Regency Rumors (The Sinclair Society Series, #1)

by Swafford, Bethany

  “My wife is displeased with you.”

  “I am aware of that, sir.” What else could I say? I wasn’t sorry for what I had done; Eugenia was the only one who mattered in this situation. “If given the opportunity, I would do it all over again.”

  My tone had come out more belligerent than I’d meant, and I inwardly cringed. Mr. Burnham frowned at me. “I didn’t intend to berate you for this. I wanted to thank you. My daughter has never looked so well, or behaved in such a confident manner.”

  Everything I had been ready to say in defense of my actions vanished from my mind. “I am...pleased I could help Miss Burnham,” I said slowly. “She deserves all the happiness in the world.”

  The man behind the desk gave a fond smile. “I will not argue with you there,” he said as he stood up. “I simply wanted to thank you personally. You know I cannot guarantee that you will regain my wife’s good opinion, but I can at least ensure you are provided with a favorable reference if you are dismissed.”

  “I could not ask for more than that.” Not that my life would be at all affected by that reference. Once I left the Burnham house, I would not need to take another position as a lady’s maid. “Thank you, sir. I was afraid I had offended Mr. Harper.”

  Mr. Burnham’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Harper? What has Mr. Harper to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “He’s been here so often. I thought at first that he was courting Miss Burnham. I’m afraid I was not as cordial as I ought to have been.”

  “Harper? Here?”

  I nodded. “Many times.” A part of me felt guilty about revealing Harper’s actions without having had the opportunity to ask him about it first. “And all over the house. I assumed you had given him free reign since he works with you.”

  From the expression on Mr. Burnham’s face, I knew that wasn’t the case. “No,” he said, his tone short. He made to move around his desk, and I knew he would end our conversation. I couldn’t lose my chance!

  “Mr. Burnham, I do have a question, if I might have a few more moments of your time.”

  Surprised, he paused. “Oh? And what might that question be?”

  “What can you tell me about the Sinclair family?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I hadn’t meant to blurt the question out so abruptly, and I immediately knew I had overstepped my bounds. Mr. Burnham’s expression lost all traces of kindliness. “Forgive me, sir,” I said swiftly, hoping desperately to cover over my blunder. I braced myself for the reprimand I knew was coming my way.

  “Why would someone like you ask about the Sinclair family?” His tone was harsh, almost furious. “What do you know?”

  “I—I knew the family, sir! I meant nothing by it.”

  After a moment, the tension on his face eased. “Ah yes. I recall my wife mentioning something about you having served the Sinclair household.” My fingers tightened on the chair back as I managed a nod. “Is there a reason for asking that particular question?”

  “Miss Juliet Sinclair is justifiably distressed by the recent rumor that has come out in the Times.” How strange it was to speak of myself in the third person. “You haven’t heard it?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and he studied me with more interest than before. “And how, exactly, do you know what Miss Sinclair is distressed about? It hardly seems to be a matter for you to concern yourself with.”

  There, at least, I had a ready response. “You must know how intimate a lady is with her maid. Her circumstances may not allow for her to employ a maid now, but I have been kept apprised of what has happened in her life.” Nothing of what I said was a lie but was misdirection. “Miss Sinclair is extremely distraught by the rumors that have been hinted at in the papers.”

  Mr. Burnham frowned, and then he heaved a sigh. “I heard something about it before I left London. I did not think anyone would take it seriously.”

  “Perhaps not, but Miss Sinclair has questions about what brought her parents to London five years ago. You must admit, it is strange that they would do so when they were in mourning for John—the young Mr. Sinclair.”

  I knew I’d made a mistake when I began to say ‘Jonathan.’ A maid wouldn’t refer to the son of the family in such an informal way; not without there being an inappropriate connection between them. The faint hope that I had covered my error was shattered when Mr. Burnham’s frown deepened.

  “That is true,” he agreed, his eyes studying me. “Tell me, Miss Nelson, have we met before? There is something familiar about your face.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “I am only a servant, sir, and even had our paths crossed, I doubt you would have reason to remember a lady's maid,” I said vaguely.

  I doubted he heard what I said when his eyes lit up. “In fact, you remind me of Sinclair.” My hand flew to my mouth. “I won’t embarrass you, Miss Nelson. I’m sure he wasn’t the only man who fathered children outside his marriage, although I always assumed him to have been happy with his family life.”

  It took me a long moment to realize what he was saying, and then my cheeks heated up with a blush. “Oh, no,” I protested. My father had been faithful to Mother! Of this I was certain!

  Mr. Burnham held up his hand. “We will not speak of it anymore,” he said, his tone becoming kind. “I am not in a position to judge, and no one shall hear of this from me, Miss Nelson.”

  Maybe it was best he made such an outrageous assumption. Juliet Sinclair would never be attached to this whole thing, and my reputation would be secure. Goodness, it was getting hard to keep each identity straight in my head!

  “So, what can you tell me?” I prompted, eager to move on from the matter of my supposed illegitimacy. “Miss Sinclair’s distress weighs on my mind, and I wish to give her some news if I can.”

