From Award Winning Author Cassandra Dean comes the next in her Silk Series where a plea from the captivating woman he never forgot draws a grumpy and infamous investigator to the wilds of Yorkshire to solve a murder and maybe fall in love…
Secretary to Lady Caroline Faringdon, Miss Rose Webster is far removed from the girl who once served ale in her father’s Cambridge pub. When her employer’s fiancé is murdered, Rose implores assistance from the infamous inquiry agent, Nathaniel Evans. Forever ago, she knew him as a student who frequented her father’s pub, and perhaps that connection will draw him to Yorkshire to find the culprit…while the desperate infatuation she held for the handsome investigator will have surely faded with time.
The Honourable Nathaniel Evans doesn’t know why he has come to Yorkshire. He barely remembers the shy, captivating, funny girl from his university days, and he certainly shouldn’t have dropped everything to respond to her summons. But the Rose in his memory is far removed from the Rose he discovers. A man ruled by reason and logic, the feelings the beautiful secretary stirs are anything but rational and he can’t be distracted by the shape of her mouth or the green of her eyes.
Forced together, Rose and Nathaniel work to capture the villain while fighting the passion that sparks between them. But will they discover the connection they have found lasts as long as the investigation or will they discover a love for all time?
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I simply loved this story. I could just say that over and over until I filled up the word requirement
Amazon reviewer
THE SILK SERIES
A satisfying take on how two together can sometimes be stronger than two apart.
Amazon reviewer
EXCERPT
The Honourable Nathaniel Evens stepped off the carriage and directly into a deep puddle of water. Muttering an expletive, he lifted his foot and then cursed further at the damage the damp had wrecked halfway up his trousers. He’d had serious doubts about this endeavour from the first and this was not inspiring him to a different opinion. Further, the fact he’d decided against top boots added to his foul mood.
The final journey from York to Faringdon Abbey in a poorly sprung carriage only added to his irritation. The journey from London to Yorkshire itself had also taken longer than anticipated, and the choice to spend an extra fortnight in Cambridge visiting Hiddleston and his bride now seemed a poor one. The thought of two long weeks watching his friend make moon eyes at the former Miss Wilding-Marsh had not made his choice any easier to bear. To his recollection, the pair had completely despised each other when first they’d known her, back when he and Hiddleston had attended university, but now they could not seem to restrain their affection for each other, be it in word or deed. Impatience with the Hiddlestons had driven him to cut short his visit and thus now he stood before Faringdon Abbey with a wet trouser leg and an irate manner.
Ignoring the uncomfortable dampness of his trouser leg, Nathaniel examined the estate before him. Two wings extended out from the main house, with an impressive and expensive number of windows indicating at least three floors. The entrance was framed by stone pillars, through which now rushed a footman and coachman to greet him. Behind them, at a more sedate pace, came the butler. In the distance, a shot rent the air, followed by the manic call of a flock of quail. He cast his gaze in the sound’s direction, but the hunting party were too deep into the woods to be observed.
“Welcome to Faringdon Abbey.” A butler now stood in the open entrance way. His clothing was unremarkable, in that it was what one would expect the butler of a grand estate would wear. His grooming was immaculate, and the even arrangement of his expression spoke of a dedicated servant.
“I am Evans,” Nathaniel said. “I am expected.”
A tiny flicker of surprise cast over the butler’s features before his face settled into what Nicholas assumed was his usual impassive expression. “Of course, sir. Please, follow me.”
Nathaniel’s boot made a squelching sound as he followed the butler into the Abbey. Perhaps he was not as expected as he had been led to believe. The butler clearly had been surprised, though he had disguised it well.
As they passed, three maids paused in their work to bob a curtsey, while a footman remained still at his post. Two ladies—one older, one younger, and from the resemblance they bore one another most likely mother and daughter—descended the grand staircase, their gowns proclaiming them as quality. The elder glanced at her surreptitiously, while the younger—much younger, she could not be more than fifteen—stared openly at him, whispering to her mother as he passed.
Entering a well-appointed receiving room, the butler halted. “Would you care for refreshment, sir?”
“No.” The room was airy and light, tastefully decorated in yellows and creams, with unobtrusively expensive furniture. “Tell me, how many people are currently in occupation?”
“Six now, sir, not including staff.” The butler’s eye twitched infinitesimally.
Because it would have been seven not more than two months ago. Before Sir George Carring was murdered.
Lacing his hands behind his back, Nathaniel made his way to the window. The same two women he’d observed descending the grand staircase now made their way through the gardens, their destination seemingly the maze beyond the reflecting pool. “Lady Caroline is hosting?”
