The Paid Companion | Herophine

Chapter Thirty Three

Josephine

“I'm not at all certain that this is the right step to take, sir.” Josephine adjusted her shawl and looked up at the darkened windows of the townhouse. “It is two o’clock in the morning. Perhaps we should have gone home and considered more carefully before coming here.”

“I have no intention of waiting until a more polite hour to speak with Lady Wilmington,” Hero said.

He raised the heavy brass knocker for the third time and let it drop. Josephine winced as the clang reverberated loudly in the silence.

A short time before, they had dropped Roland off at his club, giving him instructions to keep silent about what had occurred that evening. Hero had then ordered the carriage driven directly to Lady Wilmington’s address.

Footsteps sounded at last in the hallway. A few seconds later the door opened warily. A sleepy-eyed maid dressed in a cap and a thin wrapper gazed out at them. She held a candle in one hand.

“What’s this all about? Ye must have the wrong house, sir.”

“This is the right house.” Hero shouldered his way through the opening. “Summon Lady Wilmington immediately. Tell her this is a matter of great urgency. Life or death.”

“Life or death?” The maid stood back, her face scrunching in horror.

Josephine took advantage of the woman’s startled nerves to nip through the doorway behind Hero. She smiled calmly.

“Go and tell Lady Wilmington that Hero Fiennes Tiffin and his fiancée are here,” she said firmly. “I’m sure she will see us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The clear instructions seemed to steady the maid’s jangled nerves. She lit another candle on the hall table and then hastened up the stairs.

A short time later she hurried back down.

“Her ladyship says to tell ye that she'll join ye in the study in a moment.”

"I still say we should have given this matter more close thought before coming here tonight,” Josephine declared.

She sat tensely in a dainty chair in the elegant little study. The candle that the maid had lit for them sat on the beautifully inlaid writing desk near the window.

“The reference to a second Newton cannot have been a coincidence. You know that as well as I do.” Hero prowled the small room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Lady Wilmington is the key to this puzzle. I can feel it in my bones.”

She was in perfect agreement with his conclusions; it was the way he intended to confront Lady Wilmington that worried her. This was a delicate matter. It should have been approached more subtly.

“Earlier this evening I could not help but recall our visit with her,” she said. “I kept thinking about the way she touched her locket whenever she spoke of Treyford. It occurred to me that, if they were lovers, perhaps there had been a child—”

“Not a son.” Hero shook his head. “I investigated that possibility tonight. Lady Wilmington’s only male heir is a staid, extremely stout, respectable gentleman who, by all accounts, takes after her husband in his looks and also in his intellectual interests. He is devoted to his estates and never cared for matters of science.”

“Sir Fiennes Tiffin.” Lady Wilmington spoke from the doorway, her voice flat with resignation. “Miss Langford. So you somehow discovered the truth. I feared that you would.”

Hero stopped his pacing and looked toward the doorway. “Good evening, madam. I can see that you know why we are here at this late hour.”

“Yes.” Lady Wilmington walked slowly into the study.