  He shook his head, a strange kind of sadness creeping into his eyes. “Your loyalty to the lady does you some credit, but I have nothing to tell you.”

  Nothing? Somehow, I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t believe everything I had been through would bring me no information. “Then, if there is nothing you can tell, is there anything you can do to dispel these rumors for her?”

  Again, I had pressed too hard. “If I had anything to tell, I would speak to the lady herself and not an impertinent maid who needs to learn her place.” Mr. Burnham turned his attention to his papers, effectively dismissing me.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to make the necessary curtsy and withdrew from the room. As I hurried up to my room, I mentally chastised myself. If I’d approached him better— confessed who I really was, perhaps—would he have been more forthcoming?

  In the end, he hadn’t given any indication whether he would combat the rumors or not.

  “It was all for nothing.”

  Sitting at the tiny dressing table in my room, I caught a look at my reflection. Dark shadows were under my eyes, hinting at the lack of sleep. Shifting my gaze to my hands, I studied the roughness of my skin, consequences of having to launder Mrs. Burnham’s delicate articles of clothing.

  So many hours of hard work! So many hours of lost sleep. And for what? To learn the gentleman I’d hoped to dispel the rumors could not–or would not–do anything to stop them.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I whispered, blinking away tears. I rubbed my fingers together, feeling the calluses that had built up on my fingertips from the alterations to Eugenia’s gowns.

  Eugenia. How well she looked and not merely because of the changes in her apparel. She was more confident in herself, and it showed in the way she carried herself.

  So, no, my coming to the Burnham house had not been for nothing.

  Lifting my gaze, I stared at myself in the mirror. “It’s time to go home.”

  MY CONSCIENCE WOULDN’T allow me to pack up my meager belongings and leave. Mary was not quite ready for me to leave her with the responsibility of caring for Eugenia. She would fail immediately, and would no doubt lose any chance of advancing in the househ
old.

  Subtly, I began to show the maid some of the tricks I had learned from my great-aunt’s maid. She had to know the latest fashions, and whether they would suit her mistress. Also, how to clean silk properly, which I had found very useful. I would equip Mary to take on a challenging position as much as I was able.

  Four days after my somewhat disastrous discussion with Mr. Burnham, a full letter arrived from Aunt Beth’s household. Fortunately, Eugenia and her mother were calling on friends, so there was nothing to keep me from opening the message immediately.

  I ignored the small note from my aunt, guessing it contained more pleadings for me to return home, and instead focused on the letter. I recognized Mr. Burnham’s handwriting, and I broke the seal, eager to know what he had to say to me, Juliet Sinclair. My eyes moved swiftly over the words, moving over words of greetings and well wishes until I reached the important section:

  Your father was a dear friend of mine. That I was unable to assist him when he came to me for help has weighed heavily on my mind, given what I’ve learned since then. At the time, I dismissed his concerns about his son’s death as the desperate imaginings of a grieving father. When I heard of his sudden demise, I knew he’d had a reason for concern.

  The report that young Jonathan died from fever was not entirely correct. He was not traveling with friends when he died. I cannot go into any details, but please be assured that he was acting on behalf of this country and did work that was of vital importance to our war efforts.

  Shocked, I stared at the words on the paper. My brother had been an agent of the government? How long had he done so? It hurt to realize that my brother, someone I thought I’d known well, had been a stranger to me and that I hadn’t been told this because I was a female.

  And he hadn’t been with friends. The one thing that had always comforted me was that I believed Jonathan had died with his friends near him. Father had told me Jonathan was buried quickly, near Bath, to prevent his illness from spreading.

  Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of it all. Of course, my father must have known what Jonathan was doing. How else would Jonathan have had the money for his frequent travels?

  How had he really died? Mr. Burnham said the fever ‘was not quite true.’ What did that mean? Confused, and hoping for answers, I read on.

  Someone in league with Napoleon discovered Jonathan’s identity and removed him from the situation. Your father came to me with concerns about the possibility that one of Jonathan’s friends might have been that person.

  One of Jonathan’s friends? That news drew my focus back from my grief. It didn’t make any sense. Remembering Jonathan’s friends, those I had met before, I couldn’t believe any of them would have hurt my brother...but look how little I’d truly known Jonathan.

  “Oswyn Harper,” I breathed, unable to think of anyone else. I already knew he had been working with Mr. Burnham for five years. What would have prevented him from copying information and passing it on? “But why would he do something like that?”

  Obviously, a man who wanted the money would, for I could only imagine bringing such information to the other side would be well rewarded. Was Mr. Harper in a position where he needed money? Would he have betrayed my brother’s friendship?

  Confused and troubled by this, I refocused on the letter. There were only a few lines left.

  Such news will no doubt distress you but have no fear for the future. With Napoleon captured and the war over, I have every faith justice will be done here in our country.

  I regret I have not kept in contact with you, my dear Miss Sinclair. The rumors that have been circulating have no basis in truth, and I will endeavor to lay them to rest if I can. Rest assured that if there is any need, merely send word to me and I will assist you in any way I can.

