Page 50 of A Murder in Mayfair
“Yes, really. Now," she said, "you will tell me precisely what you are doing skulking about with the duke, or so help me, Rosalynd, I shall imagine far worse than the truth."
I sighed. There was no evading her.
Placing the cups in front of us both, I sat carefully on the edge of the settee and said, "We are investigating Lord Walsh’s murder.”
Grandmother blinked. “Whyever so?”
"His Grace and I believe there are certain ... issues the authorities may overlook. Julia’s future, and that of another innocent party, hangs in the balance."
"And you," Grandmother said icily, "believe it your duty to play detective?"
"In this case," I said calmly, "yes."
Grandmother set her cup down with a force that rattled the saucer.
“How does Steele fit into all this?”
At least that was one thing she hadn’t discovered. “He’s helping me.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart?”
“He thinks it an interesting puzzle.”
“Umm, more likely his brother is involved. I’ve heard rumors about Lord Nicholas and Julia. Are they true?”
“What rumors?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Miss! It doesn’t suit you and belittles me.”
When I failed to comment, she said, “Do you not understand what you are risking?Your name?Your reputation?"
"I understand," I said, the knot in my stomach tightening.
"No, you do not," she said, voice low and cutting. "Already, the gossips murmur that you and the duke are ... entangled. They say you’re meeting in Chelsea, in a secret house where illicit affairs have been known to be conducted. That you linger in his company far beyond what propriety allows."
I bit my lip.
Grandmother leaned closer, her lined face fierce with concern.
"And your sister, Rosalynd. Have you thought of Chrysanthemum? If you embroil yourself in scandal, what decent gentleman will offer for her? No man of sense will risk tying himself to a family sinking into disgrace."
The words landed like blows.
Chrissie, bright and hopeful, just beginning her season. What suitor would risk his own reputation if whispers clung to the Rosehaven name?
My chest tightened painfully.
"I am doing this for Julia," I said, my voice thickening despite myself. "She has no one else. The reading of the will was held yesterday. Walsh left her nothing but the Walsh dower house, not even the funds to manage it.”
“Disgraceful.” Grandmother’s expression softened—slightly—but her voice remained firm. "Then you must tread carefully, child. Already, the ground crumbles beneath your feet. One misstep, and you may bring down far more than yourself."
I stirred my tea mechanically, the fire crackling too loudly in the heavy silence between us.
For the first time since I had begun this mad endeavor, doubt crept in at the edges of my resolve. Had I misjudged the cost? But then I thought of Julia’s pale face, her shaking hands, the weight of injustice pressing down on her. And I knew.
I could not turn back. Not now. Not ever. Better to risk scandal—and even heartbreak—than live with cowardice on my conscience.
After Grandmama left—her cane tapping a thunderous rhythm down the hallway—I allowed myself one long, steadying breath.
