“Just...please don’t let your uncle arrange your marriage.”
My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know about that?” It had only been a fortnight since I had received my uncle’s letter. I certainly had not advertised the information to anyone.
For a moment, the expression on Mr. Bladen’s face was pure panic. “I—I mean, I assume that is his intention. Not many men wish to have their niece with them for years on end.”
“Years on end?” I repeated. How would I not find his words offensive? A sudden realization overruled my offense. “You’ve been asking my aunt’s maid, Carter, for information about me, haven’t you?” His gaze shifted to the side, and I knew I was right. “How could you?”
“Juliet—”
“No.” I held up my hand. “I am done talking to you. Good day, Mr. Bladen.”
Spinning on my heel, I stalked towards the entrance of the Pump Room. Using the gentlemen and ladies entering and exiting to hide among, I managed to avoid actually entering the building. Doing so would have been sure to bring Miss Dunbar’s rage down on me. From the door, I watched Mr. Bladen walk in the direction of Bath Street.
I should have guessed he would continue to use my aunt’s maid as a way to know about me. He’d used Carter to pass a message to me before, and the maid had shown herself amenable to accepting a bribe to do so. She, like my great-aunt, wanted to see me settled.
“I am such an idiot,” I said under my breath. A stern letter to Carter with strict instructions for her not to divulge such personal information to anyone was in order. The threat that I would tell Aunt Beth ought to do the trick. My great-aunt would dismiss the maid in an instant if she heard about this and I was too fond of the woman to do that to her for this one lapse. Well, it was her second lapse if I counted when she forwarded a letter to me from Mr. Bladen.
Though I had spoken to more people who had known Jonathan than I expected I would, I hadn’t learned anything that could assist me in my quest to discover who had killed my brother.
My patience and time were running out.
Chapter Eight
“Grace Anderson is positively the most namby-pamby girl I have ever met in my life.”
Surprised to hear Miss Dunbar mention Miss Anderson, I paused for a brief moment. “Why do you say that?” I asked as I forced myself to continue with my work of brushing her hair.
“If you had ever met her, you would not ask such a stupid question.” Miss Dunbar reached to pick up a bottle at the corner of the dressing table. At the same time, my brush encountered a snarl, and she yelped in pain. “Nelson! I hate it when you pull on my hair like that. I would expect you to have the experience not to do so on every occasion!”
Biting my tongue, I mentally counted to ten. “I believe I have observed Miss Anderson on one of your excursions to the Lower Pump Room,” I said, refusing to apologize for something that had been unavoidable. “She appeared to be a well brought up and polite young lady.”
“Polite and sweet and absolutely dull,” Miss Dunbar said, condemnation in her voice. “She has mourned the death of a single man for five years now. It is laughable! As though there were no other men to be had!”
What Miss Dunbar clearly saw as a flaw, I thought sweet. Miss Grace Anderson must have truly loved Jonathan. After five years, though, perhaps it was time for her to find someone who could ensure her future. My brother would have wanted that, I was sure.
“I would have thought you would be glad not to be in competition with her.”
“Competition?” Miss Dunbar repeated in astonishment. “With Grace Anderson? Don’t be absurd, Nelson. She and I are hardly equal.”
She had never said anything more accurate. Miss Anderson was far her superior: in character, personality, and, in my opinion, appearance.
“There are times I believe you are the most dim-witted creature alive, Nelson,” Miss Dunbar snarled, and I realized she was watching me in the mirror. Her smile had a cruel edge that I knew not to trust. “Mr. Ingram told me you didn’t wait to be recompensed for delivering the note when I sent you the last time.”
What an odd change of topic. “It was late, and being alone on the streets at such a time would have been unwise,” I said, choosing the least offensive reason to explain my actions. I finished pinning her hair in place and stepped back. “Will there be anything else?”
Miss Dunbar scoffed as she stood up. “All you had to do was ask Mr. Ingram to provide an escort for your return. Who knows? Perhaps you would have enjoyed spending time with a handsome footman.”
“I hardly think so.” The moment the words left my lips, I regretted them. There was only one way she would see them: confrontational.
Just as I suspected, she spun to face me, and her eyes flashed with fury. “You are an ungrateful creature! Not every employer would be so lenient to allow you to have a gentleman caller!”
And not every lady would scream at her servant or throw things at said servant whenever she had a temper tantrum. However, I kept this observation to myself. My silence did not help the situation as I hoped. When she grabbed the basin of water and tossed the dirty water onto me, I had to count to twenty in my head to keep from retaliating.
Miss Dunbar flounced out of the room, leaving me dripping wet. I curled my shaking hands into fists, fighting the desire to follow her into the hallway and throw something at her. “Spoiled child! I have had enough of you!” I remarked in a low voice.
Right then, I made my decision. I had hoped to stay in the Dunbar house long enough to learn all I would need, but it did not seem the best course any longer. If I would have to devote some of my time to seek out a different position to avoid Rose Dunbar’s cruelty, then so be it. As soon as it was morning, I would spread the word.
