Page 98 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“It depends.”

God, he was insufferable. “Do you need the money or not?”

A frustrated huff escaped him. “Fine. Yes. Whatever.”

I can’t bear to lose Montgomery House, too, Grey had told her, vulnerable and guarded all at once.

“You need to promise to hand over your share of Montgomery House to Grey.”

“But—”

“I know you don’t intend to live there, Francis,” she interjected. “You merely enjoy having ownership of something Grey loves. The way you always have, it seems.”

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll write him.”

“Then I’ll make sure you receive your money.”

Without prompting, Francis stalked toward the door, hesitating as he reached for the knob. “I didn’t know you were like this.”

“Like what?” Farah asked, trying to swallow the joy she felt at having won Montgomery House for Grey.

“Ruthless.”

Farah laughed. “Oh, Francis. That you think so means you still do not know me.”

He didn’t respond, choosing instead to leave the room. When the door swung shut behind him, Farah let out a long exhale.

She needed to go to Montgomery House.

Now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I cannot believe I am being forced to leave my own house.”

“You aren’t being forced to do anything,” Grey said, the ladder beneath him wobbling precariously. “You’re being asked to leave your house. Very politely, might I add.”

Miraculously, he made it to the ground in one piece, stepping back to examine his work. If magic could be created by force, Grey Montgomery would be the one to do it. He had been holed up in his house all day, flitting in and out of his garden, making sure that every detail was accounted for. His bright idea had, fortunately, coincided with Hawkins’s return from holiday, which meant that he’d been able to focus on his task without distraction.

Well, with some distraction. He had attempted to shoo his grandmother off the premises a half hour ago, but she was insistent on being the first to see the fruits of his labor.

“Well?” he prompted, expecting a quip in return.

Instead—and to his surprise—Leila reached up to pat him on the cheek, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “You’ve no idea how proud of you I am, Peregrine,” she murmured. “Fear has never bested you, even if it has been your companion these five years.”

He blinked back a sudden prick of tears as he turned his gaze back to the garden. Something small and almost imperceptible had changed between him and his grandmother. While they continued to operate in very much the same fashion as they had before, there was a newfound lightness woven into the fond barbs they communicated through. A lightness, he noted, that brought with it far more sincerity than he was used to. Perhaps his grandfather’s ghost had finally been exorcised from Montgomery House. Perhaps all remnants of George Montgomery had been swept away like unwanted cobwebs, allowing warmth to creep into previously shadowed corners.

“Well,” Leila said, “I suppose I’ll be off. Mrs. Bancroft is expecting me for supper.”

“Is she now? When was this planned?”

Leila waved a hand. “Oh, last week.”

“I thought you were being forcefully removed from your own house.”

His grandmother shot him a venomous glare by way of response.

“Your words, not mine,” he added with a smile.