Arnaud ignored Ben and clapped Hugo on the shoulder. “I trust you to manage this with civility.”

Hugo shoved Arnaud’s hand away and took off down the hall to the study.

So, he’s familiar with the layout, Ben thought. It was hard to argue that his father might not have been in business with anyone. While he was away, there were sure to be things Ben didn’t know about.

A moment later, he caught Jacques’s shadow move as he followed the redheaded gentleman. It was a lucky thing to have Jacques around. He could move freely and see things that Ben couldn’t, and that made it easier for him to focus on everything else.

After Arnaud took his leave, the rest of the guests turned away. There was no doubt that they would be chattering long after they all left the room, but for the time being, they would settle for eavesdropping.

“Walk with me,” Ben said, low enough for Remi alone to hear. She nodded and followed beside him at the same slow, leisurely pace. No one would guess that the pair had been at each other’s throats only a couple of hours ago. “Does your aunt faint easily?”

“She and my cousin have similarly weak constitutions,” Remi confessed with a sigh. “In fact, Elise nearly fainted a moment ago.” She moved closer to Ben and lowered her voice. “I asked Guillaume to take her to the kitchen.”

“Then you should go to her,” Ben advised, acutely aware of the fabric from her sleeve brushing his arm.

Remi’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t ask you to sit with Hugo alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Jacques will be in there,” Ben corrected. “And besides, you’re not asking me.”

They stopped a few steps from the study doors and faced one another. Remi considered him a moment longer. “What does he want? Edgar never said anything to me about his work.”

“Apparently, my father was in debt to Hugo and your uncle.”

Remi appeared disconcerted. “Debt? He never made that known to me.”

“My father was a private man. In any case, I’ll learn the truth in a moment.” Ben sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Go and take care of your cousin.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I would be deeply grateful.”

“Consider it done then. I’ll summarize it all for you later, assuming there is anything to share.”

“Thank you.” The softness in her eyes matched the muted lull of her voice. Alone in the hallway, away from the mourners, he felt as though he could see her more clearly. She was sincere, and in the few instances he’d gleaned the nature of her true character, she was resolute. The anger he’d brought with him stood no chance against the woman before him. Incredible to think that she might have smacked some sense into him earlier, after all.

Anything for you, the voice in the back of his head whispered. A wicked part of him hadn’t been able to let go of the way her hand had felt on his cheek. He ignored it, flexing his hands at his sides in an effort to fend off the impulse to reach out and touch her.

“Go then,” Ben said, his voice steely. “I’ll find you later.”

Remi nodded and took her leave.

Even if Hugo was a dreadful sort of man, Ben was relieved to escape Remi’s gaze as well as the weight of the whispers and melancholy of the mourners.

“Warming up to Madame?” Jacques slinked out from the shadows behind Ben. “I like her. Lamotte said she put you in your place.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Do you have to hide like that?”

“It’s why you keep me around.” Jacques shrugged. “I can read the shadows, and I don’t like the ones lingering about these halls. They don’t have good things to say.”

“I can feel it, too.” Beneath the tragedy of his father’s passing, there was an uneasiness that lurked just beneath the surface.

“This Marchand fellow,” Jacques started in a hushed tone, “I don’t like him.”

“Neither do I.” Ben tugged at his waistcoat. “But I can’t hear any more stories about my father. They’ll put me to sleep.”

“Are they boring?”

Ben scoffed. “Boring and utterly sentimental.”

Jacques nodded, following Ben into the study as he pushed the doors open. Hugo was waiting, one arm against the mantle, overlooking the fire burning in the hearth. He seemed smaller, surrounded by his father’s things, a small man in the jaws of a bigger beast. Ben knew the illusion well enough, and he found relief in the knowledge. He was sure that handling Hugo would be effortless.

“Now then,” Ben started, sinking into the seat at his father’s desk. Jacques stood guard behind him. “What’s this debt you think I owe?”

“Gold,” Hugo snapped, crossing the room.

So much for civility. Ben thought, then asked. “Gold? I’m afraid we don’t have any of that lying around here.”

Hugo’s face pulled taut with impatience. “Don’t lie! Your father said⁠—”

“My father may have said it, but I have never heard mention of any gold,” Ben said.

There was a whisper of it being somewhere, if his father thought to mention it in his will. Regardless, that wasn’t a detail Ben was willing to share. It suddenly made sense why Beline was so upset at being absent during the reading. He was right to make his earlier assumptions, it seemed.

“You will not play me for a fool.” Hugo snarled.

Ben narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Monsieur Marchand, I would advise you to lower your voice and maintain some semblance of propriety. I wouldn’t want to have you escorted out in front of all the mourners and your fiancée’s family.”

Hugo paused. That struck a chord.

“It would be quite humiliating, don’t you think?” Ben pressed.

“Have it your way.” He bottled up his anger and held himself rigidly. Through tight lips he said, “Your father promised us gold as payment.”

“Payment?” Ben asked, more curious than before. “For what?”

“We made an arrangement.” Hugo cleared his throat and straightened himself, though the chip on his shoulder remained. “And signed a contract.”

“I see. Do you happen to have said contract?” Ben pressed his lips together, thoughtful as he watched Marchand sweat. There were questions Ben wanted to ask about the business they’d been tangled up in, but there was satisfaction in self-discovery. Ben leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and waited.

“Not presently.” Hugo swallowed.

“Interesting.” Ben brought his hands to the desk and splayed his fingers over the disorganized papers. “Unfortunately, without proof, I can’t help you.”

Hugo frowned. “But I⁠—”

“Monsieur Marchand, I returned home to bury my father, whom I have not seen in years,” Ben grew serious as he spoke. “I have no knowledge of his work or what debts he owes. I’ve hardly been home a full day and already the dogs are at my door, barking for their share of a dead man’s fortune.”

Behind Ben, Jacques grunted.

“That’s hardly my problem.” Hugo grimaced.