Page 23 of Anything But a Duke
So he’d hired more investigators and their work had led him here. Waiting, once again, in the dark outside an aristocrat’s back garden.
He clenched his hands into fists for warmth and considered battering the kitchen door. It was far more notice than he wished to attract and yet he had no desire to waste the evening in a pointless vigil either.
In business, he traded in commodities—iron and steel, textiles and grain. But he’d learned long ago that time was the most precious commodity.
Of late, it felt as if his time was running out. Or at least that his past was catching up. Guilt gnawed with teeth that were sharper each day.
Perhaps it was the prospect of wedlock that spurred the need. The thought of children and the legacy he’d leave behind ironically made him look backward. If he didn’t face his past now, he sensed it would forever haunt his future.
Light shifted behind curtains in the kitchen windows, and the squeak of a door hinge indicated someone had emerged from the house. Aidan could make out nothing through the drizzle until the glow of a single lantern lit the darkness, a circle of light that bobbed and swayed as the old woman approached.
“Mrs. Tuttle?”
“That I am, sir.” She came close and held up her lamp as she gaped at him. “You must be Iverson.”
Even in the dim light, she seemed determined to see him. To study him.
A flare of hope burned behind his ribs. He held his breath.
“You reckon you’re Mary’s son, sir?”
“Investigator Reeves said you knew her. And her children.” Aidan scanned the woman’s face as eagerly as she examined his, but it was futile. Even if they’d met long ago, he’d been but a boy.
“Knew Mary well, I did. Met the boy twice. Held the youngest child when she was just a babe.”
“Where did you meet them?” Aidan leaned closer and the woman stepped back in alarm. “Any details you have, Mrs. Tuttle, I’m willing to pay.” Sliding a hand inside his overcoat, he withdrew a pile of banknotes far enough for her to see the white of the paper.
“Detective Reeves said you’re a rich man.” The old woman fluttered a hand at the high neck of her black servant’s uniform. “But there’s more to consider than coin.”
“How much do you want?” Aidan understood negotiation, but there was no time for flimflam now. He’d pay the old woman a fortune if it meant he could learn the truth and find some measure of peace.
“She left the earl’s employ in 1817. Took a room in Lambeth.”
“Lambeth?” The same riverside district where he’d spent his childhood. “And she said her surname was Iverson? You’re certain?”
Aidan had no clear memories of his parents. His first and ugliest memories were of his days in a workhouse. Of that time, there were only a few good reminiscences. Sharp, precious recollections of his younger sister.
“I’ll never forget Mary Iverson, sir. She was like kin to me.”
“Then you must tell me all you knew of her. Reeves said you had documents. Letters. A journal.” Aidan’s fingers itched. He was half ready to reach out and dig through the woman’s pockets. He’d been searching so long for any clue, any trace of his parents.
“I’ve nothing for you tonight, sir.” The old woman sniffed and cast a glance back toward the Wyndham town house. “Wanted to have a look at you. Discover whether I could trust you. Whether you looked aught like Mary’s boy.”
Aidan flinched. He hated the rush of longing that came, the need to have the emptiness inside him filled. How long had he sought belonging?
But he sensed impatience wouldn’t do with Mrs. Tuttle. In his businesslike voice, he asked, “And what is the verdict?” He allowed no eagerness to seep into his tone. “Do I look like her?”
Mrs. Tuttle shuffled closer and raised her lantern again. Her perusal came like the rough press of fingertips. Aidan half expected her to reach out and grab his jaw to hold him steady.
“You do, sir.”
Breath whooshed out of him. Relief expanded his chest, filling his lungs with a chilling gulp of damp air.
“Then you must give me something. If you’ve no information, why agree to this meeting? You understand what I wish to know.”
The housekeeper began nodding her head but said nothing.
Aidan pulled out a five-pound note and held it in front of her. “There’s much more where this came from. But you’ll need to provide me with something tangible in return. Are there letters?”
