Page 58

“Miss Blanche Yarwood?” Clara asked.

“Yes, though she’s away at present. I’ve never met her.”

“What of Lady Rosalinde?”

“I’ve never heard the name.”

“Would your father know?”

“Yes, probably, if she stayed with the marquis or had anything to do with him, legally speaking.”

“She was his ward as well.”

“Then definitely yes, but he’s a gone a bit funny with age. He doesn’t remember me sometimes. Sybil said she had papers for me. Evidence that the marquis was up to no good.”

“But she never showed.”

“No. Neither has Heloise. And no one at the Hall knows anything. At least, no one who would talk to me.”

“Are his footmen new?” Clara asked.

Martin frowned. “I don’t know. There are more then I remember. Maybe? Why?”

“Whatever job they are performing, it is not the work of a footman.”

“It’s the work of hired muscle,” Bram elaborated.

Martin paled. “Heloise.”

“You love her?”

“With my very soul.”

Bram raised an eyebrow. “And her dowry?”

Martin straightened, which took some doing. Pain tightened his mouth. “Only someone who has never met her could suggest such a thing.”

“Or someone who’s seen a bit more of the world than you, lad.”

“All the same, I love her. Her. She’s witty and caring and smarter than you and I put together. She is an astronomer. I’ve already drawn up the contract that guarantees she keeps her lands. I drew it up before I realized what the marquis was truly like. How little he cared. I hoped it would convince him.”

“We will find Heloise,” Clara declared, as forcefully as she knew how. As if it would make it true. “And then we will ask her what she wants.”

When Bess returned for the tray, she also had news that all the rooms at the inn were let but the storm was not abating. She offered them the parlor and the fire, and Clara would have gratefully accepted had Bram not stared at Martin, who finally came back to himself with a self-deprecating smile. “Forgive me, Lady Clara—you may, of course, have my room tonight.”

Bram inclined his head, very much like a captain who would expect no less from one of his sailors. He led the way up the narrow staircase and insisted on checking the room, including under the bed. When he was satisfied that it was safe, he asked if Bess could see to a bath for Clara.

Much as Bram seemed never to have someone set aside a warming drink because they knew he would be cold, Clara had never had someone order a bath to see to her comforts. She sat on the edge of the coverlet as a young man hauled buckets of hot water up the stairs for her. There were clean towels, candles burning in the window seat, and faded murals of oak leaves and stags leaping over the walls.

And only one bed.

She tried not to focus on it.

“I can wait outside the door if you prefer,” Bram said. “But I’ll sleep in this chair tonight. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“You can stay,” she said shyly. “You can’t be any warmer than I am in your wet things.”

“I’m used to it.” Bram sat in the chair by the fire, which he had stoked to a cheerful roar. It only smoked a little. The rain was a steady tap on the roof. He leaned back, legs spread, glass of whiskey in his hand, watching her with those inscrutable eyes as she made her way to the privacy screen.