Page 24

“ A h, Soothcoor, what brings you to my door? I’ve passed two entire days without seeing your ugly phiz. I feared you’d quite cut my acquaintance.”

“No more’n you’d deserve.”

The Marquis gave a short laugh, clapping Soothcoor on the back. “Well, come. I was just about to sit down to nuncheon. Join me. I know how you appreciate Gascoullet’s culinary skills. After all, I do not tease myself that you come for my company.”

“Better yours than Chilberlain’s. Faugh!”

“A falling-out with our Captain?”

Soothcoor snorted. “Canna talk to him to have a falling-out.”

“I’ll admit you have captured my interest, old friend. Perceive me all attention. I hang on your words.”

The Earl shot him a nasty look. “I’ll have none a your cozening ways. It were deferring to you which created this mess.”

“It must be serious. Your accent is pronounced. What you need is a mug of ale and a substantial meal. Kennilton!”

“Immediately, my lord,” said his soft-spoken butler.

He took an ale pitcher from the sideboard and filled a tankard, setting it before their scowling guest. He placed platters and tureens of food on the table, serving the two gentlemen quickly and efficiently.

There was little conversation between the two men, though the Earl’s scowl relaxed as he ate.

When both gentlemen were replete, Kennilton directed that the dishes be removed, placed a large pot of coffee on the table along with a bowl of fruit, and bowed his way out of the room.

“Quiet blighter,” Soothcoor observed after the butler left. “No nonsense, too. I like that.”

“Now, I suppose you’ll be telling me that you’d care to hire him away from me. I should give you my household and be done with it,” Stefton said drily, humor underlining his words.

Soothcoor sniffed and his mouth twitched. A knuckle rubbed the side of his face. “Couldn't afford it and would not stand the press o’ people you deem necessary to run a household.”

“But vicariously you enjoy it.”

“There’s worse places.”

“Ah. I perceive we are about to return to the subject of Chilberlain. What is our Captain up to?”

“Smelling o’ April and May.”

‘‘Miss Susannah Shreveton?”

“Aye. There’s no being with him. He’s forever spouting about her.”

“Our Captain, a lovesick swain?”

“It is serious! And it’s all your fault, asking us to dance with her cousin at Lady Oakley’s, then dragging us to visit the next day and tricking us into agreeing to a confounded theater party that you declined. Unfinished business. Faugh!”

“It was unfinished. Now it is not.”

“Gave her the go-bye, did you?”

“Along with a very handsome diamond and sapphire necklace.”

The Earl grunted. “Well, you should o’ come. Save me from having to do the pretty and from Lady Iris making sheep’s eyes at me.”

“You could have given her a set down.”

“I could not do that!”

“Chivalry in our dour Earl? What is the world coming to?”

“Laugh if you want, but I seen your reaction to Kirkson and the other Miss Shreveton.”

“My dear sir, what is that to mean?”

“You know damned well. Not another word I’ll say.”

Stefton straightened in his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Kirkson has a score to settle with Miss Shreveton and with me. Miss Shreveton is not up to his weight, but I’d venture to say that won’t make odds with her.”

“Lady Harth has fixed on Kirkson as a suitor for her.”

The Marquis raised an eyebrow and pulled on his chin, thinking. “It might be best to turn Lady Harth’s attention elsewhere. I’ve not heard any talk of Catherine Shreveton riding.”

“Does she?”

“Beautifully. Yes. I think I need to pay a call on Raymond Dawes.”

“Burke’s man? What’s he to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing. Then again, maybe a lot,” Stefton murmured, a slight smile playing upon his lips.

An hour later, the Earl of Soothcoor bade his host goodbye and set off for his club, for he’d contrived the happy notion of napping in an armchair in the library.

The Marquis good-humoredly waved him off, then set off in the direction of St. George’s Hospital, for in the mews in that vicinity was Tattersall’s, the celebrated mart for selling horses, and also the offices and London stables of Burke’s, the renowned breeder of horses.

He stopped first at the Burke stables, ambling down its wide, well-swept corridor. He halted in front of the stall of an elegant black mare.

The inquisitive horse nudged him. He laughed softly and reached up to scratch her head.

“That one ain’t for sale, guv’nor,” said a wizened old man who rocked forward on bowed legs.

“I know. I believe her name is Gwyneth.”

“Aye, sir. Did you be wanting somethin’, guv’nor?” asked the old groom, suddenly suspicious of the well-dressed, soft-spoken swell.

The Marquis caught the man’s hesitant, suspicious manner and laughed, clapping the fellow on the back. “You’re a loyal man. Tell me, where might I find Raymond Dawes at this hour?”

“In the office. Take those stairs over there,” the man said, jerking his head to the right. “It’s shorter.”

