Page 33 of In the Midnight Hour

“I’ve written to Parfitt’s heirs to see if they want anything, but I haven’t received a response yet,” North replied to her question. “I kept some of his retainers on—the maid, the housekeeper, the cook and scullery maid, and the footman—and they said the items had been abandoned.” He shrugged. “Still, I wrote to his relatives anyway. I don’t wish to dispose of anything they might want.”

“That was very kind of you to do. Most people would have just rid themselves of the nuisance.” Hypatia had to admit that Northwood was making himself difficult to dislike. That did not, however, mean they were friends. Not yet.

Hypatia wasn’t convinced she ought to risk having male friends. Not after her experience with Sir Radnor.

Finally, they entered Islington. Northwood had obtained the Clavertons’ address from Sir Radnor’s butler. This was in addition to him obtaining Drummond’s plans following his search of her house from the hackney driver. Furthermore, he’d somehow managed to discover that Drummond had already searched the Clavertons’ the day before. The driver had overheard them discussing it.

The coach turned into Henry Street. Lined with narrow, brown-brick terraced houses, the neighborhood was very new—built within the last decade—which made sense as Islington rapidly developed due to London sprawling outward.

They came to a stop in front of a house with a black front door. A simple fanlight was the only decorative aspect, unless one considered the wrought-iron gate at the pavement.

Northwood’s coachman helped Hypatia to the ground. She’d changed her costume to a plain dark blue walking dress. It wasn’t mourning, but it was subdued, which she thought would be appropriate for this call.

They made their way through the gate to the door where he knocked. “Ready?” he asked.

In the coach, she’d given him a vague idea of what she planned to say.

An older woman in a gray gown with a white apron and cap answered the door. Lord Northwood immediately flashed his disarming smile. He was objectively attractive, but when he smiled, he became something else—dangerous. Especially to a widow who hadn’t loved or been attracted to her sixteen-years-older husband.

“Good afternoon, I’m Lord Northwood and this is Lady Cartwright. We’ve come to extend our condolences to Mr. and Miss Claverton.”

“I’ve something particular I’d like to discuss with them,” Hypatia said. She worried the Clavertons would send them away without seeing them.

“Mr. Claverton is at his office in Barnard’s Inn,” the housekeeper said. She’d brightened upon hearing Northwood’s introduction, and now she couldn’t stop staring at him. “Please come in. I’ll make sure Miss Claverton is receiving.” She stepped back and held the door so they could enter the compact entrance hall.

The housekeeper ascended the staircase, leaving them to wait. A doorway on the left led to a small parlor that faced the street. The furnishings were not as new as the house. Indeed, they were similar to those in Sir Radnor’s house as far as their age and wear. Perhaps they’d inherited them from their grandmother. The curtains on the window were simple and plain, more functional than decorative. That could very well have been their choice, however.

“Do you think she’ll see us?” Northwood whispered.

He’d moved closer to her so that his sandalwood scent enveloped her for a moment. She ignored the tantalizing fragrance. “I hope so.”

“What about Claverton?” he asked. “Should we go to Barnard’s Inn after this?”

“I should like to. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Not at all. It would be my pleasure to escort you. Besides, your coach isn’t functional.” He grinned, and she suppressed an answering smile because the housekeeper was coming back down the stairs.

The housekeeper moved around them and gestured to the front room. “If you’d care to wait in the parlor, Miss Claverton will be down shortly.”

“Thank you.” Northwood gave her another smile.

“Can I bring you anything?” the housekeeper asked earnestly, her brown eyes fixed mostly on Northwood. “Tea or biscuits?”

Northwood looked toward Hypatia in question. She gave him a slight head shake in response.

“No, thank you,” he replied to the housekeeper. “But that’s most kind of you.”

Hypatia moved into the parlor and decided not to take the most worn chair, thinking it might be the one Miss Claverton preferred. Instead, she sat on the settee, which invited Northwood to sit beside her, though that was not her intent.

He did not fail to satisfy her expectations.

As they waited, Hypatia surveyed the room more closely. The rug was threadbare in places, and the furnishings were scuffed and chipped from years of use. A table next to the window had a broken leg and appeared to lean, rather crookedly, against the wall.

In that moment, she changed her mind about how much of the inheritance to give them. The increase was due to seeing their circumstances, but she acknowledged that her motivation was not entirely selfless.

Offering some of the inheritance to the Clavertons would perhaps soften others’ judgment of her. They might see Hypatia as a woman of kindness and generosity instead of a conniving seductress.

It was, at least in part, Miss Claverton’s fault that anyone saw her in such a way. The accusations she’d made at the inquest had been horrid. And yet here Hypatia was planning to offer her money.