Page 31

O n the other side of Mayfair, Lucy was telling her mother about her betrothal to Will. Lucy didn’t know it, but Mrs. Penhallow’s reaction was worlds away from what Lady Gilford’s had been.

“Oh, Lucy,” Mrs. Penhallow said with a mixture of happiness and exasperation. “I should have known you would not settle for a conventional match.”

“But Lord Gilford is entirely conventional, Mama,” Lucy said, rising to bring her mother a handkerchief. “He might have lived in Paris for the past few years, but I assure you he is still an English gentleman with all of the attendant behaviors.”

“Oh, you will quibble, but you know what I mean,” Lucy’s mother argued. “What other young lady would accept a betrothal only yards from where a murdered man still lies? Though I must admit I am grateful beyond anything that Gilford was there to save you.”

Lucy sighed. She loved her mother, but her inability to ever see Lucy as capable of taking care of herself was frustrating. Not least because at times it seemed that Mrs. Penhallow’s views were no different from the gentlemen of the ton who claimed women didn’t deserve the vote because they were too emotional to make such important decisions.

“Gilford didn’t save me, Mama,” she said, perching on the settee near her mother’s chair. “By the time he arrived, the villain was long gone. And poor Sir Charles was dead.”

“Oh, do not argue, Lucy. You know what I mean.” Mrs. Penhallow shook her head. “You might not have been in actual danger by that time, but there’s no doubt that his lordship’s presence kept danger at bay once he arrived.”

Knowing it would be impossible to change her mother’s mind at this point, Lucy just let her words go without argument.

“I am glad you are pleased with my choice of husband, Mama,” she said instead. “He is a good man. I think you will like him.”

“But do you love him, my dear?” Her mother’s too-keen eyes searched Lucy’s, and she gave in to the urge to put her hands over them.

It was too soon for her to know whether she loved Will, she wanted to protest. It had only been a few days. Surely that wasn’t long enough to form that kind of attachment.

She liked and respected him, of course. And his kisses made her toes curl and sent zings of sensation through her whole body. But love? That would have to wait until she’d had more time to assess things.

Misinterpreting Lucy’s reluctance to answer, Mrs. Penhallow gave a contented sigh. “I felt the same way about your father, though it took me a little while to recognize it for what it was. I thought I’d found a man who was worthy of giving my hand to, of course, but I didn’t even think in terms of love. I was happy enough to have a proposal. A love match was beyond my comprehension.”

At this, however, Lucy removed her hands from her eyes and looked at her mother. “I never knew you were a spinster, Mama.” She’d known her mother was a little older than most young ladies when they married, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d been dismissed as unmarriageable.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Penhallow said with a laugh. “Very much so, but that didn’t matter to your papa. It was as if heaven had seen to it that I remain unmarried so that I would be there waiting for him.”

Lucy smiled at the notion. Whatever force had ensured that they met, she was grateful for it. She’d not be here otherwise.

They’d been reading through the papers and scandal sheets that mentioned the events surrounding Sir Charles Fleetwood’s murder the evening before. More than one of the gossip papers mentioned the fact that Lucy and Will had been seen in a public embrace once again. The insinuations made about what, if any, relationship lay between them were more blatant than the ones the night of the Leighton-Childe and Maitland balls. And a couple wondered when an interesting announcement might be forthcoming from them.

The fact that “interesting announcement” might be referring to a betrothal or, in the more common meaning, a pregnancy, was a nice bit of wordplay. Lucy supposed she’d be subject to the scrutiny of having her waist observed for the next half year, regardless.

The sound of the knocker on the front door carried up to where the two ladies sat.

Since she’d been expecting him to call on her this morning, Lucy had dressed with care and asked her maid to make sure to leave a few tendrils dangling over her ears. It was her favorite style, and she’d noticed that Will liked to tuck them behind her ears, which she enjoyed as well.

When Rhodes showed Will in, Lucy took a moment while he made his greetings to her mother to soak in the resplendence of him.

He was always handsome and well dressed, and today he had obviously taken great pains with his wardrobe. Or at the very least his valet had.

She was too pleased to see him, however, to pay much attention to his clothing beyond noting that it was attractive on him and fit him splendidly.

When he turned to face her, she couldn’t suppress the smile that broke across her face. “Miss Penhallow,” Will said, his voice low, which sent a little thrill down her spine. “You are looking lovely this morning.”

“As are you,” she said, then realizing what she’d said, she blushed. “I mean, that is to say you are—”

But he gave a soft laugh. “I am more than happy to hear that my bride-to-be finds me lovely.”

Certain she would either burst into flames or sink into the floor, Lucy was still struggling to regain her composure when her mother walked to the door and then turned to them with an admirably straight face.

“I just remembered I was meant to meet with Mrs. Hughes to go over this week’s menus,” Mrs. Penhallow said. “Please excuse me.”

