Page 92 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“She’s not a maid, she’s the cook’s assistant,” Mrs. Finch said, still clearly cross with the young woman.

“Oh, indeed,” Margaret said as if she didn’t care.

“I have your wraps right here, milady,” Cora said timidly.

“Very good.” Margaret turned to Mrs. Finch. “Thank you again for the lovely tea.”

Mrs. Finch looked between them, nodded, and strode away.

As Cora helped Margaret into her pelisse, she glanced about fearfully.

“What is it, Cora?” Margaret asked gently.

In a hushed voice, Cora said, “I remembered something that might help you.”

To discreetly show she was listening, Margaret nodded as she adjusted the sleeves of her pelisse.

“It might be nothing,” the girl whispered, “but I just remembered that the master’s favorite servant, Ol’ Dan, the one he sends on a lot of errands, was gone for a long time the night of their big dinner party.”

“Do you happen to know where he went?”

“No, but when he got back, he gave Mr. Finch something. It looked like a snuffbox.”

Margaret’s heartbeat quickened. This must be how Hennessy’s snuffbox ended up here. She might be jumping to conclusions, but the snuffbox being here seemed a reasonable tie to Hennessy’s murder.

She handed a coin to Cora. “Thank you for telling me.”

Cora shook her head at the offered coin. “I’m in your debt.”

“No, now I’m in yours.”

As they arrived at Tarrington House, Margaret thanked the new driver, who seemed startled that she’d spoken to him, but nodded respectfully. After the footmen escorted her inside the house, she handed off her wrap. Connor wouldn’t be here for an hour or more, but Margaret ached to tell him what she’d discovered. Honestly, she ached to see him for other reasons, too.

At last, the butler said, “Milady, Mr. Connor Jackson waiting to speak to you in the front parlor.”

Connor! A sudden jittery sensation shook her hands. Had their kiss dominated his thoughts the way it dominated hers? Did she want to know the truth?

To the butler, she said, “Well done. Thank you.”

Dressed as a dock worker, Connor waited calmly inside the parlor, so dark and rough against the delicate gold and white surroundings, like two colliding worlds. Could they ever build a bridge between them?

“Mr. Jackson.” She kept the right balance of warmth and nonchalance in her voice for the sake of the butler, who bowed and left them.

He eyed her cautiously. “Lady Margaret.”

Yes, the obsequious Connor had come. How disappointing. Perhaps she could help bring back the other Connor.

She took a seat and gestured to a chair nearby in invitation. “I’m glad you’re here.” She gave him a bright smile, not concealing how happy she was to see him.

A hesitant smile touched his mouth. Did he fear she’d changed her mind? Had he changed his? “How was tea with Mrs. Finch?”

“Revealing. She mentioned an errand boy named Old Dan. Apparently, her husband prefers him for odd jobs.”

Connor’s servile guard shifted into one of a hunter. He nodded. “That matches the information I just learned. One of your former footmen knows Dan. Later tonight, we’re going to meet at a tavern he frequents and hope he shows. With enough persuasion, he might provide me with information.”

“There’s more,” she said. “One of the Finches’ maids told me she noticed him leaving that night, and when he returned, he gave Mr. Finch a snuffbox.”

His eyes widened. “The snuffbox you saw at their house that you thought looked like one Hennessy had that night…”