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“Truly?” she asked.

They both nodded, then Barbara stood up and said, “I have an idea. Come back to London with us. Allow Ezra to do what he needs to do there, you do not need to stay at his house. The four of us ladies and our two babes can reign free the rest of the week at the Curtis House. We can share wicked stories of our husbands and perhaps find a way to help you and Ezra smooth things out.”

Lydia smiled, the idea sounding truly delightful. She had enjoyed her work with Ezra greatly, but there was no doubt she missed spending time with her friends and sisters. She was not sure how much more she was willing to share with her friends and could not imagine spending a week discussing such issues. But there were plenty of other things they could discuss and do together.

“I would love to,” Lydia replied, remembering Ezra’s command, “but Ezra stated that I should wait here.”

“That was while discussinghistravel plans,” Barbara retorted, “We are now discussing ours. He will not even know you are there.”

“Well…” Lydia mused, liking the idea more by the second. “Yes, I suppose you are right. And it is not as if the staff requires me to be here to function properly. Very well then, I shall ask my maid to pack my luggage. Shall we leave in an hour?”

“George Nicholson,” Ezra said aloud, staring at the glass of whiskey in his hand. “Earl of Ridlington. I vaguely remember him. He used to work for my father right before he passed.”

“You mean with?” Ambrose asked.

“No,” Ezra stated firmly, meeting his friend’s eyes. “The earl workedformy father, not with him, although I do not know what he did or why.”

He held up his injured hand toward Ambrose, one brow raised.

“Are you saying that is who gave this to me?”

Ambrose nodded his head at Ezra from across his desk. It had been a complete happenstance that Ambrose had just been getting ready to send for him when he’d suddenly appeared in the gaming hell. Ambrose had immediately insisted they go to his office. As he shared the news, even Ezra had to admit that he was a little baffled.

Why would he want to hurt him? Especially now. It must have been at least thirteen years since Ezra had last seen the Earl of Ridlington, so why did he wait this long to exact his revenge? And revenge for what? The relationship had dissolved a couple of years before Ezra was named the next Duke of Frampton.

Suddenly, like a slap in the face, it hit him; a certain forgotten memory, and Ezra sighed wearily. How old had he been when he’d walked into a servant’s cupboard to find to a certain man and woman pushing parts together? He had likely been eight or nine years of age. He shivered in disgust and pushed the memory back into the very darkest corners of his mind where he kept all such vile recollections.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Enlightening,” Ambrose retorted dryly, “Care to share a bit of what you are thinking?”

Despite his annoyance, Ezra let out a wry chuckle.

“I have a theory,” he sighed, rising from his chair. “But I need to conduct some research first. Unfortunately, I think it is time I paid a visit to my darling mother.”

Ambrose balked and made a face.

“Jesus, mate, why do you not just hop on down to hell and visit Satan himself? It would be easier and far more enjoyable.”

Ezra chuckled, relieved that they were once more back to their old ways. It had been strange not having his friends near, and though he would never admit it, he truly did not enjoy it.

“Perhaps,” he mused, “But it would not give me the same results.”

“You really think it is her?” Ambrose asked, standing as Ezra walked toward the door.

“It would not be the first time she has tried,” he replied with a shrug. “Or the second.”

Ambrose’s grin slid a little.

“You still have some eyes and ears out there looking for information on the fire,” he said, “Maybe someone is trying to get you to stop looking.”

“We haven’t touched that subject in months,” Ezra said dismissively, “No, I am certain it is my mother. I will take care of it.”

“Should I pretend to offer to go with you?” Ambrose asked.

“And have Barbara blame me for your death?” Ezra mused as he walked away, “No thank you.”

“Ezra, wait,” Ambrose said, coming around his desk.