Chapter 33

“Pass the tomato and shallot aspic, won’t you? Sister, your Cook does a wonderful job. The trout is perfectly boned. The crust on this bread is—” But Mr. Douglas’s praise was interrupted by the doorbell. He, Lucy, Edward, and I paused while eating our suppers.

Higgins appeared carrying a silver tray. To all our surprise, he walked right past Lucy and thrust it at me! I took from it a card with a name embossed in gold: Mrs. Tobias Biltmore.

Mrs. Tobias Biltmore, aka Pansy Biltmore, aka the woman to whom the King had written the coveted love note currently in my possession.

“Whoever could it be? Imagine, the impertinence to come to my door at this time of night,” said Lucy as she took the card from me so she could read it. “Oh.”

A world in one little word: Oh.

Then, realizing that Edward could not read the script, she announced, “Mrs. Tobias Biltmore has come to call.”

Mr. Douglas choked on his wine. “The one addressed in the King’s love letter?”

“The same.” I set down my cup. “I can imagine what she’s here about, and waiting won’t improve the situation. I’d best go see what Pansy Biltmore wants.”

“How about if we give you five minutes and then I interrupt? I wouldn’t want your dinner to get cold.” A sparkle had returned to Lucy’s eyes, and I was glad of it.

“A perfect plan.” With that, I excused myself and walked to the drawing room, where Higgins had Mrs. Biltmore waiting. Pansy Biltmore was a big woman, with a voice that matched her size. I had seen her once at Alderton House, after the death of her daughter Selina, Adèle’s schoolmate, but we hadn’t been introduced. As I entered the drawing room, she stood and stared at me with an expression of puzzlement on her face. “You are . . . Mrs. Rochester? But . . . I mean . . . I was told you helped a constable capture my daughter’s killer, and you are . . . small.”

“Yes. I am.” I stayed on my feet, hoping her visit would be a short one.

We stared at each other, as she took my measure. I did not have to take hers. I knew how Selina had been used to try to elevate the Biltmore family’s status. Instead, the girl had provoked an enemy and been murdered in her bed.

I knew the family sincerely grieved for their child, but I also knew they had put her squarely in harm’s way.

“I came for my letters,” Mrs. Biltmore finally said.

“They have been burned. All save one.”

She clutched her throat and could barely force out words. “Which one?”

“I think you can guess.” I kept my eyes on Pansy Biltmore’s face, where I saw myriad emotions pass.

“That letter is my property. You have no right to it.”

I nodded. Fortunately, I had given this a great deal of thought and come to a conclusion. “You gave up possession when you handed them to your daughter. And she is dead.” I bit my tongue before adding, “because of your avarice.”

She paused to take in our surroundings before saying, “Did you know that my husband was to be created a lord? Yes, he would have been Lord Ferris, but he died one week before the title was bestowed. An accident. His horse snapped a leg.”

“I am sorry. Please accept my sympathy.”

“Everything I dreamed of, and yet at what cost? I . . . I . . . would now gladly exchange the title for my husband—and my daughter!” Tears streamed down her face. “All I have left are my three sons and they revile me. C-Can you imagine? We need money badly, and they believe I can conjure up the sort of funds they desire! I came to London to plead for help. B-but the King tells me he’s done all he can, all he will, for me. He says he has nothing to spare, and that he is too busy planning his coronation to do more.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “The Marchioness has promised me help. Money. My sons castigate me for having let the letters out of my grasp. None of them have the skills to manage our business. None have any interest in overseeing the tenants on our land. My husband left behind debts I knew nothing of. That letter is worth a great deal of money. To many people. It is also worth much in terms of . . . persuasion. Influence, if you will. The Marchioness assures me—”

“But you have no idea what she intends to do with the letter, do you?” This I said softly, because now I did feel sad for Pansy Biltmore. This feckless woman would be a small bump in the road, an easy mudhole for the Marchioness to drive a carriage over.

“The Marchioness assures me—”

“You trust her?” Lucy’s voice cut through the sniffles of our guest as my friend stepped into the drawing room door. Mrs. Biltmore lifted her head from her hands and faced Lucy.

“Who are you?”

“This is Mrs. Captain Brayton, and you are a guest in her house,” I said, as a gentle reminder.

“Wh-why would I not trust Lady Conyngham?” Mrs. Biltmore asked.

“Because she is hungry for power. Are you really so silly as to believe that once she gets her hands on this letter she’ll be happy to assist you? Why would she be? Once she possesses this letter, she’ll have no need of you.” Lucy’s tone was scolding, but she spoke the truth, and I was glad of it.

But Lucy’s words had little effect on Pansy Biltmore, who turned back to me in supplication. “If you know that about her, you must realize you are my only hope, Mrs. Rochester. You will help me, won’t you? Just give me my letter. There are many pages. I shall sell them to her one at a time.”

Lucy and I exchanged glances. We both knew this would never work. Once Lady Conyngham learned that the woman had retrieved the letter, she would demand that Mrs. Biltmore hand it over to her immediately, in full. This stuttering, crying creature would never be able to resist the Marchioness. Particularly while her own sons put pressure on her.

“Ladies? A thousand pardons for the interruption.” Mr. Douglas walked into the room and said, “We are waiting for you. Cook has created the most amazing charlotte russe. Will you be much longer?”

“We are almost finished here. Mrs. Biltmore was just leaving.” Lucy tugged on the bellpull to call Higgins.

“Mrs. Rochester, I still hope for an answer,” said Mrs. Biltmore.

“I shall consider it.”

“I pray you do.”

Lucy gave the visitor a cool stare. “Higgins will show you out.”