The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(75)

Sliding his key into the lock, he opened it with a grating scrape of metal. The door swung open before him, revealing the shadow-kissed room where he’d spent the majority of his six years at the Hall.

Inside, things looked much as he’d left them. There was a sturdy wooden desk stacked with ledgers, a set of glass inkpots in a brass holder, and a sheaf of papers weighted down with a stone he’d found while walking on the moors.

None of the books that lined the walls were out of place. And none of the locked desk drawers had been forced open.

Thus far, the children had respected the sanctity of his study. Nevertheless, it was always the first place Jasper checked whenever he returned from a visit to Malton or York, never entirely confident he wouldn’t find it ransacked, all his secrets laid bare.

But not this time.

He’d been exceedingly careful. Before leaving for London, he’d locked his most private papers away in the desk. The study was neat and tidy, absent its usual whirlwind of clutter—the stray pages covered edge to edge in scrawled script, the stacks of dog-eared novels, and piles of correspondence.

Satisfied, Jasper withdrew, locking the door behind him.

Charlie and Alfred were probably hiding in the east wing. And Daisy was either battened down with them or tucked away in a cupboard somewhere.

Jasper set out to find them.



* * *





?“You can come out now,” Julia said.

The door of the large mahogany wardrobe slowly creaked open. A small head emerged, followed by an equally small body clothed in a stained cotton pinafore. It was a little girl, with plaited hair as black as Charlie’s, and a face just as narrow. She gave Julia a frank look of appraisal.

“You must be Daisy,” Julia said. “How do you do?”

The little girl didn’t speak. She merely edged closer, examining Julia’s face and dress, as if drawn by an overwhelming curiosity.

“Have you been in there long?” Julia asked.

“Since the coach arrived,” Daisy said. There was a grave matter-of-factness to her words, reminiscent of the tone Jasper so often took. As if she’d modeled herself on him—the same solemn speech and manner.

“It can’t have been comfortable,” Julia observed.

Daisy shrugged. Another gesture of Jasper’s, all the way down to the dry expression on her dirt-smudged face. “I like small spaces.”

Julia couldn’t help but be charmed by the girl. “Do you often hide in wardrobes?”

“Sometimes.” Daisy moved closer still, sidling up to the bed. “Did you come from London?”

“I did. Your father and I traveled all the way here on a train. It was terribly exciting.”

Daisy didn’t appear at all impressed. “Are you going to live here now? In father’s room?”

“I am,” Julia said. “Is that all right?”

Daisy set a hand on the counterpane. Her thin brows beetled in a frown. “You’re not my mother.”

Julia’s smile dimmed. “No. No, indeed. I’m not. I would never presume—”

“My mother had golden hair,” Daisy informed her.

“Did she? How lovely.” Julia could think of nothing else to say in reply.

She hadn’t met many children in her life. In London society, the youngest of them were kept separate, never permitted to intrude at meals or at parties. During the journey to Yorkshire, Julia had fretted over how Jasper’s children would receive her.

At the time, she’d been optimistic. Confident that kindness would carry the day.

That confidence was waning by the second.

“She was lovely,” Daisy said. “Father loved her very much.”

Julia’s smile threatened to vanish completely. She forced it to remain through sheer strength of will. Jasper had warned her that the children spoke freely of their mother. Julia refused to be hurt by the fact.

But it did hurt, all the same.

Of course he’d loved their mother. He’d said so only last night. And even if he hadn’t admitted to it, the evidence of his regard for her was present in all his actions. Why else would he have taken on the care of the three illegitimate children she’d borne him? Why else would he plan to leave them the whole of his estate?

For love, obviously. Love of his beautiful golden-haired mistress.

“I’m sure he did,” Julia said. “I’m sure he still does.”

“He does,” Daisy said confidently. She touched one of the carpetbags. Her small fingers tugged at a stray thread. “I can show her to you.”

Julia blinked. “Your mother?”

Daisy nodded, as solemn as a little judge. “She’s here.”

The fine hairs rose on Julia’s nape. She felt, for an instant, as if a goose had walked over her grave. “I don’t understand—”

“She’s outside,” Daisy said. “Sleeping in the garden.”





Twenty-Three





Jasper found Charlie and Alfred in the east wing of the Hall in what had once been the servants’ quarters. The damp set of rooms boasted peeling walls, rotting floorboards, and mildewed furnishings covered in dust-covered sheets long yellowed with age.

Jasper didn’t dare venture over the threshold. The flooring couldn’t support anything greater than a child’s weight. It was precisely why the boys chose the room.