Page 118 of The Ladies Least Likely
Then he grew into his inches, and filled out those inches with a larger than average frame, which meant his fists had a longer reach and his legs could cover more ground. The harassment waned considerably once Mal grew bigger than his aggressors. And learned not to care that his birth meant he would alwaysbe last in line, an afterthought, not assured of full standing in anything.
“Do you find his spotless record a problem?” Mr. Thorkelson observed Mal over the top of his glasses. “His references were all in order. I can go over them again if you wish.”
Mal cleared his throat. “I am curious about the family. As—you know. Added security.”
Thorkelson turned over a few pages. “Jonas Illingworth was younger brother to Josiah Illingworth, the 4thBaronet Illingworth. The estate of Penwellen is now held by the 5thbaronet, Sir Reuben Illingworth, who has a wife, Favella. There does not seem to be correspondence between the two households.”
Her cousin, a baronet? She had not mentioned that. Her birth put her in the class of gentry, even if she practiced a trade. How curious that she had not trotted out her status early in the conversation. But his interest was not in the baronet.
“And what of Mr. Joseph Illingworth’s sister?”
“Ah.” Mr. Thorkelson dipped into the drawer again and withdrew another file, this one thicker. “This is the rather sensitive portion,” he said blandly. “What would you like to know?”
“Good Gad, you’re thorough,” Mal said, eying the volume of the file.
“We took some initiative in this case,” the solicitor answered, “as it concerned the estate of Hunsdon, and we at Thorkelson, Thorkelson, and Son are naturally protective of our clients. Unfortunately, none of our thorough investigations suggested that Mr. Popplewell would violate our collective trust in him in such an egregious fashion.”
Mr. Thorkelson’s severe expression had something of satisfaction in it. As the old duke’s solicitor and man of business in London, Mr. Thorkelson had a long rivalry with Mr.Popplewell, the estate’s land steward. But Mal had no time for that petty history, nor was he inclined to let Mr. Thorkelson bask in his triumph at having proved the superior agent.
“Sensitive in what way?” Mal itched to get his hand on that file. Thorkelson looked disinclined to surrender it.
The solicitor coughed into his hand. “This information, I’m sure you can agree, is not to leave this room. But we understand—the other Mr. Thorkelsons and I—that Miss Amaranthe Illingworth is in the business of making—er, copies. Of rare, and in some cases quite valuable works.”
“Copies.” Mal raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I knew that.”
She seemed quite proud of herself for it. Ladies often cultivated artistic pursuits to show off their accomplishments. But Amaranthe Illingworth took pride in her work and evidenced no shame that she had turned her skills to the pursuit of a trade.
“Surely there is no harm in making copies,” Mal said.
“There is when it is forgery,” Mr. Thorkelson replied.
CHAPTER NINE
Amaranthe emerged from a side garden when Mal pulled up before the medieval guild hall that had been transformed into the Benevolence Hospital. She looked grand in the expensive silk; he’d been right that the fabric would flatter her dark coloring. As he’d never had occasion to choose a lady’s attire before, it pleased him that his instincts had been correct about this one.
To avert a repeat of the thump-over-the-head, thought-clearing reaction he’d had to her earlier, he tried to look about him at the environs of the place. The grounds and buildings of the Benevolence Hospital appeared well-supplied and well-kept, in good repair. It would take money to maintain such an enterprise, and he wondered who the donors were. Miss Illingworth had said little about it other than that it was a charity with some connection to the girls’ school she had attended, and he wondered now if he ought to be asking more questions. Apparently he had not been asking close enough questions about a great many things.
As he handed her up into the vehicle, Mal studied her face closely, looking for signs of veniality, slyness, or duplicity. But she looked the same as before: well-shaped lips of a naturalplum color, high cheekbones, skin smooth and luscious as creamed tea. She didn’t look like a liar, a forger, or a thief.
He wondered how on earth he was supposed to bring up the subject. But there were any number of things he needed to know about Amaranthe Illingworth.
“You had some success, then?” He leapt easily into the carriage beside her. “You look pleased.”
She scooted to the side when his leg brushed hers, and he took satisfaction in the color that appeared in her cheeks. But her voice was composed as she withdrew a small slip of paper from her reticule.
“The matron supplied me with a list of names. They’ll be sent over tomorrow at seven with their things. I’ve everyone but a butler, a housekeeper, and perhaps you might wish a second footman, to help Ralph.”
“We can’t keep your man?” Mal said without thinking. When she turned surprised eyes on him, he tried not to stare.
First he had noticed the unusual violet ring around the iris of her eyes, and now he saw that the brown was in fact shot with rays of gold. Miss Amaranthe Illingworth was a deep treasure whose beauties revealed themselves subtly, quietly, with each new observation.
“No, you cannot have Davey. My servants will return home with me. They asked a day or two to help settle in your new staff, and I can’t deny that they all love being inside a ducal mansion. They’ve already raided the duchess’s chambers, and I don’t doubt that between them they’ve combed every room in the house. But we’ll all go home in short order, and you’ll be free of us.”
“The children will be sorry.” Mal would be sorry, too. He wondered what excuses he could contrive to call on Miss Illingworth once she had removed herself from Hunsdon House back to her own tidy house in George Court.
He was thinking of calling on her. He was already looking for ways to keep her involved in his life. That came as something as a surprise.
And his reasons, if he were being entirely honest with himself, weren’t simply to ensure that he wasn’t exposing his half-siblings to an inimical influence or a criminal mastermind.
