Ravi took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He sat in the library at a writing desk, with paperwork spread before him. It had been a long week in London, with pointless details and chasing down minute pieces of information in his efforts to solve this crime for Carlingford Enterprises, the entire time being tailed and bothered by Officer Wedsley. All he’d discovered was more evidence that someone in the Carlingford household had done this crime. The smugness of Wedsley threatened to drown him. Ravi didn’t believe Dr Carlingford had anything to do with the crime, she’d been very convincing in her role, and he didn’t think that her father, Mr Carlingford, had the motivation. From all accounts, including a rather illuminating discussion with the bank Sanderson and Sons, Carlingford Enterprises was even bigger than he’d known. The swindle had taken a reasonable sum from the bookmakers, but only from the perspective of Officer Wedsley and his Scotland Yard detective’s wage. The money involved would be only notepaper to the likes of Carlingford, irrelevant on the scale of his business.
But if it wasn’t either of them, there weren’t many other options. There was her brother, Wil, who he couldn’t entirely ignore as a suspect, although he’d spent all week here with Claire and seemed to be a dedicated sibling. He scribbled a note to find out more about his individual financial situation. He’d dismissed Mrs Carlingford as an option as the perpetrator because her marriage tied her to Mr Carlingford’s success. There was no advantage to her undermining him, and every disadvantage to her if he was convicted. The staff at the house were motivated by their good-sized pay packets to keep Mr Carlingford at the helm of his successful business, so he didn’t think he would find a decent suspect among them. That only left Mr Carlingford’s own theory—that is was a business rival who wanted to use this as a distraction to get some unknown advantage. Ravi now had two solid options to continue his investigations with.
He pulled out a fresh sheet to write a letter to Officer Wedsley about his progress with the bank. If he kept it civil with the dogged investigator, he might gain further information, with the bonus of keeping him away from his new employer, Carlingford Enterprises. Tucked underneath the stack of papers at the side of the desk was the long-winded response from Mr Woodleyville in response to his resignation letter. He’d burnt a bridge there, and his stomach clenched as he wondered if the risk was worth it. Too late now, the decision was done. He had to take this chance and create his own future, and he had a contract with Mr Carlingford as security. Now he just had to fulfil the terms.
‘Ahh, this is where you have been hiding.’ His brother, Lord Dalhinge, spoke in cultured, bored tones. Even with his jacket unbuttoned, and his loose cravat leaving a dark triangle of skin at his throat, Dalhinge didn’t look at all dishevelled. His entire being screamed elegant Lord comfortable with all the power he held in his domain.
‘No-one hides from you, Dalhinge.’
A flash of exasperation swept over his brother’s face.
‘You don’t need to use my title when it is just family, Ravi,’ he said.
Ravi grinned, pleased that his dig irritated his brother.
‘Yes, but when I get a response from you, it’s worth it. Sanjay.’ Ravi grinned internally as another frown flashed across his face before Sanjay affected boredom once more. The little brother in him never went away, and Ravi couldn’t help needling his brother at every opportunity.
‘You know I’d rather you didn’t use my title. It belongs to our father.’
‘No, Sanjay. It belongs to you, whether you want it or not. Not using it doesn’t bring him back, and besides, I know you like to play at being a father figure to me,’ said Ravi. It had been twenty years since their father died while working in his beloved machine workshop. The visual memory of discovering him, pinned under an iron beam, flashed in his mind. He shut his eyes and ground his teeth as the taste of welded metal scorched the roof of his mouth. Only a memory, but it felt so real.
‘His death was difficult for all of us,’ said Sanjay.
Ravi sighed. ‘I don’t need to be reminded how difficult it was for you to inherit everything at only age fifteen. I have to live with finding him and being able to do nothing to save him.’
‘You were ten, and he was already dead. You couldn’t have done anything.’
‘I know that.’ Ravi stood up as he yelled at his brother, all his frustrations with the Carlingford case exploding at Sanjay’s comment. ‘Don’t you think I don’t know that! It’s irrational to think that I could have done something, but that doesn’t make it go away.’ Grief pulsed in his veins and he fought for control. Control was a matter of survival in his life. Don’t react when they denigrate you. They are just ignorant and are not worth the consequences of a fight—because you will always be judged to be in the wrong, no matter what the truth. His father’s words had been drilled into him until containment was natural. He took a deep breath, and stared down at the carpet, a handwoven carpet created by his mother’s relatives. Unlike them, he was lucky to be here, surrounded by wealth and privilege. Time to bury that grief once again. If he could focus and solve this problem for Dr Carlingford, he would be able to do more for his mother’s homeland.
‘I’m sorry, Ravi.’ His brother’s voice was full of contrition, so he opened his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. Sanjay paced around the room, his back held upright and tense.
