She rolled her eyes, then scoffed. “You admitted you’ve been thinking of getting married. You will not remain a bachelor forever. You will one day have your own children to dote over.”
He'd not told her a lie earlier. He had been thinking more and more about the wedded state. But only in a wistful sort of way, as yet another thing his uncle’s reliance on opium would deny him.
He stood. “I think it's time for me to rest if you will not.”
She gathered the tray and bustled toward the door.
“Leave it for a maid.”
“Oh, no. I’ll finish the job myself. It’s only fair.” Before slipping out of the room, she lifted her chin in his direction. “Is there anything else I should know? To help me make a decision?”
“I cannot think of anything. But I’ll ruminate on it more and let you know.” He scratched the back of his head, wincing when he brushed against the lump there. “Perhaps Edmund will share his findings with me. If they exist.”
Jane shifted the platter in her arms. “Findings?”
“He swears he had runners investigate the suitors. I’m not sure I believe him.”
Her eyes went distant. “Ah. Hm. Well, good night, George. Sleep well. I hope you feel better in the morning.” She disappeared into the hallway.
George returned to his bed, terribly uneasy. What had Jane been thinking as she’d lugged the dishes from his room? She had a quick, scheming mind, and she’d darted away with barely a proper goodbye. What machinations did she devise at this very moment, and how might they put her in peril? And more importantly, how could George catch her if she fell? He wanted to. Damn, how he wanted to.
Too bad he couldn’t. Not while he shouldered his uncle’s dependencies and nightmares.
But if a cure was brewing in London… he rose from his bed and paced to the small, well-stocked writing desk in the corner. Martha would have a note from him by tomorrow evening.
He could have an answer soon. A giddy hope rose in his chest, and he let it rise, studying it.
Had he come to Whitwood for this, then? Not to ensure Jane married one of his chosen suitors, but because there existed a slim hope George himself may soon be able to offer a safe marriage to a lady of his choice.
And because, if he were ever forced to admit it, as the dwindling days until Christmas insist he does, his lady of choice was Jane.
Ah. A truth he’d denied for longer than he cared to admit, and a truth he could not act on. Until Martha’s response arrived, he’d have to continue as he’d originally planned—help Jane marry and to any man but George.
Chapter 9
Jane laid the glowing candle on her brother's desk and knelt behind it. If Edmund had information on her suitors, she’d find it tonight. No need to bother George with her problems. It had been clear during their entire conversation earlier that evening he’d been in pain, distracted. She should not have imposed, even if he had offered to help her.
Now she would not need to, not if she found the information Edmund had amassed on her suitors. With such a treasure trove, she could make a responsible decision on her own and with practical information about her suitors. She’d asked Edmund for it before he turned in for the evening. He’d told her the report contained nothing of import, and she should leave it alone.
He likely told the truth. If he’d found anything especially horrific, he would have kicked the offending gentleman out of Whitwood Manor. Yet, still she desired to know. She itched to know, to have all the keys to her own destiny.
Edmund’s desk had six drawers in total, three on either side. The top drawers glowed in the dim candlelight, and the bottom swam in flickering shadows. Which one would hold the key to Jane's future? Likely none of them. Edmond was a smart man, and he would not keep items of a sensitive personal nature in unlocked drawers in nearly public rooms. But hope was a willful thing, and it would not let her loose, even in her worst moments.
She considered each drawer in its own right. The top right drawer held supplies for writing. The top left drawer held the ledger in which Edmond kept the estate’s accounts in order. That left four drawers whose contents remained mysteries to her. Though, he might hide something inside the ledger. No. No. He shared the book with others, including the estate manager.
The bottom drawer on the right had smooth, rounded corners. The handle was also smooth, as if touched quite often. Clearly, he used the drawer often. The bottom left drawer was the exact opposite. Every single detail on the handle could still be perfectly made out, like it had never been touched at all. The drawer’s corners were not rounded at all but sharp, pointed. Which one would be more likely to carry the possibly incriminating details of men’s lives? The drawer never opened? Or the one always peered into?
An easy riddle to solve. She pulled open the bottom left drawer.
And discovered a stack of books. She pulled out the first one, opened it, and moved it closer to her candle. Row upon row of numbers filled the pages. A ledger. The date on the very first page indicated it was last year's ledger. She pulled out the book beneath it, and the book beneath it, and found them to be the ledgers of the last five years. No wonder it seemed so seldom opened. Likely Edmund only opened it a few times a year.
Time to try the other drawer, the one used most often.
She moved the candle to the right side of the desk and pulled it close to the edge. She opened the drawer slowly and peered into its darkness as the candlelight slowly filled it. Whatwasthat? She reached in and pulled out… sweets?Yes! Huh. She didn't know Edmond had a sweet tooth.She popped a hard candy into her mouth. Sugar and lemon.
Two drawers left to choose from. It really did not matter which one she opened next. They had so far proved surprisingly useless. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of one on the right.
“I knew you would be here,” a deep voice said from the darkness.