“No, sir. Lord William Faringdon was caretaker of Faringdon Abbey in Lady Caroline’s absence. He and his family have resided here since Lady Caroline’s father passed and Lady Caroline began her Tour of the continent.”
“Her tour?” While young gentlemen of the Ton undertook a year or more travel of Italy, France and Austria, commonly termed a Grand Tour, Nathaniel had never heard of a lady undertaking such.
The faintest of smiles touched the butler’s lips. “Lady Caroline has always been something of a contrarian. We did not, however, expect her to return with a fiancé.” The butler’s impassive expression slipped a moment, genuine distress and grief flickering across his face. “If there is nothing else, sir, I will convey word of your arrival.”
One could always look to servants as to characterise their employers. The butler’s brief display of emotion spoke of the affection Lady Caroline inspired louder than any words could. “There is nothing else.”
With a sharp bow, the butler departed.
Lacing his hands behind his back, Nathaniel observed again the vista outside the window. The gardens led to a forest of ash and hazel, and in the distance again gunshots cracked. A flock of birds took flight, the bark of dogs joining the cacophony.
Turning his back on the window, he checked his pocket watch and wondered why he had even come all this way for such an unintriguing case. The murder of a minor noble in an unremarkable hamlet should not have pricked his interest in the slightest. He should have disregarded the letter entirely, written as it was by someone of so brief an acquaintance over a dozen years ago. Perhaps it was nostalgia and the slightest of curiosities that had drawn him to Yorkshire. Perhaps he had, on occasion, wondered about the serving girl at the pub he’d frequented during his Cambridge days, and perhaps he had recalled on more than one occasion the sway of a bright red curl against a rosy cheek.
The sound of the door opening made him start. Scowling at his lack of awareness, he prepared to greet Lady Caroline.
The woman who entered was not Lady Caroline. Inexplicably, his heart began a faster beat.
“Mr Evans,” she greeted.
Her voice was unexpectedly cultured, her husky contralto shorn of its former rough edges. She was as he remembered her, and yet not. Then, she’d had scarlet hair that tumbled down her back and an infectious grin. Then, she’d dressed in homespun fabric and had hands reddened from scalding water and strong lye.
Her garments were well-made and clearly of good quality, most likely the castoffs of her employer. The hair that peeked out of her cap was blonde instead of scarlet, and though from this distance he could not ascertain the colour of her eyes, he could only presume they had not changed and remained the green his recollection provided. Ink stained the soft, pale skin of fingers that had once been red and raw. Her mouth, though, was as he remembered, her lips the same pale clover pink he recalled with surprising clarity. Her figure was fuller, her breasts rounder and her hips wider.
His body reacted, with damp palms, a suddenly too-tight cravat, and a stirring at his groin. Impatient with such useless physicality, he replied briskly, “Miss Webster.”
Surprise lit her features. Clearly, she had not expected him to remember her.
“I understood Lady Caroline Faringdon to be my client,” he continued, watching her closely.
The surprise fled, her expression becoming unreadable. “She is.”
“Ah.” He paused. “Should she not be present, then?”
“I am here in her stead. We are pleased you have agreed to come, Mr Evans. Shall we sit? I can then provide you with an update to what was in my correspondence.”
He raised a brow at the sudden change in subject but did not protest. Following her lead, he sat opposite her and observed as she arranged her skirts, and then her hands, and then her skirts again.
Finally, she exhaled. “Two months ago, Lady Caroline’s fiancé, Sir George Carring, was discovered in the library, slumped in a chair and cold to the touch, by the maid who had come to undertake her morning duties. She immediately raised the alarm, and both Mr Francis, the butler, and Lady Caroline were alerted. The local constabulary were called and an investigation took place.”
An investigation took place? An interesting way to phrase what had occurred. Any number of things could be inferred from such a phrase, the most likely of which that the investigation was still in progress. Which he was certain is what she intended. “When was it determined his death was not natural?”
She hesitated, and the faintest wash of colour bloomed on her cheeks. Again, an interesting reaction. “The next day. It is believed he was poisoned. A glass smelling of whisky was found next to his body.”
Ah, she had a way with words, did Miss Webster. Who believed he was poisoned? She very deliberately left that qualifier absent. She had also left something else absent. “I am surprised Lady Caroline has not attended, Miss Webster. I would have thought she would want to ensure the circumstances surrounding her fiancé’s death are described accurately.”
No flicker of reaction. “She cannot be present, Mr Evans. As her secretary, I am obliged to attend in her stead.”
It was, of course, a plausible explanation. Most would probably even believe her. He changed tack. “Why do you seek my services, if the constabulary has it well in hand?”
“It has been two months, sir.”
“Cases have been known to take longer.”