‘No matter. There is nothing to be gained in wondering what our lives might be like if he was still here,’ he said. Sanjay turned on his toes and stepped towards Ravi, gathering him into a brief hug. Ravi thumped his brother on the back. Sanjay released him and coughed.
‘Ahh, little brother. You aren’t so little anymore.’ Sanjay smiled, a broad, relaxed smile that washed away years of tension from his face.
‘That’s why you don’t wrestle me anymore,’ Ravi teased, and that smile on Sanjay’s face grew. Sanjay punched him lightly in the shoulder. Ravi raised one eyebrow.
‘I might be leaner than you, thanks to all those Swedish exercises you do to build up your strength. But you only do that to compensate for being shorter. Still my little brother.’
‘By half an inch.’
‘Is that why you wear your hair so long? To give you the extra half-inch in height?’ Sanjay’s smile became a laugh, and Ravi rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He ran his hand through his hair, and gave his head a little flick. ‘I wear it long to annoy you.’
‘Spare me from little brothers,’ said Sanjay.
‘Be thankful that you have only one brother to remind you not to be so uptight. Now, why were you looking for me?’ Ravi sat back at his desk, and replaced his glasses on his nose. He leaned back in the chair, as Sanjay’s cheeks flushed slightly. Oh, fun, his brother was about to embark on his favourite subject.
‘Have you decided on a wife yet?’ said Sanjay. Ravi kept his gaze firmly on his brother’s eyes, and tried not to flinch at the direct question. A muscle twitched involuntarily in his jaw.
‘How many times have we discussed this? I will decide when I’m ready.’
‘You are thirty now. How ready do you need to be?’
‘And you are thirty-five,’ said Ravi, deliberately baiting his brother.
‘It’s not the same and you know it. You agreed to this scheme,’ Sanjay snapped at him. Ravi’s mouth opened a fraction at the sudden force in his brother’s words. It wasn’t fair to push him so hard given Sanjay’s reasons. He spread his hands before him, palms up.
‘Yes. I agreed to take a wife, preferably a non-traditional wife, one who would understand this situation. But on my schedule, not yours. You will get an heir for your title, I promise, provided you stop hounding me about it. This will only work if I get to pick someone who will suit me. Please don’t interfere.’ Sanjay tilted his head and Ravi could see the wheels in his brain churning.
‘There is someone,’ Sanjay said. The hope in his voice made Ravi cringe. He wished this didn’t matter so much to his brother, and he did, truly, want to help him. For all their brotherly posturing, Ravi loved Sanjay, and wanted to ease this unfair burden that life had placed on him.
‘No. There is no-one. I’m sorry.’
‘What about the young lady who is ill upstairs?’
‘Dr Carlingford?’ asked Ravi. He let out a huff of breath. Of course, Sanjay meant Dr Carlingford.
‘Yes, her. She’s educated, which presumably means she is progressive in her thinking. She’ll do.’ A rustle of fabric and a hint of fresh violets caught Ravi’s attention. He turned to see the flash of a dress through the open door of the library. He shook his head. Timing was not on his side. Had she been standing there for long? And how much had she overheard? He glared at his brother, and stood up.
‘Excuse me.’ He paced out of the room, arms swinging forcefully. Dr Carlingford disappeared around the end of the hallway, and he almost broke into a run. He couldn’t lose his new job over a simple misunderstanding. He arrived at the corner in the hallway. She continued to walk away from him.
‘Dr Carlingford,’ he called. She whipped around, and wobbled on her feet slightly. Her arms flew out for balance. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, and that wide mouth of hers was pinched tight.
‘I’ll do?’ she whispered. He stopped a few steps away from her. ‘Precisely what will I “do” for?’
‘Please don’t pay Dalhinge’s comment any attention.’ He almost winced at the desperation in his voice.
‘That would suit you, wouldn’t it,’ she said with her hands on her hips. His gaze dropped to her hands as they framed her waist, and he forced himself to move his gaze back to her face.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.
‘I think either you or Dalhinge, or both, are fortune hunters, and you’ve been discussing how to catch mine. That’s what I think.’
‘It’s not—’
‘Says every fortune hunter in the history of fortune hunting. I have plenty of experience with this, and I recognise your sort,’ she said. Her words punched over his, and he found himself backing away. She stepped towards him and shook one finger at him. He stood his ground.
‘Dalhinge needs to mind his own business,’ he said. ‘He wanted to know about you, and you interrupted before I could tell him to take his opinion and place it somewhere inconvenient.’
She dropped her hand, then frowned at him. ‘And?’
‘All I want is my own practice. Carlingford Enterprises is my best chance, and I wouldn’t ruin that by imposing on you,’ he said.
