Page 33 of A Murder in Mayfair
Hard to have satisfied my hunger as I hadn’t had the chance to eat so much as a crumb.
Chapter
Thirteen
A STRATEGY SESSION
As soon as the door to the morning room clicked shut, I turned to face Steele. “I must apologize for Petunia. She’s precocious beyond her years. Growing up surrounded by older siblings with no sense of discretion has left its mark.”
A wry smile played at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes studied me more intently than I liked. “No need to apologize. But I confess, I’m intrigued. Petunia seemed rather determined to recommend Lady Chrysanthemum as a potential bride, yet ... ” His gaze lingered, uncomfortably penetrating. “You seem the far more logical choice.”
My breath caught. Still, he was owed an explanation. “Petunia is well acquainted with my views on marriage.”
“That you never intend to enter into that state,” he finished, his voice softer now.
“Precisely.” The word was a shield. “Chrissie, on the other hand, is quite candid about her desire to wed. And Your Grace is a widower?—”
“—so Petunia was playing matchmaker and praising her sister’s charms to an eligible duke?” His eyes danced with holy amusement.
“Yes,” I said, taking a seat on the settee. “I hope you weren’t offended. She’s rather taken with you.”
“She barely knows me.”
“Children don’t always need time,” I replied, my voice suddenly quieter. “Petunia sees people as they are. Last year, a gentleman took an interest in Chrissie at the village fair. Since he came from a perfectly respectable family, I invited him to a picnic. But Petunia disliked him immediately.”
A shadow flickered across Steele’s features. “Why?”
“She wouldn’t say at first. Only that he was ‘wrong.’ I dismissed it as childish nonsense until word spread that he’d assaulted a village girl, ruining her. His family banished him to the West Indies before charges could be brought.”
His expression hardened. “That doesn’t solve anything. It just shifts the rot.”
“True.” Bitterness slipped into my tone. “But he didn’t escape punishment. Last I heard, he was laboring on a sugar plantation. A far cry from society balls and cricket matches.”
There was a beat of silence before I gestured to the chair he’d sat in earlier. “Please, Your Grace. Take a seat.”
He didn’t. Instead, he moved to the fireplace to stand with his back to me, tension coiling in every line of his form.
I watched him carefully. Something was definitely troubling him. “Perhaps we might speak of the reason you came.”
He exhaled harshly. “I sent word to George Hanover. He’s acted as my solicitor before. I’ve asked him to meet with me tomorrow to discuss Julia’s defense.”
“Has he agreed?”
“He will.”
I arched a brow. “You sound quite sure.”
“No one says no to me, Lady Rosalynd.”
He said it without arrogance—only weary certainty, as if he bore the weight of always being obeyed.
“Even so, he might have prior commitments. A meeting with a client, perhaps.”
“If he does, he’ll arrange it for another time.” Steele raked a hand through his hair, the movement jagged with frustration. “After sending the letter to Hanover, I went to see Nicky.”
I flinched inwardly. “And how did it go?”
His jaw clenched. “About as well as you might expect.”
