Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Something suddenly occurs to me. “What does a lord do?” I blurt out.
“I’m sorry?”
“For work, I mean. I know Ben’s father is the one who runs the estate and all that, but what exactly is Ben’s job? What does he do?”
“Not much” is the muttered response.
“What?” I glance over in surprise.
“I said, ‘So much,’” Sophie repeats, a wan smile firmly in place.
I call bullshit. She totally said not much. And that note of disdain wasn’t missed either. Methinks someone doesn’t like their boss.
“Lord Tulley runs a nonprofit,” she explains, taking the box from my hands to set it on her desk. “As well as sits on the board of two foundations.”
“Oh. Okay. That does sound like a lot.” I gesture to the box. “Please thank him again for letting me dig through all this stuff. It’s helped so much.”
“Are you any closer to solving your mystery? Benjamin filled me in on the Josephine saga.”
“Nope. Dead end. All I know is she was a maid who was probably involved in a love triangle with two Tulley brothers. I have no idea what happened to her.” I give a hopeful look. “Ben is traveling again, right? The last time we spoke, he mentioned there might be more documents in the cache at their Ibiza house.”
Her expression hardens again at the mention of Ben. “I’m sure he’ll reach out if he discovers anything else of use.”
I fidget with the strap of my bag. “Okay, great. Anyway. I should be going.”
“Yes. I’m afraid I must also be off.”
We leave her office and head back for the stairs. It’s awkward again, and I find myself making dreaded small talk to fill the uncomfortable void.
“Any big holiday plans?”
Sophie spares me a brief look before continuing her descent. “I’ll be spending Christmas with my dad, as I usually do.”
“Oh, me too.” I offer a tentative smile. “He’s basically my only family.”
At that, her face softens. “I’m in a similar situation.”
“Does your father live in the city?”
“No. He’s in an assisted living facility thirty minutes south.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Is he sick?”
“Early-onset Alzheimer’s.” Sorrow creases her features. “He’s fifty-three. The symptoms started in his late forties.” Her voice catches just slightly. “He’s aged so much these past five years. Almost unrecognizable now.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, my heart aching for the pain I see in her eyes. “That must be really difficult for you.”
We emerge from the stairwell and enter the airy lobby.
“It’s not the most pleasant of circumstances,” she admits. “But I’m grateful he’s well cared for. The facility he’s in is the best in the entire country.”
“That free health care has its perks, I suppose.”
She gives a derisive laugh. “Oh, darling. Our health care system is good but not that good. I pay for private care out of pocket. It’s a substantial amount, but as with you, my father is my only family. I refuse to put him in a government-run place.”
I don’t blame her. I would only want the best for my dad too.
“I’m sorry,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sensitive subject.”
“You didn’t know.”
At the door, we hesitate again. The truth is I like her. She’s elegant and interesting and clearly very intelligent. The kind of woman I would like to be friends with.
So I feel compelled to say, “About the ball…”
A frown touches Sophie’s lips. “What of it?”
“I know what you must think of me. I mean, you found me and your boss in a, um, compromising position. But you should know, I was grateful for the interruption. I drank a lot of champagne that night. Seemed like a good idea at the time to let a lord kiss me at a royal ball, but I’m glad it didn’t happen.”
Skepticism flits across her face. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I say truthfully. “I got caught up in the moment. But I’m not interested in Ben that way. Besides, I already have my hands full with my own love triangle.”
“Is that right?” I think I see a twinkle of humor in her eyes.
“Yes.” I groan. “But that’s a story for another time. I’m going to be late for class.”
“Right then.” She holds the door open for me.
“Please let me know if Ben discovers any more secret Tulley papers that might be useful, because I could really use another breakthrough. Although at this point, I’m going to need a miracle to solve this mystery.”
My breakthrough comes later that day and from the unlikeliest source.
On my walk back to campus after lunch, I get a call from a London number I don’t recognize. To my amazement, it’s Mr. Baxley.
“I found your number in the student registration,” he says, answering my obvious question. “I wanted to inform you I have some pertinent information regarding your research.”
I suck in a gust of frigid air. “Really?”