Page 16 of The Spinster's Resolve

G race hesitated. No man had ever entered her bedchamber before. A rebellious part of her urged her to be bold, and she stepped aside, opening the door wider to allow him entry.

As he crossed the threshold, the room seemed to shrink, his presence filling every corner. A rush of excitement and nervousness washed over her, but she remained frozen, unsure of how to proceed. Mr Stone appeared equally uncertain, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, breaking the silence, he glanced around and remarked, ‘This looks like a comfortable room.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she replied awkwardly. Then, after a brief pause, she added, ‘How are you?’

He turned to her swiftly, his expression softening at her concern. ‘I am well, thank you.’

Another silence fell between them, thick with unspoken words. His gaze lingered on her face, as though he wished to say something but was unsure how. Grace gestured towards the seating area.

Once they were seated, the tension in the room eased—if only slightly. Grace cleared her throat, attempting to regain her composure.

‘What happened afterwards?’ Her voice trembled as she whispered, ‘Was she...’ The words caught in her throat. She could not bring herself to ask if Melissa’s body had been found as well.

Mr Stone, understanding, shook his head. ‘The book you gave her was all we found. I believe she witnessed the murder and was taken by the killer.’

Relief mingled with dread. Melissa was alive—at least for now.

Her faith in the local authorities was shattered. They would do nothing to investigate Gibbs’s murder or search for the missing girls. She could only hope that Mr Stone would persist.

Mr Stone shifted on the sofa and exhaled. ‘Jimmy rounded up some men to move the body, and the constable eventually came to examine him. There were multiple stab wounds in his back—no defensive wounds on his hands, arms, or chest. The constable ruled it a robbery.’

Grace frowned. ‘But why would he dismount from his horse unless he was meeting someone?’

Mr Stone’s lips quirked in admiration. ‘Precisely. You have hit the nail on the head yet again, Miss Skye. His wounds suggest he was taken by surprise, likely by someone he knew and trusted. And given what we know about the constable, it is safe to assume he is not a reliable investigator.’

His approving eye lingered a little too long, trailing down her face before dropping lower. A strange, exhilarating tension crackled in the air between them. She shifted in her seat, heat creeping up her neck. She forced herself to focus and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

‘Perhaps this was the place he arranged to meet Averton,’ she suggested.

Mr Stone reached into his coat and pulled out a small gold pocket watch, placing it in her hands. The intricate design on the cover was exquisite, but the chain was broken. Grace flipped it open, her brow furrowing as she read the engraving inside:

What does not kill us makes us stronger.

She raised an eyebrow, awaiting an explanation.

‘Jimmy and I found this watch clutched in Gibbs’s hand,’ he explained. ‘I am confident it broke off from the killer’s chain.’

‘How do you know it doesn’t belong to Mr Gibbs?’

‘Because he was already wearing a pocket watch. I questioned Taylor as soon as I returned, and he swears he has never seen this one before. Taylor was the only one permitted inside Gibbs’s quarters, so he would know. The constable, of course, was uninterested. He assumed it belonged to Gibbs, but I find it highly unlikely that a man would carry two pocket watches.’

Grace nodded. ‘If this pocket watch belongs to the killer, then he must be a man of wealth,’ she reasoned. ‘Not many men around here own something like this, and I doubt anyone in the village has the skill to craft it. It looks like something made by London watchmakers.’

Mr Stone drew closer, his shoulder almost touching hers, a delicate shiver ghosted over her skin. ‘There’s something else. Look here...’ He pointed to the back cover of the watch. Grace noted a coat of arms engraved there.

‘This is the Averton family crest.’

A soft gasp escaped her before she could stop it. She traced the delicate engraving over the cold metal with her finger. ‘This means an Averton was there. Do you think Averton could be the murderer?’

Mr Stone’s expression darkened. ‘The watch could have been gifted to someone else—we mustn’t jump to conclusions. But since it is likely Gibbs was meeting an Averton, it is a strong lead. I will make enquiries with London watchmakers. It may lead us to our culprit.’

‘If Averton did kill Gibbs, wouldn’t that put the Duke in danger? There could be a murderer among his family.’

Mr Stone’s grim silence told her he had already considered this.

‘We must determine which Averton we are dealing with and why. Gibbs’s associates in London may know more. I have a plan to find them. Taylor will accompany me to identify them.’

‘What about the constable and magistrate? Perhaps they know more about the smuggling operation and which Averton is behind this?’

‘I have written to the Bow Street Runners. They will investigate the constable and magistrate—perhaps they know more—but I doubt Averton would risk revealing himself to a couple of unknown locals. It is far more likely that only Gibbs and his men knew his true identity.’

He hesitated. ‘Do you think we could speak to your cousin? He might know which Averton he recommended Gibbs to. Could you write to him or perhaps ask him to visit?’

