Page 90 of Lady Gambit
Aldgate Street
Mr Daventry sat at the dining table, listening as Dorian relayed the information they’d gained from Mrs Haggert. His gaze moved from his cut of veal to the mantel clock. “Her account is logical and far too accurate to be anything but the truth.”
Aaron tossed back half a glass of burgundy before grumbling under his breath. “While I’m happy Delphine has clarity, knowing that woman had a hand in helping us off the street makes my blood boil.”
“At least we know why she kept the secret.” Delphine did not wish to defend Mrs Haggert’s actions, but the woman had come to her mother’s aid, and for that, she would always be grateful.
Daventry raised his glass in salute. “Nothing is ever as it seems. It’s impossible to know another person’s motives. It’s a lesson for us all.”
“I know the damn lesson,” Aaron snapped. He’d been agitated since Lord Meldrum agreed to visit Fortune’s Dentonight. His dark eyes flicked to the clock. The incessant ticking bothered him, too. “I’ll rest easier when this business is behind us, and the culprit is in Newgate.”
They all fell silent as they ate their meal.
No one mentioned the plan.
If Lord Meldrum confessed, they could all rest easily.
If Bertie was the faceless man, someone would die tonight.
Dorian glanced at her across the table, his heart-stopping smile making her stomach flip. She wanted done with this dreaded business, too. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in his bed. Spend forever simply loving him.
“Has Miss Darrow returned to her modiste shop?” Daventry said, an air of intrigue to his tone as he addressed Theo. “She must have lost a substantial amount of work while caring for you. I’m surprised she stayed at Mile End so long.”
The change of subject brought light relief, though it roused the same curious questions about the modiste.
“I’m the King of Hearts. Perhaps she finds me irresistible.” Theo’s teasing was sweet music to Delphine’s ears. “In truth, I spent most of the time asleep while she busied about in her sewing box. Miss Darrow hugged the thing like it was a beloved pet.”
Delphine had noticed the modiste’s preoccupation with the box. Miss Darrow had brought it to Theo’s room every day.
Aramis snorted. “You’re losing your appeal, Theo. I wouldn’t admit that a lady preferred the feel of thread on her lips to those of the half-naked man in bed.”
Theo grinned. “Why do you think I stole the box and brought it home? It won’t take Miss Darrow long to realise it’s not at Mile End. Then I shall play a little game with her. It will be her reward for mopping my brow. Her punishment for being a liar.”
Aware of the importance of raising Theo’s spirits, Aramis continued goading their brother. “Miss Darrow strikes me as aresourceful woman. Let’s make a wager on how long it takes her to reclaim the box.”
The subtle storm behind Theo’s eyes dissipated, leaving a ray of excitement in its wake. “Very well. State your bet and the sum you wish to stake.”
While the men debated how long Theo could keep Miss Darrow’s box, Delphine excused herself and headed upstairs. She needed a moment alone to gather her wits before Lord Meldrum arrived. A moment to consider all that had transpired since her initial meeting with Dorian Flynn.
Everything in her bedchamber was as she left it, yet she was not the same woman who had idled away hours reading or brushing her hair. She noted the half-read book on the nightstand, the pretty combs on her dressing table, the ream of blank paper at her escritoire.
Who should I write to, Mr Flynn?
Besides Miss Darrow, you’re my only friend.
Dorian was more than her friend. He was the warmth that kept the coldness away. He was her guiding light in the darkness. He was faith, hope, the strength she needed to get through the day. He was heaven here on earth.
Tears filled her eyes as she glanced around the room. Loneliness clung to every corner. The memory of the time spent staring at her reflection brought a chill to her bones.
Who am I?
The woman gazing back always asked the same daunting question. Inventing stories had filled the time, but never the cavernous hole in her chest. Never the feeling that part of her was out in the world somewhere, desperately trying to find her way home.
The light knock on the door brought Dorian.
He looked anxious. “I came to see if you needed anything. Meldrum will be here in half an hour. You don’t have to come down. I can speak on your behalf.”
A pang in her gut said Lord Meldrum was an imbecile, not a murderer. Both Mr Powell and Mr Bertram were old enough to know her parents. Old enough to be part of a posse who sought to make a political statement by killing Queen Charlotte.