“Thank you.” The Marquis flipped a coin in the old man’s direction. The man caught it easily. When he saw a yellow boy lying in his palm, his eyes grew wide as saucers. His stammered thank you followed Stefton up the stairs.

Stefton quietly entered the main office of Burke’s and stood before Dawes’s high desk.

Dawes reluctantly pulled his attention up from the ledger spread open before him. Recognizing his visitor, he surged to his feet, bobbing his head twice in deference. “My lord! Begging your lordship’s pardon. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s quite all right, Dawes.” Stefton glanced about the well-appointed office, spotting two worn armchairs by the fireplace. “Let’s sit down over there.”

“Please, your lordship,” Raymond Dawes said, coming around the desk and escorting the Marquis to one of the chairs.

“You too, Dawes, I’ll not crane my neck looking up at you.”

Dawes hesitated a moment, then sat down opposite the Marquis.

“I’m not here to buy a horse. I’ve come to discuss Miss Shreveton. Don’t shake your head so quickly. You’re a loyal man, I know, but hear me out. I believe Miss Shreveton to be acting out of character and in a manner bound to distress Sir Eugene if he but knew of it.”

“How so, my lord?” Dawes asked warily.

“She insists on letting everyone believe she is a poor relation. To strengthen this belief, she dresses dowdily and scrapes her hair back hideously.”

Dawes shook his head. “So she did on the road to London.”

“Why?”

The agent shrugged. “Can’t say truly, my lord. The family pushed her to London, I know, and that don’t hold with her ’cause she ain’t been broken to harness yet.”

“Yes, I received the impression she was independent,” Stefton said drily.

“Just so, my lord.”

“I gather she hasn’t been riding her horse.”

“No, sir, and that has me stumped plain. Not like her. Sent ’round a note saying as much. Got back a request for patience,” Dawes finished, shaking his head in puzzlement.

“Patience, hmm?” Stefton steepled his fingertips as he thought. He suddenly looked back at Dawes, dropping his hands to his thighs. “Would you trust me with Gwyneth?"

“Aye,” said Sir Eugene’s man.

Stefton laughed. “You’re right to be cautious.” He stood up to leave.

“Expect my groom, Friarly, for the animal at four o’clock today. Have her saddled for Miss Shreveton. With a sidesaddle,” he said as an afterthought, his hand reaching for the door handle.

“Very good, my lord,” Dawes said. He scratched his head. Sir Eugene would not be pleased with these goin’s on, he thought as he watched the Marquis leave. He would not be pleased at all.

“Catherine, are you still working on that same handkerchief you started three days ago?”

“Yes, Aunt Alicia,” Catherine returned patiently. “I told you when you instructed me to embroider my initials on these that I am not proficient with a needle.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Harth contradicted, “every woman learns needlework from the cradle. It is a talent we are born with.”

“I’m afraid I was passed over when that blessing was bestowed,” Catherine remarked drily.

“Watch your tongue, young woman, I’ll not have blasphemy in my house!”

Startled, Catherine stuck her needle in wide of the mark she intended. She swallowed an oath and worked the needle back out. “I beg your pardon, Aunt Alicia,” she said, her jaw jutting forward as she concentrated on her task.

“If you don’t like needlework, you and Susannah should have accepted Mrs. Howlitch’s kind invitation and gone with her and Iris and Dahlia to Harding and Howell’s this afternoon.”

“Oh, but Aunt Alicia, I believe including us in her invitation was merely a nicety. Mrs. Howlitch was just as glad we did not come.”

“Nonsense.”

“Well, it did seem to me that she is more interested in securing one or the other of the twins as a bride for her son Peter.”

“Both girls may look much higher than Mr. Peter Howlitch for a husband. His fortune may be respectable, but I quite had him in mind more for you, Susannah.”

“Me! Oh no, Aunt Alicia.”

“I’m afraid Captain Chilberlain will not do at all. It would be kinder to sever that connection,” Lady Harth continued reflectively, ignoring Susannah’s outburst. “I am persuaded that as a naval officer, your dear father could not countenance your union with an army man.”

“Oh, no,” Susannah said in a rush, “Papa is not like that at all!”

Lady Harth smiled condescendingly. “Be guided by me, my dear. It will not do,” she tried to say kindly.

“But—”

Her aunt waved an admonitory finger at her. “No more. We shall find you a nice husband, never fear.”

Susannah lapsed into miserable silence.

“Now, Catherine, while we are on the subject of suitors, why have we not seen Sir Philip in two days? I quite depended upon you to affix his interest. He would be quite a feather in your cap.”

“I just do not like Sir Philip, and I would refuse any offer of his making, though I very much doubt he would offer matrimony."