Page 12 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)
“What of your father?” he asked.
Miss Moreau mimicked Alexander’s previous shrug. “I barely remember him. Generally, my memories are what my mother often repeated to me. ‘He sailed away one day and never returned.’”
He asked, “Were you in France at the time? I know Lord Honfleur is French, but your English has the undertones of someone raised in an English household, rather than a French one.”
He felt her stiffen next to him, for he had caught her in one of Honfleur’s lies. “My parents were English. We resided in the West Indies for many years.”
“Then Honfleur is also English?” he asked in what he hoped sounded of mere curiosity.
Miss Moreau explained, “My Uncle Jacobi is my mother’s half-brother. He learned of my abandonment and came for me. I am most grateful, for my mother was employed as a housekeeper to a rich man. I had no family after she passed.”
He had asked enough questions for the moment.
Alexander could feel how she tensed up as they walked together.
Instead, he said, “Then I am doubly grateful Lord Honfleur showed you such compassion. I would have been eternally sorry never to have claimed your acquaintance.” They walked on in silence for several seconds before he added, “I was fortunate to have Lord Duncan to take me under his wing, so to speak, and present me with his daughter and several other young lords as my most constant companions. I am confident you feel the same regarding Lord Honfleur and Lady Caroline.”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Moreau said readily. “Caroline is nearly as close as a sister. I would be lost without her.” Up ahead, Theodora and Lady Caroline had paused to wait for them all. “My cousin and I promised to return promptly,” she explained.
“Might I call upon you?” Alexander asked softly.
He felt her stiffen again as a bit of what could only be termed as panic arrived. “Lord Honfleur would not approve, my lord,” she explained in quiet tones.
“Are you not out in society?” he asked with equal discretion.
“Not officially,” she rushed to say. “My uncle means for Caroline to know a Season first. I am to wait.”
“Then you learned nothing of the woman?” Dora asked with a disbelieving lift of her eyebrows. “Are you losing your touch, my lord?”
Alexander could not shake the idea Miss Moreau was in danger; however, he did not express his concerns to Theodora, for she simply would discover another reason to know jealousy.
Someday soon, it would be necessary for him to declare himself, but Alexander still thought his commitment to the British government and to finding his own family should take precedence over any aspirations Miss Theodora Duncan held.
Moreover, he was just a bit more than four and twenty, and he had only been the earl for three years, actually since he was a few days short of his thirteenth birthday, when his father had taken his last breath, but others, even then, oversaw the title and the family estate while Alexander was away at school and then later at university.
He did not appear before the Lords to claim the title until he was one and twenty.
His father, Robert Dutton, had been born the fourth son of the 9th Earl Marksman.
Robert had eloped with a woman of whom the 9th Earl had never approved, for she was promised to another, and Robert had been essentially disowned—turned out with only a small piece of land he had inherited from his mother.
No one, especially not Robert Dutton, had ever thought irony would one day raise its ugly head, claiming each of Robert’s three brothers in a little over a year and making the least favorite son the one to inherit the earldom.
Lawrence, the eldest and the 10th Earl Marksman, had had a spell with his heart and had succumbed to his complaints two days later.
As Lawrence had yet to produce a son, those serving as overseers for the estate and the peerage immediately began a search for Jonathan Dutton’s second son, Oscar, only to learn Lord Oscar had died in a duel upon the Continent, which sent those wishing to name the next earl, Evert Dutton, as his father’s successor in something beginning to border on hysteria, or so Alexander had been told by Lord Duncan.
They sent word to Evert, who was in Spain, to return home—a letter of great importance and several seals—to which Evert immediately complied, rushing home to Derbyshire, only to be thrown from his horse somewhere in Yorkshire, breaking Lord Evert’s neck and again sending the future of the earldom into chaos.
Despite being shunned by his family for years, Robert Dutton was sought out by more than a dozen men in London’s slews.
Robert not only was the rightful heir to the earldom, the new Lord Dutton had executed the impossible: He had secured the earldom in the Dutton name; Robert Dutton had sired a son who could inherit.
Alexander and his father had, quite literally, been snatched from the streets and deposited upon the doorstep of the Dutton’s ancestral home.
It was up to Robert to claim the estate and the earldom and Alexander to secure its future.
Alexander could still feel the sting of the brush used on his skin to scrub the filth from his person and the slap of his tutor’s metal ruler across Alexander’s knuckles when Alexander had not learned his conjugations correctly or had not held his teacup properly.
Robert Dutton had held on until his claim to the earldom had been accepted by the House of Lords, and then he had succumbed to his consumption, his lungs weakened by the smoke-filled streets and damp dwellings they two had endured for more years than either Robert or Alexander wished to recall.
He also surrendered to the guilt the 11th Earl Marksman had carried with him for nearly a decade before he took his last breath.
“Find your mother and your sister,” his father had told Alexander as the 11th Earl held Alexander’s hand.
“Bring them here. They deserved better than me, but not better than you. Prove all the world erred by accepting your grandfather’s edict.
Give our family the type of life I could not.
Ye’ve the money now, Alexander, to bring them home at last.”
“I believe Miss Moreau fears her uncle’s wrath,” he told Duncan. “She will not permit me to call upon her, so such is not an option. There is no means for me to search Honfleur’s study unless I sneak into the house while the family is out.”
“Lady Caroline indicated her cousin was rarely permitted to accompany Lady Caroline and Honfleur during the Season,” Dora confided.
“Miss Moreau said something similar,” he confirmed.
“We must learn more of Honfleur’s plans and if he holds a connection to Margaret Childers and forging bank notes,” Duncan summarized the obvious.
Alexander agreed. “We must bring someone in to court Lady Caroline. We originally thought of Beaufort. Are we still in agreement about using Navan?”
“Orson would likely have been our best choice, but he and Lady Emma have known enough gossip without Richard being seen courting another woman,” Duncan spoke of the obvious.
“Miss Moreau did admit her uncle was English,” Alexander shared, “though she was instantly sorry to have said so afterwards. Honfleur is supposedly the half-brother to Miss Moreau’s mother.
She said her parents were English and lived in the West Indies.
The father sailed away one day and never returned.
The mother was the housekeeper in an English household. ”
“Then she was not from an aristocratic family?” Dora asked.
“Who is to say?” Alexander responded. “The woman may have had no choice but to ply her few skills after her husband did not return.” He told Duncan, “From my initial evaluation of Miss Moreau, I would say she appears interested in life, in general. She possesses an inquisitive mind, but fears Lord Honfleur, so if we wish to use her for information, we could well be disappointed.”
“I understand,” Duncan said deep in thought, which was customary for him. “Somehow, we must discover whether Honfleur is meeting with others of Margaret Childers’s nature. Heaven help the British government if Liverpool’s cabinet is not fully in place when the Bank of England collapses.”
Theodora questioned, “Are we to view an army of the poor and the disenchanted filling the streets and alleys and carrying homemade weapons, stealing anything to sell for a few pence? Should we consider things so dire?”
As much as Alexander adored Theodora, she would never understand how it was for many who wonder each day if they will have a wedge of salt bread to ease their hunger.
He knew that particular gnawing in his stomach well.
With no skills with his hands to earn a living, Robert Dutton had sunk lower and lower until his father had done the unforgivable simply to survive.
Alexander had assuredly never forgiven the man, nor did Robert Dutton forgive himself.
The desperation had broken his father’s spirit, and it was not until he read of Lawrence, the 10th Earl Marksman’s death in a discarded newsprint found in the street, did Robert claim sobriety long enough to hope for his family’s redemption at the hands of his brother Richard.