Page 58 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“For now,” Connor said. “I may return later with more questions. Thank you for your time. I need to question your servants, as well.”

Mr. Finch scowled. “They have duties—”

“As do I,” Connor cut in. “A duty to law and justice, if you’ll recall.”

Mrs. Finch stood. “You may question them in the kitchen where I’m certain Cook will find you something to eat.”

At the clear dismissal, not to mention the direct reference to his class, Connor strode toward the back of the house where he’d likely find the servants’ stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure caught his notice. A maid moved in confident, graceful strides the opposite direction to a nearby door and went inside.

Why did she seem familiar? Piqued, and more than a little suspicious, Connor followed her.

Two women stood facing each other in the middle of a book-lined library. One, a woman with a slender, curvaceous figure spoke urgently to the other, a young girl wearing the apron of a kitchen worker.

“You’re sure?” asked the taller of the two. “No mention of anyone named Tal? It might have only been the first part of a name, or even a place?” she said in Margaret Hennessy’s voice.

He knew it. Foolish woman! Didn’t she understand what she risked each time she left her brother’s protection? And why always dressed as a maid? Connor fisted his hands against the temptation to shake her. Instead, he froze so as not to give away his presence.

“I’m sorry, milady, but I never heard of anything resembling Tal.” The girl wrung her hands. “He didn’t… exactly have conversation on his mind….”

Margaret sighed, and her posture fell. “No, I knew it was unlikely, but I’d hoped you’d heard something. That was his last word to me. It must mean something.”

“I’m sorry, milady. After all you did for me, I wish I could help you.”

“Thank you for slipping out to see me, Cora. Please send me word if you can think of anything that might help me. Anything at all.”

The girl promised, then slipped out through a hidden door leading to a servants’ passageway.

Margaret moved to the window and stared out. “What does it mean?” she said softly.

Stepping into the room, Connor said in a conversational tone, “What does what mean, Lady Margaret?”

With a tiny gasp, she whirled around. Their eyes met. It had only been a few days since he’d last seen her, but Connor had almost forgotten how beautiful she was. While Meg was thusly dressed, Connor could almost forget their division of classes. Almost.

She huffed. “Why are you here?”

He narrowed his eyes and shot back, “Why are you here and not safely in your brother’s custody? Do you want someone to arrest you and drag you off to Newgate?”

“I needed to speak to someone in the household.”

He folded his arms. Such clandestine activity did not bode well for her case. “Posing as a maid?”

“Yes, well, I thought it best to disguise myself so no one would see me leave the house. Or enter this one.”

He glowered at her. “Don’t you realize how suspicious your actions are?”

She adopted a lofty air, suggesting she was every bit as arrogant as he’d once supposed. It seemed a defense of hers that she used whenever she felt threatened. “I refuse to sit in a cloistered tower while others decide my fate.”

He folded his arms and waited.

She huffed a small laugh and smiled at him in probably the same way that she charmed so many hapless gentlemen at fancy parties. “I will, of course, return to Tarrington House on the moment.” She turned on her heels.

Connor took hold of her arm. “Not so fast. Explain yourself.”

She glanced around. “The longer I stay here, the more likely I’ll be caught.”

“Speak quickly.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I came to ask one of the cook’s assistants if she knew who or what Tal was.”