“It’s fine, it’s fine.” She nodded toward the floor. “Look.”
He held his breath. An intricately folded note, the paper a light brown in comparison to the dark floorboards, had dropped to her feet. He bent to pick it up and held it toward one of the windows to eye it.
“Are you not going to open it?” she asked breathlessly.
A lump lodged in his throat. This could be the letter—the one that took the lands from his family and stripped them of their good name. For centuries. He wasn’t certain he wanted to even hold it. He thrust it toward her. “You found it, you can read it.”
She blinked a few times then took the letter, gently prying apart the folds. Lines appeared between her brows. “It’s folded carefully indeed. I cannot open it without damaging it slightly.” She held it toward him. “Look at those cuts. Someone did not want the contents to be seen.”
His heart gave a loud thud in his ears. It had to be the letter, surely?
“Open it,” he ordered.
“Are you certain you do not want to?” She glanced up at him from under her lashes.
Really he should be taking that letter and throwing it straight into the nearest burning flame. But he was not certain he could even touch the thing. His father’s obsession with the past had been the music of his childhood. That letter was nothing short of a stone around his neck.
But Clementine had worked so hard to find it. The stone practically crumbled, leaving him foolishly soft inside.
“You found it, you should be the one to open it.”
She eased it open, wincing when it tore a little, then unfolded it carefully. He held his breath as she scanned it then his heart rebounded against his ribs when her eyes dimmed. It was worse than he realized. Perhaps there were more salacious details of his ancestors’ royal affair or some information he did not know.
“What is it?” he finally managed to ask. “What does it say?”
“Deeds.” She handed over the letter. “Nothing more than deeds.”
He took it from her and glanced it over, recognizing the name of his uncle’s father. The deeds were to a building somewhere in Somerset but nowhere he knew. Why it was worth hiding, he had no idea. He ran a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw and sighed. All he’d managed to find was something else for his stepcousins to fight over.
Chapter Seventeen
Violet forcibly shoved her arm through Clem’s, drawing her close to her side as they strolled through the Pump Room toward the fountain. “You cannot spend all day at Mary’s house, you know. It does one good to get away from a situation once in a while.”
Clem glanced at her dark-haired sister who could always be counted on to be chipper, even when visiting the Pump Room to take the waters for the thirtieth time this year. Clem did not miss London and once the Season in Bath began, there were plenty of plays and talks to attend, but taking the waters had become something of a habit, and Clem did not do habits very well.
Unless one counted almost kissing Roman, of course. Did that count as a habit? She pursed her lips. Perhaps not. After all there had been some nearly kissing and then some very real kissing. Unless she repeated that kiss it would not count as a habit, surely?
“Your cheeks are red again.” Her sister gave said cheek a prod.
“Ouch.” She rubbed her face. “What was that for?”
“You turn such a dark shade of red when you are thinking naughty thoughts.”
She looked askance at her sister. “I am not thinking naughty thoughts.”
“Usually, you are thinking up some new hobby that people will disapprove of but this red...” She prodded her again. “This red is different.”
Clem tried to pull away from her sister, but Violet held her tight. “Cease prodding me, Vi!”
“Tell me what is turning you so red, then.”
Clem glanced around. Their mother, Aunt Sarah, and Mary were standing right by the round fountain. Modest in size, the healing waters sprouted from a stone urn in the middle and were handed out in glasses by Mrs. Poole, a lady of indeterminate age who had worked at the Pump Room seemingly forever.
At present, the Pump Room was fairly quiet as most people were in the dining room, but once the Season was fully under way, the bright, airy room would be crowded with those wishing to be healed or simply to catch up on gossip. At that point, Clem and her family were forced to avoid it. Once those opting not to spend time in London descended on the town, it did not offer the respite she and her family needed from wagging tongues and the cut.
She glanced at Violet, her green gaze searching Clem’s. Underneath the vivacious exterior worked a quick mind that would forever be underestimated thanks to her appearance. It would not take her sister long to figure out something had happened.
And so, so much of Clem needed to tell all to someone. If she could confide in anyone, it would by Vi. Lily would be appalled, and Ivy was the sweetest but not the most practical of people. She swallowed and drew Violet to the side of the room by one of the huge windows, far from the trio of musicians who played from the balcony above.