  Yours,

  Burnham

  If only he had responded before I’d embarked on my pretense of being a lady’s maid! Which made me wonder if he had even received my letters before. Feeling shaken, I set the letter down, knowing I would have to destroy it or return it to Aunt Beth before anyone discovered it.

  A small detail wouldn’t leave my mind, and it prompted me to lift the letter once again to reread it. There it was: When I heard of his sudden demise, I knew he’d had reason for concern. My father’s visit to London had been sudden, and now I knew why.

  If my brother’s death hadn’t been an illness but as a result of some cruel man’s deliberate actions, how would such a man react if the father of his victim behaved in a manner indicating suspicion? “He killed my parents,” I breathed. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  My family had been taken from me intentionally. Everything I thought I knew was wrong. My parents and brother had been murdered, and I had lived for five years without knowing the truth.

  I had taken comfort from the fact that their deaths could not have been foreseen; a carriage accident and a sudden illness. The kind of occurrences that no one could control, and I could have done nothing to prevent. But murder?

  How many people had known and hadn’t told me? Uncle Frederick must have known, and he’d just gone off on his travels without a word to me of the truth. Had Aunt Beth known and just wanted to keep from hurting me?

  But, what stung the most, was the revelation that I hadn’t known my father or brother at all.

  For four years, I’d laughed and joked with Jonathan, teased him about his love of travel. The whole time he’d been keeping such a huge secret from me. A small part of me knew that he’d done it to protect me from any danger that his missions would have brought, but I thought we’d been close. Now I would never have the opportunity to understand him because someone had ended his life far too soon, to keep him from passing vital information.

  Even when they’d suspected Jonathan had been murdered, my parents hadn’t told me. I could understand why Father would keep my brother’s secret from me while he was alive, but why could I not know the truth when Jonathan was gone? Had Mother known?

  Mr. Burnham’s revelations had only brought more questions, and I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Tears burned in my eyes and I collapsed onto my bed. I buried my face in the pillow in an attempt to keep from being heard.

  I didn’t know how long I cried before I sensed someone sitting on the bed beside me. “Miss Nelson,” I heard Mary say, as she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Miss Nelson, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  Struggling to bring my emotions under control, I lifted my head. “It’s nothing,” I managed to say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I must have looked a mess.

  “I don’t believe that,” Mary said, pulling her hand back. Her dark blue eyes were filled with concern. “Have you been dismissed?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I sat up and ran my hand over my face more firmly. “I just...heard some bad news about my family.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Shaking my head, I pulled my pillow closer and hugged it to my chest. “I can’t. Not right now.” I took a deep breath. “I think I should finish training you to take over my position, Mary. You know most of the work as it is.”

  “But I thought you weren’t dismissed!”

  “I’m not,” I said, looking away. “But I can’t stay much longer. It will be better if I leave on my own terms.”

  Mary shook her head. “ Why would you leave? You have it good here.”

  That drew a short laugh from me. “With Mrs. Burnham? No, Mary. I think Mrs. Burnham is biding her time until Eugenia is married, and then she will happily turn me off. I’d rather take my chances and leave with a good record.”

  The maid frowned. “But what if I’m not allowed to take over?”

  “I’m sure Eugenia wouldn’t have it any other way,” I told her. Why was it that reassuring others could so easily take my mind off my own worries? My grief had receded to a more manageable level. “In any event, whether I remain or not, you must prepare yourself to get ahead. Why not begin the training now?”<
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  Bells ringing out the time could be heard, and Mary let out a gasp. “They’ll be returning soon!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll help you get everything ready and see to Miss Eugenia.”

  It was such a change from our first meeting, and the resentment she’d shown for so long.

  “I appreciate it.” I pushed myself to my feet and hurried to my basin. I splashed cold water on my face and then dried off. I followed Mary into the hallway, making sure to close my door behind me.

  “Did Mr. Wilder have anything to say about the damage to your pillow?” Mary asked, over her shoulder.

  “The knife didn’t come from the house, and that was all he could tell me.” In fact, I’d meant to ask him about it and simply hadn’t had the time. “So, either someone here in the house got it from elsewhere, or....”

  She paused and spun around. “An intruder? Why? Who would do such a thing? Someone who doesn’t like you?”

  I opened my mouth to refute her suggestion, but couldn’t bring myself to deny it with any degree of certainty. What if the same person who had murdered my family had discovered I was looking for answers and wanted to stop me? “I don’t know, Mary.”

  THANKS TO MARY’S HELP, I was in my bed early. Though my mind kept going around in circles, I did manage to get some sleep. A full night of uninterrupted rest did wonders to my frame of mind, and in the light of day, I was able to consider my next step.

  There was little more I could learn in the Burnham house. Mr. Burnham's letter had told me all he could, and probably more than he should have. I would have to look elsewhere to discover more about the secrets my family had kept from me. And I knew exactly where I should go.

  Bath. The last place my brother had been, and where he’d been murdered. If I could discover who he had been visiting and talking to when he was alive, I might find some clue to his murderer.