Minerva gave him a sympathetic look that reminded him of the kind a nurse gives a tired child throwing a tantrum. “Why don’t you have some breakfast?”
He grudgingly went to the sideboard and made a plate of eggs and cakes for himself. The footman brought coffee when he sat across from Chase. His mind, however, was preoccupied with the upper floors of the house, where the woman who held his future in her hands slept peacefully, unlike his own sleepless nights of late.
The food helped him find some equanimity.
“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” Chase asked.
Kevin looked down at his plate, now empty of a mound of eggs and two of the three cakes. “Last night. No, wait. The night before. I have been busy.”
“Still working out the problem with gambling odds?”
“Not problems. Probabilities. And yes, I have been doing a bit of thinking about those.”
“It doesn’t seem right, somehow. To gamble with a mathematical advantage.”
“I’m certainly not going to gamble without an advantage. The point is to make a lot of money fast, not lose it.”
Chase, who knew why he needed that money, gave a little shrug. “You will find a way.”
“It may not matter. You are harboring a woman in your home who may make it all pointless.” He forced calm, even nonchalance, into his tone as he turned to Minerva. “How did the visit to the solicitor go?”
“Very well. Miss Jameson is overwhelmed, of course. Mr. Sanders was his usual, calm, fatherly self and explained everything clearly. He answered her questions completely.”
“What questions?”
Minerva’s mouth opened a bit, then shut. She glanced askance at Chase, who returned a look that said, “That was a mistake, darling.”
Minerva drank a bit of tea. “She had typical questions about accessing the funds. Unlike mine, hers are not in trust. The duke knew her, and probably saw what anyone can see, that she is a very levelheaded woman and quite practical. He would perhaps not worry so much whether she could manage the money on her own.”
Kevin felt a very thin smile form. His uncle, the late duke, had left a woman who was almost a stranger more money than he had left one of his favored nephews, Kevin. Free and clear, no less. “And the rest? The business enterprise?” His business enterprise.
Minerva cleared her throat. “Yes, that. Well, she did ask Mr. Sanders what she should do with it. He was duty bound to tell her the options.” She grimaced. “The notion of selling her half did seem to appeal to her.”
Hell and damnation. He would kill Sanders.
“I must see her,” he said. “Go and get her. Either that or Chase will be fighting me with swords on the staircase to try to keep me from going myself.”
Minerva’s eyes narrowed. She turned to Chase, looking for equal annoyance, only to see Chase decide to drink more coffee right then.
Minerva stood. “I suppose I can see if she has risen yet. However, I will not wake her for your convenience, and if she is not yet dressed, you will have a long wait. You should call again this afternoon, as a civilized person would.”
“I don’t care if it is a long wait. I’ll stay in the library until she comes down.”
Minerva left. Chase pulled over a stack of mail and began flipping through it. Kevin availed himself of the sideboard again.
He settled back into his chair. All the Radnor cousins had their own strengths, and one of Chase’s was the ability to find information and assess its worth. He also could size up a person quickly. He had made a profession of those talents.
“What did you think of her?” Kevin asked.
Chase set down a letter and considered the question. “She is sensible and independent. She has established herself in a shop and appears to be making a success of it. At least enough of one that she has an assistant and an apprentice, which allowed her to leave it in their hands while she journeyed here. She is common born, but she has little of the rustic left in her. She seemed intelligent, but I did not speak with her very long.”
“What does she look like?”
“She has blond hair. Other than that, my opinion would be subjective at best. Does it matter?”
Blond hair. He had assumed it would be gray. He didn’t know why he thought that. Perhaps because most modistes were advanced in years before they could afford to open their own shops, and he assumed it would be the same for milliners. Of course, most women did not have a duke giving them a small purse that could be used to establish a business.
“Minerva thinks her hats are very fine. Dramatic without being vulgar, in her opinion,” Chase said. “You look annoyed that I have nothing more.”
“You know how important this is, so I assumed you would examine her closely and ask a few discreet questions.”
Chase smiled broadly while he picked up his interrupted letter. “I knew you would be able to conduct your own investigation soon.”
Kevin returned to his breakfast, wondering what his cousin found so amusing.
* * *
This was without a doubt the finest house Rosamund had ever entered. She marveled again at the drapery on her bed and the windows and the elegant paintings on the walls. The size of the chamber had impressed her, as had those of the public spaces below. Although still sparsely furnished, the furniture that did exist was of high quality.
Even the Copleys did not live like this, and they were gentlefolk. Not of the degree of Mr. and Mrs. Radnor, of course. Chase Radnor was grandson of one duke and cousin to the current one, after all.
She rose from the bed with regret. She had laid there awake for at least an hour, thinking about her change in fortune and what she would do with that money. She would put some aside to make sure her sister never had to do as she had done and go into service in a strange house. Lily would receive a proper education, too. That she could now provide for Lily was her greatest joy about this legacy.
Some of the rest she would use to open her London shop. Mrs. Ingram could continue with the one in Richmond until it was decided whether to keep both. She would need some help here in Town, though. That was one thing she needed to start looking into.
She could not stay forever in this house, so she needed a place of her own, and soon. But this was the point where her thinking changed from practical, sensible, and clear to something more muddled.
Now she looked out the window at the overcast day. Below the garden showed green starting to form near the ground. Bulbs sending up shoots, most likely. She continued considering her new home while she pictured tulips and narcissus fully up and blooming. A small apartment would be enough, even when Lily visited her. She had no need for more. And yet—it all depended on the purpose of the home, didn’t it?
If she intended to be a milliner, a modest abode would do. However, if she intended to—
She hesitated giving the dream words. She always feared that hoping too much would destroy the hope itself. Yet if she were going to consider this other step, she needed to face why. Her heart stretched with ache and yearning while she forced herself to do just that.
The question was, if she were wealthy, if she lived in a fine house and wore fine garments, if she were more than a servant or a milliner, would she then be good enough for Charles to marry her?
She closed her eyes while she thought of his name and saw him clearly in her mind, so handsome and fine, with a smile that made her heart beat faster from the first day she saw it. The memory of his face had been preserved carefully over the last five years. True love preserved it, and faith and loyalty. Such a love deserved to have a life if it could, didn’t it? A future? Even his parents might accept her if she was rich, and Charles—he had never forsaken her of his own choice. He’d been forced, and sent away, just as she had been forced from the Copleys’ house.