“Asked, didn’t I? Not directly. When I returned home I mentioned how nicely the lace was shown in that shop he sells to, then asked if he has other shops down there. What a stupid question, he says. Such merchandise is cheapened if sold in too many places. That Loire lace is exclusive to one shop per town, he says, so that shop can sell at a good price and in turn pay him a good price. I knew that, but pretended I didn’t. I want you to find out if I am right about that agent. I want clear evidence if it is him. Proof that can’t be questioned. Then I will bring it to James.”

Clear evidence. Proof. She reminded Minerva of her conversation with Radnor yesterday morning. Mrs. Oliver already knew the truth, but she needed evidence before she confronted her husband.

That conversation had stayed in her mind since she all but ran from his apartment. He had wanted to talk about those kisses, and probably about the ones that never happened. What a conversation that would have been! Not that she would ever explain any of that. It would be too humiliating. What could she say? It isn’t only that I can’t trust you. As it happens, these feelings are so new to me, so unexpected, that I can’t trust myself, either.

“I don’t think this should take long,” she said, forcing her mind to Mrs. Oliver’s problem and making plans on what to do. “I will need some information from you if you can get it. I want the names of both of those Brighton shops, and I also want the name of the agent and of other shops the agent calls on.”

“I’ll write to you this evening.”

“Then we will begin in the morning. Now, I must be indelicate and explain our fees.”

Five minutes later she brought Mrs. Oliver to the door where her carriage waited. “Leave it all to us. I will give you a report in five days and let you know if we are successful or need more time.”

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Chase entered Nicholas’s apartment to find him reading in bed.

“Adopting the habits of your new position, are you?”

Nicholas looked up from his newspaper. He set it aside on the breakfast tray. “All that waits for me on rising are the complaints in those.” He gestured to a little stack of letters set neatly on the side of the bed, unopened.

“Not dunning letters, I hope.”

“I should be so fortunate. If you look closely you will recognize the hands. One is Phillip, who wants to borrow money and writes me daily. He even made it a point to chance upon me at my club.”

“Tell him to go to hell.”