Not Quite a Baroness: A Sweet Victorian Gothic Historical Romance (The Boston Heiresses Book 2)

by Ava Rose

  “Everything about the case is there. You may study it and we can discuss it later. But my condition still holds. You cannot be my apprentice unless you obtain your brother and mother’s permission.”

  Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Of course. Oh, my first case! I will do my best.”

  He nodded, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

  “I'll let you sleep,” she said just as a footman entered to retrieve his food tray.

  She closed the door behind her and everything went quiet save for Treacle's soft purrs and the fire crackling in the fireplace.

  This was very comfortable, indeed.

  ***

  When Libby returned to her room, upset with Henry but even more upset with herself, she sat on the bed unsure what to do. He was a very stubborn man, but then so was she. In a way, they complemented each other.

  She felt a smile softening her frown as tenderness replaced her ire. They were both crazy, Henry, and herself. They were both trying to protect each other.

  A brown valise sitting near her vanity table caught her attention, reminding her of the unexpected delivery that afternoon.

  Libby walked over to it and found the letter resting on top. There was an address on the envelope: The Blue Chapel, Lexington.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the address. It was where she'd been forced to marry her captor, and where she had been locked in the crypt for a long time.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed for fortitude; the courage to face whatever was in that letter and the valise, for it could not be anything good.

  With trembling fingers, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter, her heart resounding in her ears:

  Dear Baroness Esk,

  I pray this message finds you well. Allow me a moment to introduce myself. I am Joseph Roth, the new warden of The Blue Chapel.

  Upon my assumption of the post, I found the belongings of the late Mr. Nolan Hart. Since the church records prove that you are his wife, I have forwarded his belongings to you.

  My deepest condolences and may his soul find peace.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. Joseph Roth

  Libby blinked several times. The church warden believed that she was Mr. Hart's wife and had sent his belongings to her. Did he not know that she had been kidnapped by this man after he had written several letters posing as a gentleman? If he had received news of Nolan Hart’s death, then surely, he must have known of the man’s misdoings.

  Nevertheless, the belongings were here and she would have to check them.

  An idea formed and glowed in her mind, chasing away her dread. Who knew what clues she could find in that valise?

  She knelt beside the bag and quickly undid the buckles.

  All she could see, at first, were items of clothing, but as she removed them, she found a journal, marriage papers—papers with which he'd hoped to get his hands on her fortune—and a stack of letters. Her letters.

  The letters she had written with a smile on her face and a dream in her heart. Her chest tightened and her throat constricted as she removed them from the bottom of the bag. They were stacked and tied together by a string of leather.

  Part of her wanted to open them and read, remind herself of the folly that had gotten her into this mire; another part wanted to throw them into the fire and forget they ever existed.

  But the truth was that she would never forget. The flames would not burn away her pain and embarrassment.

  Libby rose with the stack of letters in her hand and approached the fire. Taking a deep breath, she threw them in and watched the fire flare up, engulfing them.

  As she had expected, burning the letters did not burn away her mistakes nor make her feel any better.

  She returned to the man's belongings and picked up the journal. As she flipped the pages, a key slid out from one of the pages and landed on the carpet.

  Libby picked it up to examine: It looked very similar to the key Pen held for the family’s bank lockbox. Was this another lockbox key? If so, where was the box?

  Carefully, she lowered herself onto the bed and began going through the journal properly. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but didn’t want to miss anything.

  Several pages in, she saw her name and her address, but that was it. She continued reading. He had been a well-traveled man according to the journal. Some of what he'd said in his letters might have been true.

  Farther in, she found a bank name and an address. She looked from the key in her hand to the contents of the page. Was this the key to a lockbox in that bank?

  Her heart pounded with nervous excitement as she continued to search through the journal for clues, but she came up empty. Perhaps the thing to do was go to the bank and try to open the box. But she couldn't do that by herself. She would need Henry's help so he could act as both witness and as detective on the case should they find something serious.

  She could never have kept him off the case anyway. She knew that already.

  Taking the key and the journal with her, she went to Henry's room. When she opened the door, he was sound asleep with Treacle beside him, also sleeping. The sight tugged at her inmost sentiments.

  When one saw Henry for the first time, you would never imagine he might be caught sleeping with an adorable cat curled up alongside him. It spoke of his innate gentleness; those layers beneath that he clearly did not wish others to know about. But now, Libby knew. And she liked what she had seen.

  She gently closed the door and went back to her room.

  When he woke, they would decide what to do next. Together.

  ***

  The following day

  Henry felt much improved the next morning. He had regained enough of his strength to walk without easily becoming fatigued, but the family insisted he not move back to his apartments just yet.

  He had to admit, it was nice to feel cared for.

  The first thing he did was send a message to Montgomery informing him of what had happened and his condition.

  An hour later, Antoine informed him that the District Commander was here to see him. Henry was astonished. That was quick. Most of the household was still abed.