She laughed, a burst of surprised noise.
‘Now that was unexpected. You are a fortune hunter of sorts—wanting a piece of our pie for yourself.’
‘Yes. But I will earn it fair and square,’ he said.
She tilted her head to the side and peered up at him from under her eyelashes, as if giving his words serious consideration. Her intelligent gaze sent a shot of heat through him, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. Think of a brass plate with your name on it outside your own office. Don’t think of her as a clever woman challenging you on every level.
‘I don’t believe you are telling me the full story,’ she said. ‘And you can tell your brother that I’m not interested in his schemes.’ The force of her words made him swallow down a lump of guilt. At least she hadn’t heard the entirety of Sanjay’s scheme. She finished her sentence and spun on her heels, once again marching away from him.
***
Claire stormed down the hallway. She’d been here for more than a week, and life had apparently gone on without her. Her skirts swirled around her legs, petticoats whispering against her skin, as she paced away from Mr Howick. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. Too many men tried to use her to get an advantage from the business, and she’d learnt early in life how to keep herself distant from everyone. Had he brought her here to recover so he could seduce her for her fortune? She shrugged and slowed down, shaking her head. Outspoken, strong women tended to scare men away, so she’d built herself as strong as possible. She stopped. Mr Howick puzzled her because he seemed to enjoy that about her. He looked at her with such heat in his confident brown eyes. If she was weaker, she would have already kissed him, would have let him seduce her, and fortune be damned. But because she had made herself strong, she let herself have a second of disappointment that he stayed focused on his own goals, even after his gaze had swept over her just now. Her skin still tingled at the possibilities in his eyes. Her cheeks warmed and she lay her hand on her forehead. Perhaps she imagined this, and this blasted fever had addled her brains.
‘There you are,’ her brother called out. ‘I was just coming to find you to see if you were well enough to come to lunch. But I see I need not have worried.’
‘Since when have you worried about me?’ she said with a small laugh.
‘You wound me,’ Wil teased. He placed his hand over his heart as his blue eyes danced. She laughed properly this time and pushed him on the shoulder. Her stomach growled, and Wil roared with laughter.
‘I’m famished.’ She shrugged.
‘That’s obvious. What an unladylike sound!’ Wil’s words wiped away her smile.
‘You don’t need to remind me of my failings,’ she said.
Wil’s face sobered. ‘I’m sorry. You must know that Mother’s comments aren’t true.’
‘Let’s not dwell on that. Which way is the dining room?’ she said.
Wil gave her a hard look, but didn’t respond to her dismissal. He waved his hand, showing her the direction. ‘This way.’
After a short walk down yet another corridor in the rambling floorplan, Wil pushed open a door and gestured for her to enter.
‘The architect of this house must have been imbibing in too much Absinthe,’ she whispered as she walked past him.
Wil chuckled. ‘The floor plan is a mess because Belfington House has been extended so many times. The different hallways all come from different eras. Or so I’ve been told.’ Wil tilted his head towards Lord Dalhinge and Mr Howick who were already seated at a long mahogany table. They were deep in conversation and didn’t appear to notice that she had swept into the room. Claire halted, unsure of the etiquette in this situation. Wil brushed against her shoulder, and he cleared his throat loudly. The two brothers looked up in unison.
‘Come along, Dalhinge. Let’s be civilised and entertain our guests,’ said Mr Howick. Claire’s eyes opened wide as Lord Dalhinge stood up. Slightly taller and slimmer than Mr Howick, Lord Dalhinge had the same dark, complicated, intelligent eyes as his brother, and he used them to give her a quick once over. She raised one eyebrow.
‘Delighted to meet you.’ Lord Dalhinge nodded his head, then waved his arm to indicate that she should take a seat.
‘As am I to meet you,’ she replied, bobbing down in a quick curtsy.
‘I am most pleased to see you recovered, Dr Carlingford,’ said Mr Howick. His formal tone gave no indication of their earlier argument in the hall. The footmen bounced into action, and offered the four of them several platters of flat breads, a multitude of little bowls filled with unknown spreads, and a dish of bright yellow rice with chicken pieces, punctuated with green leaves. Claire hesitated, unsure which of the unfamiliar foods to choose. The scents from the different foods were rich, making her mouth water.
‘The breads are called Roti. Take some daal, it’s basically lentils with a few spices. If it’s too hot, you can use the mint yoghurt to cool your mouth,’ said Mr Howick. Her gaze flicked up from the food to stare at his mouth. The shape of his lips as he discussed her mouth filled her with an uncommon heat, and she swallowed. ‘You will enjoy the chicken biriyani with rice. Very flavourful, not too spicy.’ He concluded his summary of the food with a shake of his head. She nodded slowly, and used her utensils to help herself to a small portion of every dish.