When the door closed behind her, the betrothed couple turned to one another, and before Lucy knew what had happened, her hands were in Will’s hair and his mouth had covered hers.

His short locks were softer than she’d imagined, and as Lucy welcomed the wet heat of his lips on hers, she reveled in the strength of his body against hers. She’d noticed last night, but her mind had been too stunned to truly appreciate it. His sandalwood scent made her want to bury her face in his neck, but that would have meant separating their mouths, and she wouldn’t do that for any enticement.

A brisk knock on the door alerted them to the presence of a guest.

“I’ll just let them know I’m here, shall I?” boomed Eversham’s voice from the hallway, where he was very obviously waiting for them to right themselves.

Inside the drawing room, Lucy smoothed down Will’s hair, which was sticking up at odd angles thanks to her hands. Will, meanwhile, was doing his best to adjust Lucy’s bodice, which he’d somehow pulled off her shoulder.

“Do come in, Cousin Andrew,” Lucy called to her cousin from the chair she’d perched decorously on, holding a book open as if she’d been reading aloud.

Will, meanwhile, was posed with a hand braced against the mantelpiece, staring broodily into the fire. He looked so much like a caricature of a Byronic hero that Lucy almost giggled. As she looked closer, however, she saw that she’d missed some fingermarks near the crown of his head.

When she looked up, Eversham was watching her with a raised brow.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” he said blandly, as he watched Will turn to face him, then move to Lucy’s side.

“I have some news about Sir Charles Fleetwood’s murder, as well as what I was able to learn from the American embassy about Christopher Hamilton.”

At the mention of the murder, any amusement Lucy was feeling fled.

She shivered as the memory of Sir Charles’s face, twisted in a rictus of pain as he died. Beside her, Will slipped an arm about her waist and held her against him.

With a nod of his head, Eversham indicated that they should sit. And this time, Lucy and Will sat side by side, hands locked together, in an echo of the way they’d been last evening across from Eversham in the carriage.

The detective superintendent took the chair nearest them and said, “I had this information about Hamilton last night, but, as you can probably guess why, it was pushed to the back of my mind by other matters.”

Lucy couldn’t blame him for forgetting it. A murdered man—a peer no less—was bound to take precedence over a kidnapper. Even when the victim was from a wealthy family.

“I know you asked Woodward to look into the matter,” Eversham said with apology, “but I thought we might be able to learn what we wanted to know sooner if I went through proper channels.”

“The foreign minister,” Will said, and Lucy supposed he knew about such things from observing his father’s service as a diplomat. She’d learned a little bit about it through her friendship with Meg, who’d told her some stories.

Eversham nodded, and said, “Thanks to the miracle of transatlantic cables, the embassy was able to query officials in Philadelphia. They learned that Mr. Christopher Hamilton does have a cousin with whom he started a railway business about six or seven years ago. Upon Christopher’s death two months ago in an accident near the tracks, his cousin was said to be devastated. And yet, he unselfishly offered to travel to London to give Christopher’s betrothed the bad news even before his cousin could be laid to rest.”

“She was right.” Lucy shook her head in wonder. Turning to Will, she said, “I thought it was all a ruse. But she certainly read Jedidiah Hamilton’s deception aright.”

“If you mean Miss Christina Fleetwood,” Eversham said with a skeptical look, “we haven’t ruled out the possibility that Sir Charles’s sister was part of Hamilton’s plot to force Vera Blackwood into marriage. Perhaps she revealed Hamilton’s identity as an impostor to get back at him for some betrayal.”

Lucy knew her cousin was right, but she couldn’t help but remember how sincere the spiritualist had seemed. “But if she wanted to lead him to the authorities, why didn’t she simply contact the police?”

“Perhaps she thought it would sound more believable coming from us,” Will said with a shrug. “There are those in the police force who don’t believe in talents like Miss Fleetwood’s.”

He cast a glance to where Eversham stood looking exasperated. Still, Lucy’s cousin didn’t argue.

“Regardless of her reasons for telling us about Jedidiah Hamilton, given what happened to Sir Charles last night, I am concerned for Miss Fleetwood’s safety.” Lucy remembered how frail the woman had seemed. She remembered the size and strength of the man who had lifted Vera into the waiting carriage. It would take very little for such a man to overpower Miss Fleetwood. Especially since her only protection was merely her maid.

“We don’t know yet that it was Jedidiah Hamilton who killed Sir Charles Fleetwood,” Eversham reminded her with a scowl that seemed to be more about his annoyance that they weren’t certain of this yet than any pique at Lucy.

“I don’t think we can take that risk,” Lucy said, standing to put her fists on her hips. “I propose that we should go warn her.”

“And I suppose by ‘we’ you mean you and I?” Will asked with a raised brow.

“Who else?” Lucy asked, linking her arm in his with a sunny smile.

“Happy betrothal.” Eversham clapped Will on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Partners of Clever Ladies League. We meet every Wednesday.”