  Instead of having Montgomery see him bleary-eyed and in a robe, he got dressed—in borrowed clothes from Penforth—and made his way to the salon.

  “Glad to see you're on your feet,” Montgomery said, on seeing him. “You look very out of sorts though.”

  Henry mustered a smile. “Can you blame me?”

  “Hardly.”

  Henry sat down. He was not well enough to stand for long. “I know you didn't come here to check on me, Sir. So, what can I do for you?”

  “I am here for a statement from you. Your attacker needs to be found.”

  Henry chuckled darkly. “Have you all finally decided to do the right thing?”

  A protracted silence followed his question before Montgomery finally answered. “I have thought a lot about what you said. I realize now that we cannot pick and choose which cases to solve and which not to in order to satisfy the elite. It is not right.”

  Well, that appeared to be the start of something good. A reformation.

  “I am happy to hear that.”

  “We are starting with this case. We need to finish it and in order to do that, I will need that report from you.”

  Henry described the hooded man who had attacked him, then had his bag brought so he could give Montgomery the strands of hair and the sample of perfumed grease he'd found.

  “I think that might be a pomade of some kind. It was on the brick in the alleyway in Roxbury, together with the hair and blood, and it certainly has a very distinctive odor. It smells like a match for what Burris described he had found on the deceased man’s head, but I will leave it to him to confirm that.”

  “I will send some officers to Roxbury immediately.” Montgomery's tone changed then, and his voice softened. “You will stay out of trouble while we get that done?”

  “I may love dan
ger and adventure, Commander, but I have only one body.”

  The commander rose to his feet. “Take care, Henry.”

  He remained seated in the salon for some time, thinking. He was greatly pleased with Montgomery's change of heart and the effort he was going put into reforming the police.

  A knock sounded on the door and he turned to find Sir Penforth standing in the doorway. He must have known about Montgomery's call.

  “Good morning, Penforth,” he greeted. The two were now on first name terms.

  “I am glad to see you are doing better, Henry.” He walked into the room and took a seat adjacent to Henry.

  “That was Commander Montgomery,” Henry supplied.

  “Yes, I gathered.”

  “He has had a change of heart and is willing to see this case to a proper conclusion. So, he came for a report himself.”

  “That change is thanks to you, I'll bet.” Penforth smiled a little then, and in the depths of his eyes, Henry caught something quite like respect. “I never got the chance to thank you for helping Libby. For believing in her.”

  “You don't have to.”

  “I think I do. Libby is my sister.”

  Henry smiled. “Says the man who rescued her himself when the police did nothing.”

  Penforth smiled more widely this time. “That credit goes to my fiancée, Anna.”

  “In that case, Libby should have the credit for this. She has found all the leads thus far.”

  Penforth nodded. “Breakfast?”

  “Please.”

  Without further ceremony, the two men went to the dining room for a companionable breakfast, while the ladies were just waking up.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The trophy room was the last place she had expected to find Henry. Deep voices echoed through the quiet hallway of the first floor and when she arrived, Pen was showing Henry some of the oldest in his collection of firearms.

  When Penforth and Anna had rescued her and brought her home, they had met a mob outside their home: gossipy aristocrats, curious passersby, and vulture-like reporters. Entry into the house for Libby and the others had been nearly impossible. A couple of their footmen had retrieved firearms from this room on Antoine's direction and intimidated the mob to clear a path.

  Prior to her abduction, she had not cared for the collection one way or another, but after that event, she had been glad they were here in the house.

  Libby knocked gently on the door to gain their attention.

  The men turned at the same time and she smiled at them. Henry grinned back, causing a flutter to rise in her stomach.

  “Which one of us are you looking for?” Pen asked.

  “Sorry, Pen, it's Henry,” she replied jokingly.

  “Are you not going to come in?” Henry asked, after Pen had left.

  She realized that she was still standing in the doorway and blushed a little. She stepped into the room.

  “How are you?” They asked the question in unison, then burst out laughing.

  “You first,” he offered.

  “I am quite well.”

  “And I am feeling much better.” He opened his arms to show her how well he looked. “As you can see.”

  His improvement gladdened and relieved her.

  “Do you want to sit? There is something I want to talk to you about.”

  His expression turned serious and he directed them to a small sitting area in a corner of the room. It was a cozy-looking place with a patterned rug, a chair, and a couch upholstered in chocolate brown velvet. Honestly, they always reminded her of chocolate. He took the chair while she sat on the sofa, placing Mr. Hart's journal beside her.

  Then she removed the key from her dress pocket and placed it on the journal. “I received an unexpected package yesterday afternoon. It's from the new warden of The Blue Chapel.”

  Immediately the place was mentioned, Henry's features darkened.

  “Is that not the—”

  “Yes, it is. The minister sent Mr. Hart's belongings to me because he believes I am his wife.”

  “Doesn't he know what happened?” Henry's voice rose. “You were abducted. The marriage is not real.”

