Page 13 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Grey interrupted her, not wanting to imagine Francis reciting marital vows so early in the day. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I would tell you to enjoy your day, but I suspect you’ll refuse for no reason other than to spite me.”

“You suspect correctly.”

His grandmother gave him a withering glare before disappearing into the house. Grey exhaled as he walked toward the entrance, his steps steady. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Miss Rafiq wouldn’t be in front of Hawkins & Montgomery at all.

It would be a relief if she’d chosen to accept his refusal.

Yes, a relief. Not a disappointment.

*

“Hello, Mr. Montgomery,” Farah called. Not knowing when Hawkins & Montgomery opened for business, she’d made her way to Fleet Street as soon as she’d been able to wiggle away from the breakfast table. She’d been loitering in front of the building for about forty-five minutes before Mr. Montgomery’s hulking form had come into view.

“Miss Rafiq,” he said, sounding entirely unsurprised to see her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You sound as though you were expecting me,” she said, beaming up at him. It was hard not to notice all the ways in which he differed from Francis. Where Francis was lean, Mr. Montgomery was broad. Where Francis had opted for a mustache, Mr. Montgomery sported a beard, which only accentuated the sharp curve of his jaw.

Did Francis have a strong jaw? She couldn’t remember.

“I was,” Mr. Montgomery responded. “How else are you to change my mind?”

“I thought I’d give you the night to think on my request.”

Mr. Montgomery stepped around her to unlock the door, his silence dispiriting. All she was doing, really, was asking for him to help her on her way to blissful matrimony. He was welcome to find his cousin insufferable, of course, but it seemed a bit vindictive to take it out on her.

“Perhaps you might tell me why you dislike Francis so much,” she suggested.

“I don’t dislike him,” was the curt reply. “Did you see anyone walk in earlier? A Mr. Hawkins, perhaps?”

“No,” Farah said. “If you don’t dislike him, then—”

“I believe I used the word hate.” An irritated edge crept into his voice. “Stay here.”

“Whatever for?”

“The door’s unlocked.”

“Did you forget to secure it yesterday?”

“No,” he said. “I never forget. Either Hawkins has come back from holiday early—which I doubt—or someone has broken in.”

Farah paled. “Broken in!”

“Stay here,” he repeated, pushing the door open and disappearing into the dark entrance.

A minute passed before Farah’s curiosity got the better of her. Gathering her teal skirts in her hands, she stepped over the threshold and followed. After taking note of the undisturbed waiting area, she poked her head into Mr. Montgomery’s office and saw him standing with his hands on his hips, his face grim as he surveyed the room. It looked as if it had been completely ransacked, with cabinets flung open and drawers turned upside down.

Farah broke the tense silence. “Oh, dear.”

Mr. Montgomery started. “Didn’t I tell you to stay outside?”

“Yes, you did,” she said, coming to stand by him. “I decided otherwise.”

For a moment, he seemed to be biting back a smile, which made Farah all the more determined to win him over. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he rearranged his expression into one of total neutrality.

“It appears I am otherwise occupied today,” he said.