The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(96)

But then, Titus had only given her the things he wanted for himself. He’d stayed in Cambridge long after his university days had ended, wanting to think the same things over and over. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. Then she remembered Emily’s scars.

“If I find her,” Jane promised, “I’ll tell her what you said. But where to start searching?” She glanced away as she said that so that he wouldn’t see the knowledge in her eyes.

“Where indeed.” Titus nodded glumly. And then, he reached and very lightly tapped Jane’s shoulder. “I can see it now,” he said. “You do worry for your sister. Even though you do it all wrong—I can see you care for her, in your own deeply troubled manner.”

It was almost as if they were having a moment of sympathy. Jane nodded; he pulled his hand back from her shoulder and then quietly left the room.

“I suppose you know which barrister she’s visiting?” the Countess of Cambury asked. “I would have said more to force the issue. But it hardly seemed necessary.” She shrugged, and then smiled at Jane. “You handled yourself very well.”

Jane smiled back. “Of course I know where she is,” Jane said. “At least, I know his name. Or, rather, I know the sound of it—and I don’t think he’ll be that difficult to find.”

Earlier that day in London…

Anjan didn’t think he was ever going to get used to the noise of London. He’d grown up in a more populated city. One might have thought, he supposed, that London was nothing. But the noises here were a totally different thing. Nothing he could pinpoint aside from a collective wrongness.

It bothered him, that difference, even at the desk he had in Lirington and Sons.

Anjan had a position. A position with a battered desk in the copyists’ room, true, and never mind his graduation with honors or his recent admission to the bar. But it was a start, and for a start, he’d smile and sit with the copyists. Once he made himself invaluable, matters would begin to change.

As if in answer to that, George Lirington opened the door to the room. He looked over the bent heads of the scriveners before his eyes lit on Anjan.

“Ho, Batty,” he said. “You’re wanted.”

Anjan stood. Lirington and Sons specialized in maritime issues. They’d hired Anjan for a number of reasons—not least of which was the fact that he spoke both Hindi and Bengali. Being able to understand the lascars aboard ships had its benefits.

Anjan reached for his notebook and stood. “Is it the Westfeld accounts again?”

Lirington shook his head. “No. It’s a lady. She’s alone and she wants to hire us.” He glanced at Anjan curiously. “She asked for you by your full last name.”

“Tell me it’s not my mother.” She’d arrived in London a few weeks past, and even though he’d let her know, very nicely, that she couldn’t visit him at work… Well, she was his mother.

“No, I said already. She’s a lady.” He looked at Anjan again. “I didn’t know you knew any ladies, Batty. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Anjan hadn’t realized he knew anyone who might visit. He simply shrugged, gathered up his notebook, and followed his friend. They traversed the file room, and then turned into the front chambers. The room nearest the entry was used for discussions with clients. The door was ajar a few inches; Lirington stepped inside and nodded to someone there, just as Anjan came in behind him.

He stopped dead in the doorframe.

Emily—Miss Emily Fairfield—was standing at the window.

She had always looked marvelous, but she stunned him now. Her hair shone in the daylight that streamed from the windows. She wore a blue muslin gown, so different from the walking dresses he’d seen her in. Those had sported gathered sleeves and loose waists. This, though—this fit her figure to the waist as if it had been poured over her body. He and Lirington paused in the doorway together and issued a joint sigh of appreciation.

Anjan didn’t know what to think. She was here after all these months. What could it mean?

Lirington—perhaps, Anjan thought, because he did not know Emily—recovered first.

“Miss Fairfield,” he said. “I’ve brought Mr. Batty, as you requested.” He walked to a chair and gently pulled it out for her. “Please sit,” he said, “and tell us how we might be of service to you.”

She glided over to the table, slid her hands over her skirts, and then—Anjan swallowed hard—folded herself gracefully into the chair.

“Batty,” Lirington said over his shoulder, “fetch some tea, would you please?”

She frowned at that, a slight hint of darkness flitting across her features.

When Anjan returned with a tray, she was seated properly, looking as comfortable in the chair as if she took tea in the office every day.

“You know, Miss Fairfield,” Lirington was saying, “I do hope we can find a way to be of service to you, but I suspect we will not. You’ll have to find a solicitor, of course, although I have some excellent suggestions there. And our specialty is maritime matters. So if you would tell us what it is that is bothering you…?”

“If you can’t help me,” Emily said calmly, “I’m sure you can refer me to someone who can. I had hoped you would listen to my story.”