‘My apologies for our fare. I should have thought that we had guests, and adjusted our normal menu to suit,’ said Lord Dalhinge.
‘Don’t change for our sakes,’ said Wil. ‘I rather prefer food that has taste over the usual bland options.’ Claire couldn’t look away from Howick as his face lost its joviality and tightened into a forced neutrality. Her own eyebrows pulled together.
‘Dalhinge, I don’t believe you have been properly introduced to our guest,’ said Howick.
‘An oversight on your part,’ said Dalhinge.
‘You do realise that it is poor etiquette to impose on the ill. This is the first chance, since our guest has recovered from her illness,’ said Howick with a half-grin. Claire rather enjoyed watching him tease and taunt his uptight brother.
‘Do continue,’ said Dalhinge in haughty tones. But Claire caught a twinkle in his eye, and realised that his humour was there, just a subtler version of Mr Howick.
‘Lord Dalhinge, may I introduce Dr Carlingford. Of Carlingford Enterprises,’ he said. Dalhinge nodded in her direction, and she bowed her head.
‘My Lord. A pleasure. Thank you for your kind hospitality while I convalesced,’ she said.
‘Howick. Did you just say Dr?’ asked Dalhinge. Beside her Wil fidgeted in his seat.
‘That’s correct, Dalhinge. My sister is a qualified medical doctor,’ gloated Wil. Claire rolled her eyes and glanced at her brother, whose cheeks had a light pink flush across them. Mr Howick picked up a napkin and dabbed it over his mouth as his smile spread across his face.
‘That is an incredible achievement,’ said Dalhinge. ‘I dare say that the illness had no choice but to depart.’
She smiled. ‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Illness comes to us all, and cures are not always easy to obtain.’
‘A pragmatic approach to sickness that presumably comes from your training. No hysteria for you, then?’ Dalhinge asked. He winced as Howick elbowed him, which made Claire grin with her nose wrinkled.
‘Hysteria is largely a condition brought on by boredom. I’m surprised you don’t suffer it. Or do Lords have to actually work in this modern society where business has overtaken land as a key source of wealth?’ she said. Howick grinned, and simply watching his mouth sent a fresh wave of heat surging across her skin. It made her want to say outrageous statements just to get him to smile at her like that.
‘You are not like other girls, are you?’ said Dalhinge. Wil clicked his tongue quietly. A prickle of heat bloomed on Claire’s cheeks. She lowered her chin, glared at Dalhinge, and waved her fork in his direction.
‘Let me stop you there. I am a full grown adult woman. Not. A. Girl. And as to the “not like other girls”. You know what? I am like other women. The only difference is that I’ve been lucky enough to have a father with enough foresight to educate all his children, not just the male ones. If you allowed women to learn more than basic household management, and—God forbid—let them vote—’ she paused, sucking in a deep breath, ‘then you’d discover that I’m just like every other woman out there.’ Howick held his hands in a triangle with his fingertips pressed against his lips. He nodded many times. Dalhinge turned to his brother in a deliberate stare, then twisted back to face her.
‘If I were to take a wife, you are just the type I’d have,’ said Dalhinge. But his eyes weren’t focused on her. Dalhinge stared directly at her brother, Wil, who raised one eyebrow and stared back with a sarcastic tilt of his head. Claire’s gaze flicked between the two as tension hovered in the room. She caught Howick’s expression—his face had deepened in colour and he pushed his glasses up his nose. There was an undercurrent in this room which spoke of events that she’d missed while ill, so she placed her fork on the table and changed the subject.
‘Mr Howick, have you made any progress in my father’s case during this past week?’ she asked.
Mr Howick laid down his utensils and turned to face her. ‘Yes,’ he said.
She held her hands up, spread before her. ‘And what progress would that be, precisely?’
‘Perhaps we should meet for a full progress report after luncheon?’ he said, with a quick sideways glance at his brother.
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Dalhinge. ‘I will leave you to your confidential discussion.’ He wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood, and with a tiny bow of his head to all in the room, he managed to dismiss everyone as he left the room. Was he upset at them, or just being lordly? Claire stared at the closed door that he’d exited through.
‘I spent most of the past week in London, chasing down various details in the case,’ said Mr Howick. His voice cut the tension in the room, and Claire refocused her attention on him.
‘Rest assured, sister dear, your lawyer hasn’t lurked about the house of his birth while you recovered in the revolting pink room. He’s been earning his commission,’ said Wil. Claire twisted in her chair to glare at her brother.
‘Fine, fine. I’ll leave. Perhaps I can annoy Dalhinge some more,’ he said.