Asher's Dilemma Read Online Free PDF Page B

then added, “Once you have my results.”
    A satisfied smile sparkled across Mrs. Nemo’s face. She readjusted her veil over her features and swept up the papers into her arms. “Then I must away. Hedwig will be clanking away this evening.”
    Asher bid his visitor farewell, trying to squash the feeling that he’d just struck a deal with the devil herself.

Chapter Three
     
    If landing unannounced on Asher’s doorstep had been foolhardy, then shadowing his visitor was, quite possibly, outright lunacy. But Minerva was not in her usual frame of mind. Mild spells of dizziness continued to haunt her as her hire carriage rattled in the wake of the handsome brougham. While Asher had entertained his female caller, Minerva had hailed down a cab and waited at the end of the street until the woman re-emerged some thirty minutes later. Now, the two carriages joined the bustling traffic on the high street for some miles, eventually turning off onto a quieter street. Here, the houses were well-kept and prosperous, though not as grand as Asher’s Kensington address.
    The brougham halted outside a white stucco-and-brick terrace. Minerva signaled to her driver to stop some distance away and watched as the passenger entered the house. She surveyed the environs, noting the shining windows and scrubbed steps of the terrace row. This was a respectable neighborhood. Most likely Asher’s visitor was a relative, and she was piling blunder upon blunder to imagine anything more disreputable. But the feeling that something was very amiss continued to nag at her like a toothache.
    Finally, after ten minutes of indecision, she exited the carriage and paid the driver. Her heart rate sped up as she approached the steps leading up to Number Four. She had no idea what she would say, but, determined to forge ahead, she pressed the bell with a firm hand. As she frantically hunted for a valid reason to explain her presence, nature took matters out of her hands. A wave of faintness washed over her, and she felt herself swaying just as the door opened. Through the grayness fogging her vision she heard a servant enquiring her business.
    “I beg your pardon,” she managed to whisper. “I’m not feeling well at all.”
    The maid exclaimed before drawing her inside and ushering her into a dim, quiet room where Minerva allowed herself to be seated in a comfortable armchair.
    “Thank you,” she said gratefully, but the maid had already dashed from the room, no doubt to alert her mistress. Minerva’s faintness slowly dissolved away. She lifted her head and glanced around her, curious as to the type of home the mysterious woman kept. The furnishings were decidedly Continental, from the French-style writing desk, to the German porcelain clock gracing the mantelpiece. Heavy damask curtains cut out most of the failing afternoon light, and the gas lamps flickered low.
    A soft step on the threshold and a rustle of silk was all the warning she had. Turning, she saw the woman who had visited Asher enter the room. It could only be her. There was no mistaking the dramatic black-and-ivory dress or the woman’s poise. This time, there was no obscuring hat or veil. Instead, the woman wore her abundant fair hair piled high upon her face, a face which became strikingly familiar as she glided forward.
    The room was dim, the light fickle. The woman’s face seemed to waver in the dusk. Minerva blinked several times, trying to clear her vision, and wondered if her near faint was playing tricks with her mind.
    “Madam, forgive me,” Minerva blurted out, “but you remind me so much of my mother that—” She gulped, sick with disbelief. “Could it be you are my mother?”
    The woman stilled. Minerva’s eyes ached as she stared into a face almost as familiar as her own. The similarities were striking and unmistakable. It was like staring into the depths of time and seeing a reflection of herself a few decades from now. Same hair, eyes, bone structure—uncannily the