Grace winced. ‘I will write to him.’ She dreaded the task, but more important things were at stake. ‘What about Madame Jacqueline’s establishments? I suspect we will find the missing girls there.’

Mr Stone paused, pain crossing his features. ‘I do not want to give you false hope, but finding the girls will be difficult. These places are well hidden, and the girls are moved frequently to avoid detection. They only admit a select clientele, and entry requires vetting by other members. But I have a contact who may help us. It will take time—perhaps even weeks.’

Grace was stricken. What state would the poor girls be in if they even managed to find them? A leaden knot of unease curled beneath her ribs, refusing to loosen.

Mr Stone laid a warm, steady hand over hers—an oddly comforting gesture. His eyes held hers, strong and sure.

‘We will find them,’ he said firmly.

She believed him.

Then, steadying herself, she added, ‘More importantly, we must warn the Duke.’

A ghost of a smile touched Mr Stone’s lips. ‘Lord Armitage has already been informed. But secrecy is paramount to our investigation. There is no telling who else is involved. We simply cannot afford to tip off the real killer. No one else in his family must know of this.’

Grace nodded.

Reaching into his coat once more, he pulled out a small iron key and placed it in her palm.

Grace instantly recognised it—the safe key. He must have taken it from Gibbs’s body.

‘I opened the safe,’ he said. ‘Inside was a large sum of money—far more than could be accounted for by legitimate means. There was also a substantial amount of opium. These parties must have been a front for distributing their goods. It explains how Gibbs maintained Lord Armitage’s expected rental income despite his heavy gambling debts.’

She barely had time to absorb his words before he stood to leave. Instinctively, she rose too, following him to the door.

He turned abruptly, and before she could react, she collided into his chest.

A startled gasp escaped her lips. Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadying her.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She tried to pull away, but his grip remained firm—gentle, but unyielding.

She looked up, her breath hitching. His hazel eyes burned into hers—searching, intense.

The silence stretched between them, taut and charged.

His voice was husky when he finally spoke.

‘I wanted to thank you, Grace. You have been invaluable to me these past few weeks. I only wish I had known you sooner. There is a powerful calmness and tranquillity I feel when you are near.’

A heady frisson of pleasure coursed through her, making her pulse dance.

Before she could respond, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Then, as abruptly as he had touched her, he stepped back and walked out.

Everything had changed.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, wide awake, knowing she would not sleep for a second night in a row.

But this time, it was not fear or grief that kept her mind racing.

It was hope.

With a jolt, she realized that he had seen her face without her spectacles and had called her Grace. For the first time, she dared to believe that Mr Stone might feel the same way she did. In that moment she resolved to stop hiding behind her disguise, and drop the wall of defence surrounding her heart, she decided it was time to confessher feelings.

THE NEXT MORNING, GRACE felt jittery at the thought of facing Mr Stone in her true form. Heather and Mrs Merriweather, though surprised that Grace had come downstairs without her usual disguise, were pleased with her decision. She explained what had happened with Gibbs and recounted Mr Stone’s findings.

Hoping to find Mr Stone in the breakfast room, she was disappointed to discover he was absent. When she asked Penny of his whereabouts, she informed Grace that he had left at the crack of dawn for London, taking Taylor with him. Grace entered the study, annoyed with Penny, S he must be mistaken, he did not mention this the night before. It was then that she noticed a letter on his desk, addressed to her.

Dear Miss Skye,

I trust you slept well. After our discussion last night, I felt it imperative not to delay making formal enquiries at the places I mentioned. Please feel free to use the funds in the safe, where I have also left some documents.

I place the upkeep of Skye in your trust, confident that you will continue the work we have started together. I hope to return by the end of the week. In my absence, please be cautious.

Yours,

Gabriel Stone

Grace stared at the letter, rereading the words, but they blurred before her eyes. He had left at dawn. Without a word. Without even saying goodbye. A deep ache took root in her chest, growing heavier with every passing moment. Had she imagined the moment they had shared last night? The warmth in his voice, the way he had called her Grace, the lingering press of his lips against her forehead—had that all meant nothing to him?

You foolish girl , she scolded herself. Of course, he had more important matters to tend to. What was she expecting? That he would stay for her? That he might feel the same pull in his heart that she did?

Shame and disappointment curled in her stomach. She had allowed herself to hope, and hope had betrayed her.

Grace exhaled sharply. Perhaps he wasn’t as eager as I was to see him. She silently berated herself for indulging in such foolish, romantic notions. Of course, he left. Why wouldn’t he? She was just Miss Skye to him—helpful, useful, convenient. A woman who could handle the Estate books while he chased down criminals in London. A woman he could leave behind with a short, polite note.

She scoffed under her breath, folding the letter with deliberate care. If he thought she would sit here and wait for his return like some lovesick fool, he was sorely mistaken.

