The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)

She was congratulating herself on her restrained manners when, to her faint horror, she realized that her mouth was still moving.

“I saw you on the street, but you looked busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. You were doing something important, no doubt. You probably still are. I should let—ah…”

Shut up, Jane, she commanded her fluttering nerves, and luckily, they obeyed.

He didn’t wince at the excessive flow of speech. Instead, he reached out and took the volume she was carrying from her.

“You should let me look at your book,” he said, turning the spine so he could read it. His eyebrow rose. “Mrs. Larriger and the Criminals of New South Wales?”

Jane felt her cheeks flush even hotter. He probably read important books, books with sober-sounding names, like A Practical Guide to Proper Behavior. That had to be what he was carrying. He no doubt thought her flighty.

“It’s not mine,” she blurted out. “That is, it’s for my younger sister. My sister, Emily.”

He looked faintly amused.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m allowed to abuse her taste because she’s my sister, but don’t you dare.”

“I have three sisters,” he said mildly. “Four, now, counting my sister-in-law. I would never be so foolish as to speak ill of anyone’s sister.” He turned the book in his hand. “So, is it any good?”

The question surprised her.

“I haven’t read it.” She shrugged. “But I did read the first eight of the series. They’re awful, but they’re also curiously compelling.”

“I like curiously compelling. And I love awful. Should I get it?”

She choked, imagining Mrs. Larriger on his bookshelf next to A Practical Guide to Political Careers.

But he was flipping through the book as if he were considering the purchase.

“Mrs. Larriger is old, bossy, annoying, and I do believe she isn’t in her right mind. You wouldn’t…”

“She sounds a great deal like my aunt Freddy.” He smiled at her. “Old, bossy, annoying… She never leaves her home any longer, and some people speak ill of her for that. But don’t tell me my aunt isn’t in her right mind. It’s like with your sister. I love her too well to hear your criticism.”

She swallowed. “If you’re going to do this, you have to start with the first one.” She wandered back down the aisle and scanned the titles on the spines. “Here.”

She held out Mrs. Larriger Leaves Home and waited to see what he would do with it.

He took it without hesitation and opened it up. “Nice frontispiece,” he commented. “Do you think the author is really named Mrs. Larriger?”

“No,” Jane said baldly. “I do not. The first book was printed two and a half years ago, and since that time, there have been twenty-two more published, practically a book every month. I think Mrs. Larriger is composed by committee. No one person could write so swiftly—not unless she had nothing else to do.”

“Mmm, that does seem unlikely.” Mr. Marshall turned to the first page. “‘For the first fifty-eight years of her life, Mrs. Laura Larriger lived in Portsmouth in sight of the harbor. She never wondered where the ships went, and cared about their return only when one of them happened to bring her husband home from one of his trading voyages. There was never any reason to care. Her house was comfortable, her husband brought in an excellent income, and to her great satisfaction, he was almost never present.’” He looked up. “There are worse starting paragraphs, I suppose.”

“Do continue on.”

“‘But one day, on one of those rare occasions when her husband was home, he was struck on the head by a falling anvil. He died instantly.’” Mr. Marshall blinked. He blinked again and set his finger on the text he’d just read. “Wait. I don’t understand. How did an anvil fall on her husband while he was at home? Where did it come from? Was he in the habit of suspending anvils from the ceiling?”

“You will have to read and find out,” Jane said. “I am not in the habit of telling people what happens in a book. Only brutes disclose what comes next.”

He shook his head. “Very well, then. ‘That day, Mrs. Larriger sat in her parlor. But the walls seemed thicker. The air felt closer. For almost sixty years, she had never felt the slightest curiosity about the world outside her door. Now, the air beyond her walls seemed to call out to her. Leave, it whispered. Leave. Leave before they conduct the inquest.’” Mr. Marshall laughed. “Ah, I think I am beginning to understand the anvil—and Mrs. Larriger.

“‘She took a deep breath. She packed a satchel. And then, with a great effort, with the effort of a woman uprooting everything she had known, Mrs. Larriger put one foot outside her door into the warm May sunshine. And as she didn’t burst into flame, she marched down to the harbor and purchased passage on a vessel that was departing within the next five minutes.’” He closed the book. “Well. I’m getting it.”

“It will go well with A Practical Guide to Plato’s Most Important Writings.”