thirty Cadogan Place,” Tilda said.

Leach nodded before helping her up the steps into the coach.

Tilda hesitated briefly. Hadrian had always encouraged her to sit in the forward-facing seat.

And he’d sat opposite her. At some point, they’d begun sharing the forward-facing seat—right up until the blasted kiss which had happened on that very seat.

Perhaps that was why Tilda was wavering as to where she should sit.

Aware that she was likely taking too long to situate herself and not wanting to discuss the matter, she sat on the forward-facing seat and pressed herself as far against the opposite side of the coach as possible to make room for him.

Her deliberation had been unnecessary, for Hadrian sat opposite her.

She was at once relieved and disappointed.

Whilst she’d hoped for a return to their warm friendship, during which they’d often shared the same seat, she understood why that may not be possible.

Her disappointment made her realize she wanted it to be possible.