Chapter Twenty-one
After having thought about it all evening, her certainty about his guilt growing with each remembered exchange, Jocelyn decided to pay Mortimer Blackstone a visit the next afternoon.
Even though his townhouse was easily within walking distance of her own, she decided to take her carriage, along with Jarvis and Thomas, as planned, just so that she would not be completely alone with the old family friend who she was now certain had been the one to murder her sister.
“Jarvis, Thomas, remember,” she instructed the coachman and the footman as she got out of the carriage in front of the Blackstone house, “if I haven’t come back out within thirty minutes, I need you to come in after me.”
Jarvis and Thomas exchanged looks, then nodded grimly.
“My lady, it seems as if you’re putting yourself in a dangerous situation,” Jarvis dared to say.
Thomas chimed in as well, “My lady, are you certain you shouldn’t leave this to the inspector?”
She squared her shoulders, though inside, she was somewhat worried about that herself. “I’m just going to talk to the man. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Even though it seemed more and more likely that Mortimer was The Viper, she still couldn’t really imagine the foppish dandy she’d known all her life actually being able to hurt anyone. Maybe she was wrong about him. She wanted to be wrong.
Far easier to believe it had been a faceless stranger who’d performed these atrocities, not someone she’d played with as a child. If Mortimer really was the villain she thought, how could she ever trust anyone ever again?
Leaving her worried servants with the coach, she strode to the front steps and knocked loudly on the door. This was highly improper, to just show up without an invitation outside of calling hours, let alone a socially acceptable reason for showing up unannounced, but she wanted to throw him off guard from the start.
As she waited, she realized how far she’d come from worrying about the lack of place cards at Allison’s wedding just a few short weeks ago.
So much had changed in her life, and now, she couldn’t imagine ever going back.
After a moment, the huge door creaked open, and Mortimer’s butler blinked down at her. “Yes, my lady? May I help you?”
“I’m the Countess of Aston. I’m here to see Viscount Danbury.”
The butler frowned. “I’ll see if he’s at home.”
In order to keep her mind off the dangers of what she was doing, Jocelyn focused on the ridiculousness of that statement and wondered why it was so socially acceptable. They both knew Mortimer was home. What the butler was really checking was whether he’d consent to see her.
He left her waiting in the foyer like an unwelcome, unexpected visitor, which she supposed she was, though she was not used to such treatment. After what seemed an interminable time, the butler finally returned. “Right this way, my lady.”
She followed him to a parlor done in shades of gold. The room was lovely, but had the scent and feel of not having been used for quite some time. Probably since their mother had died. What use did two bachelors have for a room like this, which was meant for the lady of the house to receive callers?
Sitting gingerly on the edge of the divan, her heart thundering in her chest, Jocelyn waited for Mortimer to put in an appearance. Her attention caught on her reflection in a mirror across the room, and she wondered idly whether anyone could tell by looking at her that she’d taken a lover.
My lover.
She didn’t know why she’d become so enamored of those words, but she had. She loved to think them, and she loved to say them.
Perhaps she’d become enamored of more than just the words.
Before she could explore that thought any further, Mortimer opened the door and strode in, sending a icy rush through her veins.
“Jocelyn,” he said with a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She swallowed dryly. “You said if I needed anything....”
He nodded and crossed the room to her side, sitting down on the divan beside her, the dainty piece of furniture creaking under their combined weight. “Of course, my dear. What can I do to help?”
She gazed into his dark eyes and shivered at the complete lack of emotion. His features were composed into an expression of concern, but she did not see that reflected in his eyes. It chilled her to the bone.
“I just needed to talk to you about Evelyn.” She didn’t have to fake the way her voice broke on her sister’s name. She still couldn’t say it without tearing up.
“Of course, my dear,” he murmured, patting her hand. “I’m glad you felt you could come to me.”