The front of my wet dress uncomfortably clung to me. Huffing, I pulled at the fabric and tried to wring the water out. After a minute, I gave it up as useless and walked to the door. I would have to change before I could clean up the mess on the dressing room floor.
As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I realized the error I had made. My mind had been so caught up with my anger that I hadn’t checked to see if anyone was out there and, disconcertingly, there was someone there.
“My, my. Now that is a most flattering look on you, Nelson,” Daniel Dunbar said, his eyes moving across my body. “I approve.”
Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest. The action only made him smirk. “Good day, sir,” I said, hoping my sharp tone would make him move along.
“It is all the better for having seen you, you lovely creature,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting my words. “You are emulating the bold fashion of young ladies now, are you? Most confine themselves to dampening their petticoats, but I see you have the courage to take it further.”
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and rage. “Excuse me. I have duties to attend to,” I let out, focusing my gaze on the ground. Stepping forward, I hoped I would be quick enough to get around him without any further comments on my appearance.
Much to my dismay, however, he stepped to the side so that he remained directly in front of me. “A man might imagine all kinds of things when he sees a woman dressed in such alluring attire. He would be forgiven for responding to such a seductive sight.”
What was he saying? He couldn’t possibly mean what I thought his words implied! “Don’t come near me,” I said, holding my ground. “I have made it clear that I find your attention distasteful and wanted.”
His grin widened, and he took a step forward. “Daniel! Are you coming?” His father’s voice halted him. “We must leave now.”
The man heaved a frustrated sigh. “You and I will have to continue this conversation another time,” Mr. Dunbar said, catching my hand. He landed a kiss on the back of my hand before I could pull free. “Until then, Julie Nelson.”
A shiver went down my spine as he moved towards the stairs. Swiftly, I rushed for the narrow staircase that would take me up to my room.<
br />
The evening had made one thing crystal clear: I had to get out of that house.
WHEN I APPROACHED HER the following morning, Mrs. Dobbs expressed no surprise to my query. In fact, she appeared sympathetic as she assured me that while she did not know of any young lady in need of a personal maid right then, she would ask about for me.
Of course, I knew I could not rely on word of mouth. I searched the papers Bunker set aside for me, searching for any notices of ladies desiring to employ a lady’s maid. I sent letters to those that I found. Not knowing anything about those who made up Bath’s polite society did hinder me—seeing how well I had done in gaining Rose Dunbar as my employer was proof of that—but I knew I had to take the chance.
A tense week passed. I did all I could to avoid any part of the house where Mr. Dunbar could be present. Miss Dunbar’s mood mellowed, though she took every opportunity she could to berate the work that I did in her presence.
My half-day did not come soon enough for me. When it did, I made my way to my brother’s grave, anxious for solitude and peace.
I didn’t find either.
“This seems a strange place for a young lady to take her walks,” Adam Melbourne commented from where he crouched by the stone marking Jonathan’s grave. “I could hardly believe it when Miss Anderson said she had met you here, a graveyard of all places.”
What was he doing there? “Not everyone has the luxury of meeting people in drawing rooms or at dinner parties, Mr. Melbourne,” I said cautiously. Why had I come into any conversation between him and Miss Anderson? “We take advantage of meeting others wherever possible, even if it is in a somber place.”
“My friend Harper tells me that you were once closely connected to the Sinclair family and that you have been seeking information on behalf of Miss Juliet Sinclair.” Mr. Melbourne straightened up to his full height. His gray eyes held a serious expression, completely at odds with the light-hearted young man I had always seen in our encounters before. “Is this true?”
“Yes.” My honesty did nothing to change his expression.
“Excellent. I have a proposition for you.”
Dumbfounded, I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting him to say, but those words were not it. “A proposition?” I asked cautiously. “What kind of proposition?”
“If you agree to assist me in gaining Miss Dunbar’s attention, I have a few items I believe Miss Sinclair might like to have. You will be the one to give them to her. Surely, she would be grateful for that and reward you.”
“What could you possibly have that she would be interested in?” I asked, trying not to show my eagerness. Did he hold the key to what I wanted to know? As much as I didn’t want to encourage him in his pursuit of Miss Dunbar, I knew I would do it if he had what I needed.
“How about unfinished letters that her brother began to write but never had an opportunity to finish before his untimely death.”
Letters? From five years ago? Why would Mr. Melbourne have those? Why would he have kept them for so long and not found a way to see they were delivered to the intended recipients or Jonathan’s family, at least? “Before he was killed, you mean,” I said, trying to gain some time to think. What kind of information would be in those letters if they were unfinished? Would it be worth it?
For a moment, a frown creased his forehead. “Killed? What do you mean by that? My friend was ill for nearly a week before he died. it was tragic, of course, but his death did not come about by foul means.”
“Miss Sinclair was informed, by a reliable source, that her brother’s death was not the result of illness.” Since coming to Bath, I’d had to refer to myself in the third person more than I’d ever had to before. I had almost begun to think of myself as a separate person.
He fell back a step, his face stunned. “Are you implying Sinclair was murdered? No! That can’t be! He was ill. I was there and saw him myself.”
