Page 41 of The Pleasures of Passion
The old servant chuckled. “If a body doesn’t do that around here, he won’t know what’s going on until the rug is pulled out from under him, I swear.”
Her amusement faded. “I understand completely.” She cast a furtive glance back up the stairs. “Papa isn’t . . . too badly on the rocks these days, is he?”
The butler shrugged. “Still paying me and Cook and a couple of maids to stay on. But his brother isn’t far wrong—most of his friends are rapscallions, and they’ll bleed him dry if they can.”
That piqued Niall’s interest. What if someone else had used her father’s gambling debts to force the man into putting the counterfeits into circulation? Then Sir Oswald would be more a victim of blackmail than a perpetrator of the crime. It was certainly something to consider.
“Thank you, Jenkins,” Bree said, and pressed the elderly man’s hand. “I promise to bring my boy Silas when next I visit.”
The servant’s face lit up. “It would be an honor to meet the young master.”
She gave him a wry laugh. “He’s sixteen months old. You may not think it quite such an honor when he’s running and laughing in the foyer.”
Jenkins turned serious. “This house could do with some running and laughing. There’s been far too little of it since you and the mistress left.”
She’d taken her mother away? Before the woman’s death? Shehadsaid that she would go with him if she could take her mother, but . . .
Niall ignored his twinge of unease. Perhaps the servant hadn’t meant that the two women had left the household at the same time.
Jenkins shot Niall a furtive glance. “You will be married here, won’t you?”
When she blanched at that reminder that this whole thing was a farce, Niall said, “We haven’t yet decided where to have the ceremony, but we’re considering my church in Mayfair.”
The old servant bobbed his head. “Of course, my lord. I wasn’t thinking. A man of your consequence would certainly wish something more impressive than a run-down town house.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Bree said, with an odd catch in her voice. “And now we really must go, mustn’t we, my dear?”
“Yes,” Niall said, and led her out.
She was quiet as they walked down the steps. Too quiet, as if a heavy weight was crushing the breath from her. Though he’d hoped to kiss her again once they were inside the carriage, her demeanor held him back. He watched and waited, hoping she would tell him what was bothering her.
As the coach pulled away, she gazed out the window at the town house. “I hate lying to them.”
Ah. “I can understand that.”
“Papa is one thing. At worst, he’s part of a criminal enterprise, and at best, he’s some criminal’s dupe. But Aunt Agatha and Jenkins and even Uncle Toby . . .” She shook her head. “They don’t deserve to be swept up in this . . . scheme.”
This was probably not the time to mention that her uncle was as much a suspect as the others. For that matter, so was Jenkins. Anyone close to her father could have changed out those notes for the counterfeits.
“Uncle Toby has always been so good to Papa in the past,” she went on. “If not for him, Papa would have ended up in debtors’ prison a hundred times.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “Uncle Toby would speak to Papa’s creditors, get extensions, loan him funds if need be. Of course, that was when my uncle was still living in London. After he left, he couldn’t do those sorts of things for Papa anymore.”
“Perhaps that’s why he moved,” he said wryly.
She sighed. “As you may have noticed, Papa can be a trial to those closest to him.”
To say the least.
They rode a moment in silence before she swung an earnest gaze to him. “Which is precisely why I should thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making this easier. For managing it all so deftly.” Absently, she smoothed her immaculate skirts. “For nipping in the bud Papa’s attempts to draw me back into his household.”
“I wasn’t doing it for you,” he lied. “It’s just part of the game—finding out his secrets. Determining whether he’s guilty. Accomplishing our mission.”
