A Little Bit Sinful(71)

Clarissa came over closer to him and opened another box. “1849. This must be the right box.” She withdrew the book and set it aside, and retrieved the one beneath. “1848?”

“I think we really need the previous year,” he said. His heart sped. This could be it, if Lady Manchester was right and this Simone was his mother, then he could uncover her name in just a moment.

Clarissa handed him the book. He opened it and flipped through the pages. Page after page of names until the words began to blur.

“There, look, Simone Gauteir, that must be her,” she said, looking up at him.

He nodded and looked down where her finger pointed to the decidedly feminine penmanship. There was an address listed. “My apologies to Lady Manchester,” he said, then he ripped the page from the book.

“Are you ready?” Clarissa asked.

“I want to look through the rest of these boxes,” he said. “That man was nervous for some reason, not wanting people down here. And then something Lady Manchester said. I’m fairly certain he’s hiding something.” Justin moved to other boxes and still found book after book. But there had to be something down here the man didn’t want found. Justin had nearly given up when he caught the sight of a piece of parchment hanging out of the corners of a book. He pulled on it, freeing it from its confines.

“It’s her will. I’ll read through it later, but if what she said was true and she left this hotel to her niece, then Winston upstairs will have some serious explaining to do.” He folded the parchment and put it with the other paper. “Now, let’s go.”

They went out the same way they’d come in only much quicker. By the time they reached the carriage, Clarissa’s breath was shorter.

“That was exhilarating,” she said, once they were on their way. “What will you do with her will?”

“Probably pass it to my barrister and allow him to handle the situation.”

She reached across and put her hand on his. “I’m glad we found it.”

He nodded, but said nothing else. In all honesty, he was glad she was here with him, glad she’d been the one to help him uncover his mother’s identity. Ever since he began the search for her, he’d always assumed that it would be Clipps who’d be with him when he received something in the mail. This was better.

Had it been Clipps, though, the moment would have been quite different. Somehow, though, Clarissa simply knew this moment was more important than he wanted to admit. And he knew that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else here with him tonight other than her.

…

The following evening Clarissa sat in Justin’s study going over her ledgers for Ella’s family. Mr. Bembridge had made some significant headway for their financial distress.

Things had been strained between them since the night Justin had come to her bed. He still spoke to her congenially, but not about anything of worth. He hadn’t spoken again about the information they’d discovered in Manchester House.

She wanted to ask more about what he intended to do, but she was terrified he would shut her out completely. That he would wake up and realize that his desire for her had waned and there was nothing in their marriage he wanted anymore. So she had not said another word about it. She feared that in bringing him that information, in an effort to become closer to him, she’d pushed him further away.

It was one thing to acknowledge the fact that her husband would never love her. She was trying to come to terms with that. But this indifferent friendliness would never do. She might not be able to discuss matters regarding his mother with him. If he needed to keep that separate from her for a while, then she could abide that. But she could at the very last find her way back to his bed. When he returned from Rodale’s she would discuss that with him. Or perhaps, she’d do as he once told her—a seductress takes action. So perhaps she’d merely be in his bed when he arrived home.

The study door opened and she looked up expecting to see her husband. “Did you forget something?” she asked. Then she realized, it was not Justin standing in the study doorway, but rather George.

She came to her feet. “George? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to have a talk with you, in private,” he said. “Obviously I couldn’t do so the other evening at the Potterfield Ball because your husband was right there with you. So I came here instead.” He eyed her a moment, then smiled. “After I saw Rodale leave for the night.”