Shaking off the disappointment, she occupied herself in the study throughout the morning before deciding to join Heather, who was practising with the dance master.

FOR THE NEXT THREE days, she threw herself into work to keep her mind from dwelling on Mr Stone’s absence. She visited the tenants and, to her surprise, was nearing the end of her duties. The accounts were now up to date, every tenant had been seen, and she had even begun arranging for necessary repairs.

With a pang, she closed the ledger, realising that once Mr Stone returned, he would no longer need her assistance.

A wave of melancholy settled over her, but she refused to indulge in it. It was always going to end like this.

Needing a distraction, she decided to ride back to the cottage to check on Johnson, who had remained behind to oversee the property.

As she stepped inside, Johnson cracked a rare smile.

‘How are you, Miss Grace? It’s been awful quiet here since you left. When will you all be coming back?’

Grinning, Grace greeted him. ‘Not yet, Johnson. I was just missing this place and wanted to make sure you hadn’t burned it down!’

He chuckled. ‘I’m glad you’re back, even if it’s only temporary. By the way, I was going to bring some letters to you, but my arthritis has been acting up in this cold weather. Wait here while I fetch them.’

‘Have you taken the solution the doctor prescribed?’ she asked, concern lacing her tone.

‘No, I hate that stuff—tastes vile!’ he replied sheepishly.

Clicking her tongue, she fetched the medicine and made him take it.

‘You know it works, Johnson,’ she admonished gently.

He nodded grudgingly. ‘I suppose you’re right, Miss Grace,’ he muttered, secretly pleased that someone cared enough to fuss over him.

Charlotte usually wrote regularly, her letters filled with the latest gossip from London’s ton , much to the delight of both Skye sisters. But this time, Charlotte had been unusually silent. There had been no way of reaching her—she had never provided an address.

As Grace glanced at the letters Johnson handed her, she realised all three bore incorrect addresses. No wonder I have not heard from her! They had been redirected, arriving all at once.

Eagerly, she tore open the first letter.

At first, it was filled with Charlotte’s usual dramatic flair, and Grace read it with a smile. The writing desk that Jimmy and Grace had designed was a success, and Charlotte’s friends were all clamouring to know where they could acquire one. Charlotte even suggested they start a business together when she returned.

Grace chuckled. Leave it to Charlotte to make such an outrageous suggestion. Her mother would have a fit if she went into trade.

Settling into her favourite chair with a steaming cup of tea, she opened the second letter. Her amusement quickly faded as she read the words:

I went to the Duke of Sommer’s residence today to visit my friend and was shocked to learn that the Duke of Armitage has passed away. He died in his sleep a week ago.

Panic seized Grace as she checked the date of Charlotte’s letter. It had been written two weeks before Mr Stone arrived at Skye Manor. Charlotte must be mistaken. Hurriedly, she continued reading.

The news came while I was enquiring about Mr Gibbs and the Armitage family. The Duke of Sommer’s daughter, Jane, who is closely acquainted with the family, told me they were devastated. It was so unexpected.

The heir died in a carriage accident six months ago, and the second son—the new Duke—is abroad. The family has sent for him, but it will take at least a month for him to return. London eagerly awaits his arrival. Until then, it seems Mr Gibbs will remain in his post. I can’t imagine the new Duke concerning himself with Skye Manor, at least not immediately. He will have far greater matters to attend to.

I will keep both my eyes and ears open for more information.

Your loving friend, etc.

Reeling, Grace quickly tore open the third letter.

Dearest Grace,

I have the most alarming news—please keep this to yourself, as I have received it in the strictest confidence from Jane.

The Armitage family suspects foul play in the deaths of both the late Duke and his eldest son! They are keeping it quiet for now, which is why the news has not made the London papers. They have hired Bow Street Runners to conduct a discreet investigation. The prime suspect is the Duke’s man of business, who has vanished—along with some of the family heirlooms. The search for him continues, but please, dear Grace, be careful.

Do not meet with Mr Gibbs under any circumstances. There is a strong chance he was involved in the plot.

To make matters worse, the heir apparent is missing! He was due to arrive by now, but there has been no sign of him. No letters, no word. The family—especially his sister and younger brother—are distraught. Jane does her best to comfort them, but even she is beginning to lose hope of seeing her fiancé again. (Oh! I may have forgotten to mention—Jane is engaged to the new Duke. Their families arranged the union.)

I will write again soon. Please, let me know how you have been faring these past weeks. You have been unusually quiet, and I am quite vexed that I have not received a single letter from you!

Your loving friend, etc.

The letter slipped from Grace’s trembling fingers, floating to the floor. Her heart pounded as her mind reeled. Foul play. A murdered Duke. A missing heir.

The implications crashed over her like a tidal wave. If the Duke had died before Mr Stone arrived at Skye Manor... then who was he working for?