The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

What an odd thing to say? Why on earth would Oliver know of Mr Jameson’s appointments? Based on Mr Andrews’ strange ramblings, perhaps he was brewing with an illness, too.

“Miss Flint would like to discuss the matter of her inheritance.” Oliver gestured to the lady at his side who had remained silent throughout the bizarre exchange.

Mr Andrews looked at Miss Flint and frowned. “Excuse me, my lord, but I’m confused.”

Oliver was beginning to doubt the sanity of the man charged with the smooth running of the office.

“I would like to speak to Mr Jameson about claiming my inheritance,” Miss Flint said with the same air of frustration Oliver was currently experiencing. “Am I not named as the beneficiary? Am I not the heir of Morton Manor?”

Mr Andrews pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. “And who might you be?”

Damnation. What was wrong with the man? He was tempted to sniff the clerk’s breath to see if he was partial to a morning tipple.

“This is Miss Flint!” Oliver could no longer suppress his annoyance. “The lady resides at Morton Manor. The house named in the document found in Mr Jameson’s drawer.”

“But that cannot be. Miss Flint is currently with Mr Jameson, discussing details of her inheritance.”

“Excuse me?” Dark shadows passed before Oliver’s eyes. Nicole’s sudden gasp confirmed he had not misheard.

“Miss Flint arrived twenty minutes ago and is in Mr Jameson’s office.”

“But that is not possible.” Every muscle in Oliver’s body grew tense. “Miss Flint is standing here with me now. I brought her back from the manor myself. I want to see Mr Jameson, and I want to see him now.”

Mr Andrews struggled to catch his breath. “No one may enter his room when he’s with a client.”

“We shall see about that. I am most interested in meeting the lady who claims a connection to my father.” Oliver straightened. “You will announce us to Mr Jameson at once.”

Nicole grasped his arm. “Let us leave. I knew it was a mistake. Your father must be acquainted with another lady by that name.”

Oliver turned to her and tutted. “Do not tell me this is a coincidence.”

“Truthfully, can you see your father leaving a house to a paid companion?”

The answer was no. But then he would never have thought his father capable of locking his daughter away in an old asylum, either.

“Announce us now, Mr Andrews, else I shall take my business elsewhere.”

Mr Andrews turned, took two steps forward and then swung around. “If Mr Wild were here he—”

“The fact is he’s not here.” Oliver took Nicole’s hand, placed it in the crook of his arm and marched past Mr Andrews. Mr Jameson’s room was directly opposite Mr Wild’s office. Oliver rapped on the door.

No one answered despite the deep mumbles inside.

He knocked once more and then seized the door knob and strode in.

Mr Jameson jumped up from his chair behind the large oak desk. “What … what is the—” He stopped abruptly when he realised to whom he was speaking. “My lord.” Jameson inclined his head. “Mr Wild is ill, but if you’d be so kind as to wait outside, I shall be with you presently.”

Oliver’s gaze fell to the lady sitting on the opposite side of the desk, wearing a red velvet spencer and matching bonnet. She had the look of a woman who’d sprinted across a field on a hot summer’s day: flushed cheeks, moist lips and a playful glint in her eye capable of bringing any virile man to heel. His eyes moved passed the ebony ringlets bobbing at her cheeks to the cross dangling from the pearl row around her neck.

Bloody hell!

This woman was wearing a Darby heirloom. His grandmother wore the identical one in a portrait hanging in the gallery at Bridewell.

“I see no need to wait outside.” Oliver turned his attention to the solicitor. “Not when I have an interest in the outcome of your meeting. I have just returned from Morton Manor. A house owned by my late father and bequeathed to Miss Flint.”

“Yes,” Jameson nodded. “Miss Flint has come here to claim her inheritance.” The solicitor gestured to the woman sitting demurely in the chair. “Then I trust you have already met.”

The lady looked up at him. “No, we have not had the pleasure.”