Page 49 of A Murder in Mayfair
Steele inclined his head once, formally. “Yes, do that.”
I stood and smoothed my skirts. It was time to bring our discussion to an end. "Until next time."
The butler appeared when summoned. Before I could say another word, I found myself once again in the cool, damp air of Chelsea, the door closed behind me.
I paused on the steps, drawing a slow breath, trying to shake the lingering weight of the conversation.
But as I turned toward the waiting hackney, one truth settled in my mind with stubborn, uneasy clarity.
I needed to discover the truth, even if it meant Lord Nicholas was implicated.
Chapter
Twenty-One
THE PRICE OF SCANDAL
Ispent the following day at Walsh House, assisting Julia as she sorted through her belongings and fending off a steady procession of well-wishers. They came under the guise of offering condolences, but it was clear many were more interested in sniffing out gossip about Walsh’s murder. As if that weren’t irritating enough, Lucretia had the sheer audacity to send a draper to measure for new curtains. Apparently, the drawing room décor didn’t suit her taste. Needless to say, he was not admitted. Lucretia could measure to her heart’s contentaftershe’d taken up residence.
Naturally, this prompted a visit from Lucretia herself—one I could not prevent, as she was now, regrettably, the mistress of the house. I refused, however, to let her see Julia. She was already heartbroken at the thought of leaving her home. Subjecting her to polite conversation with that venom-tongued harpy would only have deepened the wound.
I received Lucretia in the drawing room, where I struggled to hold my tongue as she prattled on about her grand plans to redecorate Walsh House. Fortunately, after half an hour,the butler appeared with word that Julia required me. Lucretia finally took her leave, though not before vowing to return at first light to conduct a full inventory—just to ensure Julia hadn’t taken anything that didn’t belong to her. It was all I could do not to wrap my hands around that long, lily-white neck of hers.
Once every trunk had been packed and arrangements made to have Julia’s belongings delivered to Rosehaven House the following morning, I made my escape. The day had worn me to the bone. My gloves were damp, my skirts clung to my legs from the damp chill, and my limbs ached from too many stairs and too few moments of rest. But worse than the physical toll was the emotional weight—the quiet, heartbreaking grief etched on Julia’s face as she took one last look around what had been her home. That image stayed with me all the way back to Grosvenor Square.
By the time I reached home, I was breathless and half-frozen, the wind having clawed its way through my coat during the rattling hackney ride across town. I had barely set foot on the top step when Honeycutt opened the door, his expression unreadable save for a faint lift of his brows. I had left word I’d be returning by four. It was now close to six. I felt every minute of the delay in my bones.
After stepping aside to allow me entrance, he added with impeccable timing, “Her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess of Rosehaven, awaits you in the morning room, milady.” His tone, though carefully neutral, left no doubt—this was not a social call.
A fresh wave of exhaustion swept over me. Of course, she was here. I should have known better than to think I could end the day without one final reckoning.
I hurried upstairs, barely pausing to let Tilly strip off my cloak, boots, and gown before darting into the bathing chamber. It wouldn’t do to present myself to Grandmother in all my dirt.
A quick plunge, a hasty scrubbing, and within half an hour I was buttoned into a fresh gown of sober navy wool, my hair still slightly damp at the temples. Not exactly my finest presentation. But considering the day I'd had, Grandmother should be grateful I managed a corset at all.
The morning room was warm with the scent of woodsmoke and lemon cakes when I entered. Thankfully, Grandmother was alone, which, given the look in her eye, came as no surprise. She sat in her customary chair, her cane laid across her knees like a scepter, those shrewd eyes fastened on the doorway even as I crossed it.
"Rosalynd," she said sharply. “It is half past six. You’ve kept me waiting."
How was I supposed to know she was coming? Still, one did not bring that up with her. “My apologies, Grandmother,” I said, curtsying. “I was unexpectedly detained at Walsh House. Julia needed assistance finalizing her packing before the move.”
Grandmother’s eyes narrowed, but not with disapproval. “I suppose someone had to see to the poor girl,” she said, her voice clipped but not unkind. “Though heaven knows, you take on far more than is wise.”
I folded my hands in front of me. “She has no one, Grandmother, and she’s expecting a child. She needs all the help I can give her.” I drew a steadying breath, forcing my voice to remain composed. “May I ask what brings you to Grosvenor Square this evening?” Under other circumstances, I would have chosen my words more carefully. But exhaustion had worn away my usual restraint.
For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze sharp and unreadable. Then, with a flick of her wrist and a sniff that could have cut glass, she replied, “Scandal. That’s what has brought me here today.”
I froze. “Scandal? What scandal?”
She tapped the tip of her cane once, smartly, against the floor. "The entire of Mayfair is buzzing. Rumors, child. Rumors involving your nameandthe Duke of Steele’s.”
I made it to the tea table and busied myself with the cups, if only to hide the flush rising to my cheeks.
"Surely," I said lightly, "Mayfair finds someone to gossip about every week."
“This is no ordinary gossip,” Grandmother snapped. “It’s persistent. Repeated. Vicious. You’re on the verge of courting a scandal of prodigious proportions.” She leveled me with a look so withering it could have silenced Parliament. “If this continues, the only respectable course left will be for you to marry Steele.”
The very idea prompted a sharp, involuntary bark of laughter. “Really, Grandmother.”
