“William agreed to a monthly allowance large enough to cover the upkeep of Blackborne. When he died, my settlement gave me the freedom to manage the house and still keep it a secret from Fitzroy. The jointure from William’s estate is somewhat measly, hence the reason Fitzroy uses an additional allowance as bait. Had I given William a son, things would have been different.”
While he understood her reasons for secrecy, understood why William Adair wanted his son to control his stepmother’s purse strings, it still left one puzzling question.
“Are you saying your father made no provision for Jessica in his will?”
&n
bsp; She tutted. “Of course he did. He always hoped she would recover, which is why she could not draw her portion until she turned twenty-five. There’s one stipulation. Jessica must be declared of sound mind before she can inherit a penny.”
It was Finlay’s turn to flop back in the seat.
He was physically sated, mentally exhausted. But this new revelation was a promising move towards finding a motive for Dr Goodwin’s mysterious meeting and his manipulation of Jessica’s mind.
“For obvious reasons, I’ve avoided making an appointment with the solicitor,” she added. “Jessica cannot claim her portion while still so unbalanced. And I needed my allowance from Fitzroy.”
Guilt—Finlay’s faithful friend—surfaced. Had he not feigned indifference, had he not been so self-absorbed, Sophia might have turned to him for help.
“If you need anything, need money, you only need ask,” he said, knowing it was too little too late.
She forced a thin smile, though her expression remained bleak.
“Anything at all,” he stressed.
“Do you want to know why I attend lavish balls and spend my evenings dancing and making merry?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “Because for a few hours I like to pretend life is easy, and I have nothing to worry about other than making space on my dance card.”
“You seek a distraction.”
“Yes.”
Is that all this was between them—an escape from life’s problems? Were they both fooling themselves to think they might learn to love as deeply as they had before?
“Bear that in mind the next time I ask you to dance, Finlay,” she said, referring to the night at Lord Newberry’s ball when his duty to the Order meant he was forced to spend time in her company. He’d left promptly, keen to keep contact to a minimum.
Sloane’s carriage turned through Keel Hall’s majestic wrought-iron gates and ventured through the avenue of conical topiary trees. This time, Finlay couldn’t raise a smile as they passed the mermaid fountain. Regret weighed heavy on his heart.
“You’ll find the master and his guests in the drawing room, sir,” Fitchett said, straightening his eye patch. “They’ve been there for hours and asked not to be disturbed. I was just on my way to the cellar to fetch another bottle of rum.”
“Is Mr D’Angelo still here?”
“He is, sir.”
Sophia stiffened beside him. The thought of Jessica sitting with two rakish gentlemen clearly proved unnerving.
“Come.” Finlay placed his hand at the small of her back. “We shall join them and discover what has held their attention these last few hours.”
The drawing room door was closed, not left ajar. Beyond, it was deathly quiet. Jessica wasn’t playing a lively tune on the pianoforte. D’Angelo wasn’t regaling a hilarious tale that had them in fits of laughter. Sloane wasn’t reciting poems in the husky drawl women loved.
“That’s a risky move, Miss Draper,” D’Angelo said in his teasing voice.
“One that will reap rewards, sir,” came Jessica’s playful reply.
“What the devil’s going on in there?” Sophia muttered.
Impatience saw her barge into the room as if expecting to find them naked before a roaring fire, all tangled limbs and sweat-soaked bodies. The reality was far different. Yes, the fire blazed in the hearth. Yes, beads of sweat clung to Sloane’s brow, but he loomed over a chessboard, studying the pieces intently. Jessica sat opposite him at the games table, equally engrossed.
As the spectator, D’Angelo was the only one to tear his gaze away from the board and acknowledge their presence.
“Ah, you’re back.” D’Angelo pushed out of his chair and crossed the room. “How was your night at the theatre?”