Page 88 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

But why would she have hidden a key there? For there was no doubt she must have secreted it away on purpose—in a place where Jethro would not find it, until after her death, if at all.

Her pulse quickened. Could it be the key to the locked drawer in her bureau? But what did it hold that was private—so personal—that Jethro’s mother didn’t want her son to see?

Cassandra was determined to find out.

She hurried downstairs to the drawing room, went straight to the desk, and slipped the key into the lock.

It fitted, just as she guessed it would. With a single turn, the lock clicked, and Cassandra pulled open the drawer. She examined the contents—two bundles of letters, tied up with ribbon, and a miniature portrait of a gentleman, which she withdrew for a closer examination.

Who was this man? His hair was dark, his features striking rather than handsome, except for a pair of deep grey, almost black, eyes. Was he a relation? She turned the miniature over in her hand and read the inscription on the back.

For Sarah Jane. With love. Granville

Cassandra gasped. Could this man be Jethro’s father? It seemed likely. But why was it locked up inside his mother’s desk? Had her grief been so severe she had hidden away every remembrance of him—even from Jethro? Would the letters shed any light on the mystery?

She untied the bow securing the top bundle, but before she had a chance to unfold the first letter, the door opened, and Martin announced that a Mr Rowson was here about the position of butler.

“Does Mr Hunt know?”

“Yes, madam. He’s busy at the warehouse and requested you see the man.”

Cassandra felt absurdly pleased that Jethro had not only listened to her wish for a butler but had also delegated the task of assessing the man’s suitability to her.

“Please show him into Mrs Timms’s room. I’ll be down shortly.”

With a last look at the miniature, she slipped it back into the drawer. Perhaps it was as well she had been interrupted. Her curiosity had overcome her better judgement. She had no right to pry. It should be Jethro who looked through these things—not her. She would tell him about her discovery later.

Cassandra locked the drawer and slipped the key underneath her writing tray. That should ensure its safety until she could retrieve it. She didn’t want to keep Mr Rowson waiting.

With a lightness to her step at this fresh sign that Jethro trusted her judgement, she made her way to the housekeeper’s room. As she descended the servants’ stair, her senses were assailed by an aroma of cinnamon. Licking her lips, she resolved to go in search of the source of that glorious smell just as soon as she had assessed Mr Rowson’s capabilities.

The man came with a letter from Jethro’s solicitor, who had already investigated his background. Rowson brought with him the highest of recommendations, and would add to the consequence of their household, having previously been employed as first footman in the Duke of Wessex’s Weymouth home.

A brief conversation was all that was required for Cassandra to confirm Mr Curtis’s assessment of the man, and she engaged Rowson on the spot.

Once the matter was settled, Cassandra followed her nose to the kitchen, where Mr Oliver was cooking. She hovered at the door until he came over with a trayful of biscuits, which he begged she would sample.

As she took a bite of the warm biscuit, it melted in her mouth, leaving a taste of cinnamon mixed with honey on her tongue.

“Mr Oliver, you are a genius,” she said. “Your best confection yet. I shall have the whole town swarming here to pay morning calls to sample your cinnamon biscuits.”

The cook disclaimed, but it was clear he was pleased.

With the sweet taste still in her mouth, Cassandra thought of her husband. She was eager to tell him about the contents of the locked drawer. Would the biscuits give her excuse enough to visit him so she could share her discovery now instead of waiting until he came home?

“It seems a shame Mr Hunt should miss out on this treat because he is too busy with his work. Please wrap half a dozen in a cloth and pop them in a basket for me. I shall take them to him whilst they are still hot from the oven.”

“A wonderful idea, madam. Your husband is a fortunate man to have such a wife.”

Cassandra wondered if Jethro would agree.

Basket in hand, she returned to the drawing room and retrieved the two bundles of letters and the miniature, which she tucked next to the biscuits .

Followed by Martin, carrying the basket, Cassandra made her way to the warehouse.

As on her previous visit, Mr Crowley opened the door to her, and showed her up to Jethro’s office.

“Are you certain it won’t be an intrusion?” she asked, climbing the stairs behind the manager.