  “It is real, Henry,” she said in a small voice. “But that aside, I thought the same thing when I read his letter.”

  Henry anger on her behalf was rather endearing.

  “I found something of note, however.” She picked up the journal and the key and proffered them to him. “I believe this is a bank lockbox key. The journal doesn't contain any pertinent information besides the address of the bank where I assume the lockbox is kept.”

  He collected the items and examined them carefully. When he finished, he said, “What are you thinking? Check it out?”

  “Yes, I think so. Perhaps we will find something that might help solve the case at last.”

  “A bank lockbox?” There was a strange tone in his voice and Libby's guard immediately went up. Was she being condescended to?

  “It could contain anything,” she countered. “We should check.”

  “In my experience, they almost always contain jewelry, financial papers or a will, but never murder clues. In many cases they are empty.”

  “Maybe this will be a first. I have a strong feeling about it.”

  He shook his head. “I think your strong feeling is misplaced.” He dropped the items onto a black lacquered side table.

  “Henry, you can't just dismiss this as irrelevant.”

  His silver gaze held hers and he leaned forward slightly. “I think you should leave this line of inquiry alone, Libby.”

  His words, or more specifically, his obvious lack of trust in her instincts, hurt. She had thought that they understood and trusted each other.

  Tears began to well up in her eyes. “I really thought you were willing to help me.”

  “Of course, I am willing to help you.”

  “Clearly not.” With that, she picked up the journal and the key and stalked out of the room.

  If he wouldn’t help her, she would do it herself. She had started this investigation alone, and that’s how she’d finish it. It was wrong to have relaxed her guard and she would no longer hold him to promises that were obviously empty.

  ***

  The following day

  As early as nine o’clock, Libby was out of the house and on her way to the bank to retrieve whatever was in that box. She was not wearing that dreadful disguise. She did not need to hide anymore.

  When she had woken, resolve filled her. No one would stop her finding out the truth. She snuck out the way she had always done and walked down the street to find a hire carriage.

  Predictably, she was being followed. However, she was not as afraid as she had been previously. Her resolve and anger—with Henry, with her circumstances, and with the murderer--carried her along regardless.

  The bank mentioned in the journal was in Roxbury. Why did it have to be there? She sighed. The last couple of days had been very difficult and she was feeling the toll, but she plowed on. What other choice did she have?

  The bank turned out to be a rather small and obscure place, with only three employees inside. She approached the man closest and identified herself.

  He simpered when he learned who she was, no doubt wondering if her family would bring some business to their establishment.

  “I need to access my late husband's deposit box,” she said without preamble. “Can you help me with that?”

  “Of course, my lady. May I have his name and proof of the marriage?”

  She presented the marriage papers she'd found in Mr. Hart's belongings; glad they were included in his things.

  “Yes, that is one of ours.” Her heart leapt. She had found it! “Please follow me, my lady.”

  Libby followed him into a room with floor to ceiling safe boxes on one wall, and a table with a couple of chairs positioned on the other side of the room.

  “Your husband's box is number sixty-two.” He pointed at the box with the
number. “I'll leave you to it.”

  Once he was out of the room with the door closed firmly behind him, Libby inserted the key into the lock and when it turned, she took a deep breath.

  She had no idea what she would find, and whether or not it would be relevant, but she was hopeful. She had to trust her own instincts. Especially now that Henry had disregarded them.

  The box contained a black velvet case and Libby reached in and pulled it out. It was a triangular necklace case. Carrying it to the table, she opened it slowly, revealing an expensive-looking necklace featuring a huge ruby in the center, sitting in velvet luxury.

  Nolan Hart could never have afforded to buy such a brilliant piece. It must be stolen goods.

  How would this help her case, though?

  She didn't want to consider that Henry might have been right. And she certainly was not going to share the information with him. In fact, she decided, he was off the case, and once he was well enough to leave their house, she would ensure he returned to his own life and she would never have to endure seeing him again.

  Think about all of that when I get home. She closed the jewelry case and then relocked the box before stepping out of the room.

  The banker rose from his desk. “I trust you have found what you are looking for, my lady?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I have. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “We hope to see you again soon.” He bowed.

  She inclined her head regally before stepping out of the bank and onto the street with the jewelry case clutched under her arm. There was no other way to carry it, since she had only a small reticule with her.

  As she walked, a feeling of urgency increased. Where was her stalker? She almost wanted the person to materialize, so she could confront them at last. She turned her head, scanning her surroundings, and saw nothing until she reached an alleyway. A flash of movement out of the corner of her eye was all the warning she had, before she was suddenly dragged to the side and thrown onto the ground.

  ***

  Henry couldn’t believe she had beaten him here. How early had she risen? He’d had every intention of following up on the new clue at the bank, especially when he recognized the insignia on the key as a location in Roxbury, but had hoped to keep Libby safe for once, from exactly this situation.