Page 39 of The Stranger I Love
Augusta smiled. “Thank you.”
I pushed out of my seat and situated my dress. “Shall we have that history lesson and walk now?”
Augusta opened her mouth and seemed to stop herself. “Why, I adore history. I will positively expire if we do not have a lesson this very minute.”
Chapter 18
Atlas
Hunching over my desk in my study, I thumbed through my correspondence. Four letters today. I started with the one I held the least expectations for—a letter from Mr. Blackwood. Skimming the first few lines, I learned the disappointing news that he had gone through all the regular attendants of the gambling den in town twice now, but he could not find a single person who had lost money to me who was not accounted for that night. Even Mr. Timmons had an alibi.
Worse than this news, Mr. Blackwood was under the impression that the fire remains found on my property were unrelated to the case. It was only because I had been unable to recover anything substantial myself that I did not curse his failings again. Mr. Blackwood finished his letter with a report on my past friends, stating that there had been no suspicious activity on any of the names I had asked him to keep an eye on. Gambling away their fortunes was not considered worth mentioning, apparently.
We were back to the beginning—without any forward progress. Grumbling, I returned to the rest of my post.
Next in the pile came from Dr. Newman. I read through it with anxious hope.
“Capital!” I exclaimed out loud. Dr. Newman had agreed to move to Mapleton to practice at my cottage hospital. This was fantastic news andjust what I needed after more disappointment from Mr. Blackwood. I quickly penned him a letter with my thanks before moving to the next letter I had received.
This one was far less thrilling. I skimmed it and tossed it aside to deal with later. It was another investment opportunity from Briggs. Hadn’t I told him of my disinterest? I know he was a brilliant man, but he was far more excited about growing my income than I was. Either he loved risking dead-end ventures or was truly afraid that I would give away all my money in projects that had no return.
I set my finger on the last letter and pulled it across my desk. A common wafer sealed it closed and eliminated my ability to guess its sender. I hoped it was not another bill from some new piece of furniture for the drawing room.
I took my pen knife and slit open the seal. Unfolding it, I scanned the contents for the sender. Mr. Gregory—my new investigator. My eyes widened and I read through the letter again from the top. Then I read it twice. Finally! The news I had been waiting ages for. My hand went to the spot beneath my shirt where the ruby ring lay beneath. Soon, I would return it with my sincere thanks. Soon.
I hopped to my feet and hurried from the room.
Closing my study door behind me, I went in search of Mother, flipping Mr. Gregory’s letter absently against my leg as I walked. My step was lighter than it had been in some time, even with my slight limp. My rescuer had a name: Miss Palmer. Or at least we hoped it was her. Soon we would meet and know for certain. I knew I needed to keep my expectations realistic in case Mr. Gregory was wrong, but my hopes would not be restrained.
I was so close!
In a few days, this new investigator had managed to accomplish ten times what Mr. Blackwood had failed to do over many, many months. The blasted man had strung me along to take my money. Mr. Gregory, on the other hand, was honest and competent. He had convinced the proprietor of Fairview House, where I had convalesced, to turn over a list of names of other renters. The proprietor had refused to cooperate with us before, and I dared not ask what sort of measures had been taken to attain it. With this new resource, there were only a few names to follow.
He would know more by the end of the week, but I would let Mother know of my travel plans and begin preparing. The very idea of meeting the woman from my dreams—my hero—would change everything. Besides the money and my opportunity to thank her, I sensed it would shift my world a second time.
My eyes drew the path to the library and my pace slowed. The likelihood of Mother being in there was not high, but my search for her would provide the perfect excuse to interrupt Miss Lewis. I had the strongest urge to tell her of my good fortune. But that would be ridiculous. She could not know anything about my past. Then Mother and Augusta would learn of it.
And yet, I wanted to steal a few moments of conversation with her regardless.
I scratched the back of my head, stalling in indecision. My motivations for being near Miss Lewis were not necessarily about Augusta or my suspicions any longer. I had become increasingly drawn to her. It felt different from my shallow affection for Mary Anne, but there were enough similarities to rattle me. Hadn’t I promised myself that I would focus on protecting my family and earning my second chance? Caring for another woman would muddle my mind again.
I did not want to be weak. And here I was, thinking less and less about my rescuer and more and more of a particular dark-haired companion.
Pivoting on my heel, I moved toward the drawing room instead. I could observe Miss Lewis when I was certain my head was on straight. A few feet before I reached my destination, the drawing room door swung open. Mother strolled through, followed by Augusta and . . . Miss Lewis—the rather fetching subject of my thoughts.
So much for avoiding her. When she looked over and met my gaze, my lips pulled into a smile. Such an expression of mine had once been instinctual. Perhaps I was finally healing. Or perhaps I was not sorry at all that my plan to avoid Miss Lewis had been foiled.
Mother clasped her hands together, the action drawing my attention. “Wonderful! We were just coming to find you, Atlas.”
“And I was on my way to find you.”
Mother grinned. “Truly? Let me go first. Lord and Lady Timbrel are hosting a dinner party, and we have been invited.”
“Oh? What makes this invitation any different from the hundreds of other parties they’ve hosted?”
Augusta snorted behind her hand.
“Because,” Mother said, “this will be the first party Augusta will attend.”