“Are you calling Miss Sinclair a liar?”
Mr. Melbourne blanched. “O-of course not!” he stammered, much to my satisfaction. “That’s not what I meant to say at all. I simply hadn’t heard that before. This is incredible.” He shook his head. “Someone must have played a cruel joke on Miss Sinclair.”
“I think not. Her source for the information is very reliable.” I found it strange that Mr. Harper hadn’t confided in Mr. Melbourne. Why had he told of my connection to Mr. Melbourne but not more details of the matter?
“Astonishing! But he was ill...” His voice trailed away. “Oh. I see! Poison could cause similar effects. But who would have wanted Sinclair dead? He caused no harm to anyone.”
“Precisely what Miss Sinclair wishes to know.”
He cocked his head to the side. “And perhaps the letters have the answer. Do we have a deal, Miss Nelson?”
“Are you certain you wish for Miss Dunbar to notice you?” I asked. “She is not what she seems to be in public, and you may not like her true nature.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that her temper in private is a far cry from what she shows when she is with others.” Without actually saying she was a cruel, horrible person, I wasn’t sure how much more clear I could get. “I don’t believe she is the kind of young lady you would wish to spend the rest of your life with is all I wish to say.”
“I think I am the best judge of that.”
Throwing up my hands, I gave up on convincing him. “If that’s the way you want it, we have a deal. I will do my best to raise Miss Dunbar’s opinion of you, and that is all I can promise. There will be no guarantee my assistance will make any difference, though. I hope you understand that.”
A delighted laugh left his lips. “Wonderful.”
The seriousness had vanished from his expression, leaving him once again the smiling young man I’d first met. “When will I see the letters?” I asked, eager to have them in my possession as soon as possible.
He glanced around, as though he was searching for someplace. “Within the next few days. I will put them in a leather pouch and leave them here for you to retrieve whenever you have the chance.”
Though it didn’t seem like the safest of options, I couldn’t think of a better plan of how I could get the letters. “Very well. We have an agreement. I do hope you’re not going to be telling Mr. Harper about this arrangement, though.”
“Harper? What interest could he have in this?” He didn’t even wait for me to figure out an answer to that question. “In any event, he’s returned to London on business. He didn’t say when, or even if he would return.”
Mr. Harper had left? Had he finished what he’d come to Bath to do? Did he know who had killed my brother? Was that even the reason he’d been there? Why was the man such a mystery?
“It’s been a pleasure speaking to you, Miss Nelson,” Mr. Melbourne said, getting my attention. “I will leave you to enjoy the rest of your day.”
I faced my brother’s grave as the young man went on his way. “A dear bargain is always disagreeable, particularly as it is a reflection upon the buyer’s judgment,” I said softly. It was a quote I had heard my brother say once, a long time ago, and it seemed applicable to my current situation. I couldn’t even remember who had initially said it, but that was beside the point.
It was possible my desperation to know what my brother had discovered was impairing my judgment. While I was confident that Miss Dunbar would want nothing to do with Mr. Adam Melbourne, I knew I would carry some guilt if she did take notice of him. She would make his life miserable.
“Jonathan, I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
I HAPPENED TO GLANCE over my shoulder when I was returning to the Dunbar house and spotted an all too familiar boy dodge to the side. Why would that little pickpocket be following me? He seemed to have realized that I had seen him because he remained out of sight and I didn’t see him again whenever I checked over my shoulder.
Miss Dunbar bragged about how many men she’d had vying for her attention at th
e soiree. While I helped her dress for bed, I asked if Mr. Melbourne was one of her admirers, mindful of my agreement with the man. I was not at all surprised when she laughed as soon as I said the name.
“That fool? He is the last person I would ever encourage to pursue me,” Miss Dunbar asserted, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s nice enough to have him there to fill out the numbers, and when there’s no one else to talk to, I suppose he can be amusing. He’s hardly the kind of man a lady wants on hand all the time, though.”
Just as I’d thought. “So you have no intention of turning him off then? Should you not allow him to pursue some other lady?”
“Why would I do something like that?”
Because it would be the kind thing to do. Because there is always a shortage of young men in polite society. Because it was hardly fair for so many to pay court to one, spoiled girl.
Wisely, though, I kept my thoughts to myself. Miss Dunbar may have feigned compassion in public, but it was never sincere. An appeal for her to be kind would have no results.
“I’m sure once I am married the other ladies will get their share of attention.”
That was the first time she had ever mentioned marrying. “Have you been asked?”
Standing up, Miss Dunbar shrugged. “Oh, I expect him to make an offer soon,” she said, her tone careless. She picked up a sealed message from the top of the dressing table. “And that reminds me. I need you to deliver a letter for me. Tonight. You’ll be compensated, of course.”
My heart sank. When had she written it? “Another note for Mr. Ingram?”
“Who else would I wish to contact at this time of the night?” Miss Dunbar held the letter out to me. “You’d better be quick about it. Father believes it is going to rain tonight and he is right about these things often enough. You wouldn’t want to get wet and catch a chill, would you?”
The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2) Page 7
