When he spoke, he went through the list in chronological order. “Why would Lord Bowden kill Charles Holland over a duel that happened twenty years ago?”
She had spent the journey to London considering exactly that. “Your mother bore Robert Holland a son. What’s to say the man didn’t sire a child with another woman, a mistress?”
Nicholas frowned. “Are you suggesting Lord Bowden is illegitimate? If so, and there’s proof, he would lose his lands and title.”
“Exactly. Is that not a motive for murder?” She came to stand beside him and pointed to the second name on the list. “We already have Miss Thorndyke’s letter and must gather a little more evidence before confronting her and accusing her brother of the crime.”
Nicholas glanced at the list again and scoffed. “You have the valet as a suspect? Yes, he may have known about the letters from the housekeeper at Oakmere, but why kill his master?”
Feeling proud of her deductions so far, Helen said, “The housekeeper was Mrs Holland’s lady’s maid. Perhaps she made an oath to protect her mistress. To ensure the truth remained buried, she hired Monsieur Laurent to steal the evidence.”
Nicholas gave a half shrug. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“Rumour is, Mr Holland and Monsieur Laurent were lovers. They were seen having what a maid described as a lovers’ tiff.”
He drew his head back quickly. “Lovers? Hardly.”
“We cannot discount evidence. Perhaps you’re not the only person Mr Holland was blackmailing.” All suppositions would be difficult to prove. They had a mountain to climb and had to do so while remaining incognito. “It occurs to me that the solicitor’s office might be the best place to start.”
Had Mr Holland left Nicholas the Oakmere estate as a gesture of kinship?
Or to prevent someone else from inheriting?
“To prove Mrs Waltham spoke the truth?” he said.
“I doubt she lied to the magistrate, but we must know for sure. I wonder, is there a law preventing you from inheriting if found guilty of a capital offence?” Her voice broke on the last word. She closed her eyes against the tightness in her chest and the sudden wave of nausea.
His hand settled on her upper arm, so warm and comforting through the fine material. “I imagine the estate will go to the Crown. But I’ll visit Hatton & Sons after dark and rifle through the paperwork.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m coming with you. If you say no, I shall follow you regardless. I’m safer with you than I am wandering the streets alone at night.”
He shifted his shoulders as if suffering from an annoying itch. “Perhaps you should ask Aaron if he needs a new business partner. When it comes to winning a fight, you know exactly how to throw a winning blow.”
* * *
After wolfing down a feast of eggs, a selection of cold meat and a saffron and caraway seed cake, Helen decided it was better to wear gentlemen’s clothes than ruin anything belonging to Delphine.
Nicholas wore the garments loaned by Mr Chance, a striking black ensemble that made him look as sinful as the rogue who had ravished her last night.
They found Mr Chance seated at the head of a polished walnut table, studying his newspaper and absently eating a piece of toast.
Three other men were enjoying breakfast, too.
“While Aaron is the overseer,” Nicholas whispered as they stood waiting to be acknowledged, “his brothers all have a role to play.”
Of course, she knew the golden-haired heartbreaker, though the stark contrast between the other two men proved intriguing. The blonde scholarly gentleman wore spectacles and had his head buried in a ledger. The one with hair and eyes as black as hell’s dungeons had a face so stern Satan would dart for cover.
Being so different, she wondered if they were brothers at all.
The heartbreaker noticed them, offered an angelic smile and gestured to the empty seats. “Please, sit down. I shall ring for more coffee.”
Though the table might comfortably seat twelve, the men had filled the chairs closest to their elder brother. She let Nicholas sit next to the black-haired beast and was about to join him when the King of Hearts insisted she sit beside him.
“Few men wear breeches by day, madam,” the angel whispered close to her ear when she’d settled into the red velvet chair. “They’re rather dated and often the choice of a Molly.”
Helen cleared her throat. “Fashion was not my first consideration, Mr Chance. I merely meant to disguise the fact I’m a woman.”
The man laughed. “Few men have thighs as shapely as yours.”