He could almost see her formulate her thoughts. “Lady Caroline believes the constabulary require assistance. They are unused to crimes of this nature. This is not London.”
“That is true,” he agreed. “But that is not what has happened. When did the constabulary determine this to be a death by natural causes? A week after? Two?”
She stiffened.
“Less. They are, as you say, incompetent. Lady Caroline has only recently returned to England, has she not? And her attachment to Sir George was fairly recent?”
“It is why we returned to England. So he could make acquaintance with her relatives, as could they with him.”
She had travelled with her mistress. Interesting that a secretary had followed on the tour, but there had been mention of her position as lady’s maid before becoming a secretary. Filing that away for further thought at a more appropriate time, he continued, “It must be someone looked after this estate while she was abroad. It has been some years, has it not? Those who remained would have been quite settled in their life as her proxy.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Only the obvious. But if it was, indeed, a death by natural causes, then we are all wasting our time. So, Miss Webster, my question is this—am I here because the constabulary has already determined this a death of natural causes and you disagree?”
She did not need to answer. He could see the truth of it in the tightening of her expression.
“Lady Caroline does not know you have engaged me, does she? Indeed, I would be astonished if she even knew I was to come to Faringdon Abbey. The butler was certainly surprised.” He raised his brows. “What did the constabulary decide? An apoplexy? Have they completely closed the case, or just put it on hold?”
“It was not an apoplexy, Mr Evans,” she said, her voice vibrating with anger. “There is villainy afoot, and the constabulary have dismissed without proper investigation.”
“Of course they have,” he agreed calmly.
She blinked. “They have?”
“Clearly, there is something amiss here. Hale young men rarely fall to a natural death, especially not when there are so many who would gain from his demise. The constabulary is lazy. This irritates me.” In his experience, the local constabulary was rarely competent and nothing about this situation disabused him of this. “Should you discuss this first with Lady Caroline?”
“There is no need, Mr Evans. I will be the one to engage your services.”
“My fee is quite high.”
She did not blink. “You do not need to be concerned you will not be compensated for your time.”
It was not so much he was worried for himself, but it was unlikely she would possess a deep well of ready funds. However, she did not seem concerned and so neither should he. “You understand this is not my usual case?”
“I appreciate that, Mr Evans. The fact you are come to Faringdon Abbey suggests you will overlook such.”
It was unusual he had come. This case should never have sparked his interest. Upon receiving her letter, he had tried to put it from his mind, but he found his attention returning to it again and again, and then he had found himself in a carriage to York. “How can I be certain of your sincerity, Miss Webster?” he asked, to distract both himself and her. “You have not been wholly forthcoming with me.”
“I have never lied.”
Humour quirked his lips. No, she hadn’t. She had omitted and used words carefully, but she hadn’t outright lied.
She looked him direct. “Will you take the case?
His breath strangled in his chest. Green. Her eyes were green. “I will take your case, Miss Webster.”
Relief flooded her expression “Thank you,” she said softly.
“I shall begin in the morning,” he said brusquely, ignoring the strange beat of his pulse. “I trust Lady Caroline will know of my presence and purpose before then?”
The lush bow of her lips thinned. “I shall inform her of your engagement.”
“Good.” Inexplicably, he felt an urge to bolt. There was something about her that made him… He had…feelings. Logic and reason were his masters, and he disliked the swirl of feeling in his stomach and the lack of control over his body. However, he was a man grown, and years had passed since he was a green boy swayed by a pretty smile and a modestly clothed bosom.
He stood. “I shall return to my lodging this evening, but I will come again to Faringdon Abbey at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Please advise Lady Caroline and her family to make themselves available for my questioning. I shall also question the staff, so have the butler and housekeeper report to me tomorrow as well.”
She rose gracefully from her seat, and he haphazardly noticed she was approximately six inches shorter than him. “I will arrange it as you wish.”
He shifted awkwardly. For some reason, he had no idea what to say.
She did not seem to suffer such. “Good day, Mr Evans.”
“Yes,” he said, and no more. Turning on his heel, he strode from the room, his usually rational mind a whir. The hired carriage was as he’d left it, and it took little to haul himself into it and tap the roof for the driver to commence the journey back to the inn.
Rubbing his jaw, he stared at the seat opposite. His heart still beat erratic, his stomach still a swirl. He could have in no way anticipated this reaction. She had been a curiosity, an unfinished memory from his youth, and he had thought to deign to assist her.
Nothing about the woman he had met at Faringdon Abbey suggested she required condescension.
It might be in his best interest to solve this case as soon as possible, for if he reacted to her like this after a mere half hour, days spent in her presence had the potential to completely cast him adrift. He would avoid her as much as practical, and this case would not take him long. So resolved, he settled back and began to plan his strategy.