“Languish?”
“Some subjects are deemed improper for young ladies to learn,” she said. “Like Greek and Latin. Like the law and medicine, and it seems senseless to me.”
“What a novel idea,” Matthew said, sounding amused. “You are a very modern woman, hm?”
The door opened, and the butler entered. “Apologies for my interruption. There was a late letter for Your Grace.”
Matthew tensed. He took the letter, his face going at once very pale. Tabitha watched as he silently read the correspondence. A cloud seemed to come over him, and he stood abruptly. “Excuse me, Tabitha. I must tend to this matter without delay.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing that you need to worry over,” he said, his voice clipped.
But as he left, Tabitha felt a whisper of doubt. Her instincts told her something was very wrong.
Chapter 10
Tabitha presented more of an obstacle than Matthew had expected. As he hurried from the dining hall, letter clenched so tightly that his fingers ached, Matthew turned her over in his mind. Perhaps she presented a problem, but every problem had a solution, did it not? It might be a complicated solution, for Matthew had long learned that there was little fickler and more irrational than human nature, but there would be something.
He had assumed that Tabitha would be easy to avoid. Matthew had imagined a marriage where they lived separate lives in their shared townhouse, and their only business together would be at night. Any meetings would be cold and cordial, yet he found that the meals he shared with Tabitha were not as torturous as he imagined.
She was forthright and impulsive, which were welcome traits, given that ton women were often restrained and secretive. They hid their intentions behind polite smiles and fawning compliments, more an acknowledgement of his reputation than anything else. Not so with Tabitha.
Matthew could not decide if he ought to fight the budding enjoyment for her company or simply accept it. This letter might hold his answers. Matthew entered his study and closed the door behind him. He tore the letter open, quickly scanning the usual greeting and details about his informant’s methods. Matthew cared less about the process than the result.
I have information about a woman who matches Duchess Hillsburgh’s description at one of the theatres in Paris, and when I produced her miniature, the man seemed certain that it was she whom he had seen. I went to the theatre at once and spoke with the troupe to learn if they remembered seeing her.
One actress told me she saw a woman she believes matches the miniature, but she could not be certain. This woman was evidently dressed rather richly and accompanied by a wealthy man. As of yet, I have learned nothing further about this woman’s identity; however, I am asking the shopkeepers near the theatre if they recall seeing her. My hope is that I may be able to determine where this lady left after the performance and learn where she is now.
Matthew read the words several more times, and a tightness curled inside his chest as he did. This letter was not a promise. It was entirely possible that those people were merely mistaken or that a woman in France bore a passing resemblance to Rosemary. And yet—
Matthew told himself that Rosemary had always looked so distinctive. Striking was the word. It was not only her appearance but how she held herself. She was regal like a queen, and he could not imagine anyone forgetting her easily.
It was far too soon for him to assume that Rosemary had been found at last. Matthew knew that but could not deny the joy that stirred within him. Regardless of how tentative it might be, there was a lead, and this one—unlike many others—seemed promising.
Matthew took a steadying breath and walked towards his desk. He should ask about his daughter Elaine next. Jonathan would have mentioned if he had learned anything of her whereabouts; Matthew knew that. But he also felt the need to ask. After all, the man had not mentioned Elaine for several letters. Perhaps he had gleaned some small kernel of information. Or maybe Matthew could—at least—suggest that Jonathan also ask if there had been any indication of a girl accompanying or being close to this mysterious lady.
Matthew sat behind his desk and drew a piece of paper from its drawers. He began writing feverishly like a man possessed. Unlike Jonathan, he was brief. He thanked the man for his information, asked about his daughter, and promised to send more money if Jonathan proved successful in his search. It was all quick and simple.
As Matthew folded the letter, a series of knocks—thud, thud, thud-thud-thud—sounded from his door. They resembled a melody he’d heard before, and the similarity caught him unaware.
“Come in?” The words emerged more like a question than an order, but nonetheless, the door creaked open.
Tabitha appeared. She remained close to the door, her fingers curled around it as if she wanted to enter his study but was uncertain that was allowed. Matthew carefully folded Jonathan’s letter and tucked it beneath a stack of books atop his desk. Tabitha could certainly not read the missive from where she stood, but Matthew still felt the impulse to conceal it from her sight.
“Is there something you want?” he asked. “I am tending to my correspondence.”
“So I see. I thought that I ought to see if you were well. You did leave our meal rather abruptly, and I thought something might be amiss.”
They stared at one another for a long moment and said nothing. Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had been unnecessarily curt with her, and almost at once, he felt a jolt of guilt. Tabitha had done nothing wrong. Anyone in her position would have been concerned by his sudden flight from their dining room.
“Is there?” she asked.
“Is there what?”
“Something amiss,” Tabitha clarified.
He waved a dismissive hand. “It is nothing you need to concern yourself with, Tabitha.”
