Page 36 of My Deceitful Duchess
“When was that?” he asked.
Her shoulders lifted and fell in an odd, jerky shrug. “When I was still a child,” she said, her voice so low it barely reached his ears. “I don’t wish to speak of it. It wasn’t—a pleasant life.” He watched her throat move with a hard swallow, saw the tightness lingering about her jaw. Whoever she had been, wherever she had come from, whatever circumstances had once been her own—they troubled her still. Like a shadow, it had never left her. It had become her constant companion through whatever she weathered.
But she had allowed him this tiny piece of herself, which he suspected she had not even shared with those closest to her. In time, perhaps, she would share more, if he could prove he could be trusted with this much.
“You could have one now,” he said, content to let the conversation slant away from things that made her uncomfortable. “I doubt very much that Lady Clybourne or Lady Livingston would begrudge you one.”
“Likely not,” she said, with a little wrinkle of her nose. “Lottie and Harriet would probably have no particular objections. But I could hardly dedicate the time that a dog would deserve of me—and can you imagine a dog existing comfortably inside a club?” She turned her head back toward Charlie. “No,” she said. “At present, at least, I cannot have a dog of my own. So I shall just have to borrow yours.”
And Charlie, of course, was delighted to be the lucky recipient of her affections.
Chapter Sixteen
The Duke of Venbrough had not responded to Sebastian’s request to pay a friendly call, but then Sebastian had not truly expected him to do so. As near as he could tell from what he’d gleaned from those he’d already interviewed, the man had an inflated sense of his own consequence—but hewasa duke, after all. His sister, Nerissa Amberley—shehadresponded; a puzzling occurrence. His intentions would not, precisely, have been a mystery, given that little was truly secret in London, especially amidst the echelon of society most given to gossip.
Everyone knew of Lady Pendleton’s unfortunate demise at the hands of a thief, and furthermore, everyone seemed to know that the authorities had prevailed upon Sebastian for some sort of direction, despite his lack of formal affiliation with them. The word had spread quickly amongst that set, and few doors had been opened to him to proceed with certain lines of inquiry which they might have found distasteful or even insulting.
ButNerissa Amberleyhad accepted.
She did not reside with her brother, despite the fact that she was unmarried. As a woman of a certain age—at least forty, unless he missed his guess, given the fine lines that had begun to bracket her mouth and eyes—she had a household of her own; a tidy little townhome in Mayfair, not too far from where he himself resided.
She did not seem the threatening sort; at least, not overtly. A little overly given to simpering, perhaps, and with what seemed to him to be an unhealthy affinity for cats. A large ginger cat was draped across her lap, while two more drowsed nearby, upon identical chairs with garish, floral-patterned cushions.
“Miss Amberley,” he said, as the butler waved him into the drawing room and lingered near the door. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“It is no trouble at all, Mr. Knight. Please, do sit. I have taken the liberty of sending for tea.” Her hands were in her lap, trembling just slightly as she stroked the cat lying there. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, casting watery eyes in his direction. “Lady Pendleton is—was—a dear friend of mine.”
“My condolences,” Sebastian said, because it was the sort of thing one said to someone bereaved. “If I might ask, why did you not attend Lady Pendleton’s party?”
She reached for a handkerchief that had been laid upon a nearby table and dabbed at her eyes. “Unfortunately, I had such a dreadful headache on the evening of dear Clarice’s party,” she said. “And so Julian—my brother, the duke—went alone. Why, if I had known then that it would be my very last chance to see dear, dear Clarice, I suppose I would have gone anyway.” She gave a fierce sniffle. “Do tell me, are the authorities any closer to bringing her murderer to justice?”
“I’m afraid I’m not precisely at liberty to say.” Certainly not with theTon’spredilection for gossip. “But it would be a great deal easier to do so if those parties potentially involved would cooperate with the authorities.”
“I’m sure there is no malice intended, Mr. Knight,” Miss Amberley said, with a flutter of her lashes. “But you must know how…precariousreputations can be. There is a great deal of gossip already; they say that you have identified several families as being persistently in want of funds. Nobody wishes to open their homes to you, which some might call an acknowledgment of that claim.”
“And yet,” Sebastian said, “youreceived me.”
“Of course. Clarice was such a dear,dearfriend, after all. I should want to do anything possible to aid in the apprehension of her murderer.” She patted at her perfectly arranged curls, which Sebastian thought were just a bittooblack to have been natural, and affected an abashed smile. “And as for any untoward accusations concerning my financial situation, well—I will put it to you, Mr. Knight. Do I seem to be in want of funds?” She lifted one hand, gesturing to the room at large, which was elegantly furnished. No expense had been spared in the presentation, from what he could tell—and she clearly had the funds to hire far more than just a skeleton staff and to keep them outfitted in fine livery, besides.
Which meant only that shehadmoney. Not that those funds had not been illicitly gained.
“Do forgive me,” he murmured. “It is only that I was led to believe that your finances—yours and your brother’s—were somewhat less secure than they appear to be.”
A curious pique fell over her, her lips whitening as they pinched in fury. “That woman!” she snarled. “I should bring her to court for such base slander.” A raw sound drifted from her throat, and she once again patted her eyes with her handkerchief. “To find myself so maligned—and on bad information, no less! I meant only to give my patronage to Ambrosia—thesisterof aduke; think what a feather that ought to be in their caps. And to be tossed out insteadlike so much rubbish! It beggars belief.”
But the potential of a suit for slander would not have led to such visceral fear on Jenny’s behalf—a fear so deep and pure that it followed her even into her dreams. She had powerful friends and allies; evenifNerissa had brought forward such a suit, it was unlikely even to have made it to the courts, since such claims were notoriously difficult to prove. Blast it, none of this made anysense.
“And…it was Madame Laurent who accused you of financial insolvency?” he inquired. “On what grounds?”
A sheepish expression crossed her face. “I’m afraid I may have mistakenly given her that impression some years ago,” she said. “It seems that I ordered gowns from her shop, which quite slipped my mind. I order quite a number of gowns, you see—I never wear one more than once. But I neither retrieved nor paid for them.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Naturally, I offered to correct my mistake—but, alas. She would prefer to hold a grudge, it seems.”
Did Jenny hold grudges? He’d trespassed enough for any three men, but she had forgiven him his lapses readily enough.
Miss Amberley gave another sniffle, peering up at him with eyes that had begun once more to water. “Do forgive me, Mr. Knight. I find myself perhaps a touch more fragile than usual, given the circumstances. Clarice’s death has brought up some…painful memories for my family. If you have any further questions, may I ask that you call again at a later date?”
“Of course, Miss Amberley. I’m terribly sorry to have disturbed you.” He rose to his feet at once. “Thank you for taking the time.”
“Anything at all for dear,dearClarice,” she said, with a shaky smile. “Unfortunately, this is not my first experience with tragedy. But I shall weather it in time, as I have before.”
