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P iers’s first inclination was to leave everything in the capable hands of his theater manager and depart London for his lead mine on Dartmoor.

He could bury himself in the practicalities of mining and forget the disaster that had befallen him—at least for a while.

In deepest Devon, there’d be no risk of running into Miss Bellamy or Roland Chetwynd, or anyone else associated with that dreadful night in St. Giles.

No—leaving Town was the coward’s way, a path he’d sworn never to take.

He must stay in London and see what could be done, put everything in place to bridge the chasm that now lay between him and his son.

Then, and only then, would he feel free to head out of London, visit the mine, and pay a long overdue visit to Papa and Maman.

True to his promise to Chetwynd, he did, however, request an audience with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

“A pleasure to see you as always, Mr. Darvill. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“The honor is all mine.” Indeed, it was because the owner of the Lyon’s Den preferred to keep herself to herself.

He had met her a few times, but only for light conversation, not for anything serious.

It was a struggle to converse with someone whose face one could not see.

Perhaps one day, the world would know what Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon was hiding.

But for now, there was only speculation.

“Pray, take a seat. Shall I have refreshments brought?”

As he settled himself down, he remembered the conversation he’d had with the big man on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff—Starveling, wasn’t it?

Had he resolved his issues with the lady he’d spoken of?

Piers rather hoped he had—it would be good if somebody of his acquaintance had managed to find happiness.

Later, he would seek out Starveling. Best not to mention anything about it to Mrs. Dove-Lyon—she probably disapproved of her staff having relationships with the clientele.

“Only if you wish for refreshments yourself, ma’am. I don’t need anything, and I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time.”

She tilted her head, and he imagined piercing eyes behind the veil, regarding him searchingly.

“Then let us not beat about the bush, sir. What is it you wish to discuss?”

“I’ve come to plead on behalf of a friend.” A friend? Not exactly—Roland Chetwynd was just an acquaintance. But he’d begun to feel sympathy for the man, now that he understood what he must put up with at home.

“I’m here to ask if Mr. Roland Chetwynd can be reinstated as a member of the Lyon’s Den. He has done me a great service, and I’m indebted to him.”

“He was banned for attempting to deceive my staff by smuggling a woman into a card game meant for gentlemen. You know what the House rules are, Mr. Darvill, as does he.”

“I’m certain Mr. Chetwynd has learned his lesson and won’t trespass again. As has the lady in question—well, almost. Miss Bellamy has been atoning for her crime in your kitchens.”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded. “She has proved to be an excellent cook.”

He had to agree—a woman who made such excellent partridge stew couldn’t be entirely evil.

“She has worked diligently and... fairly reliably. I no longer consider that she owes me anything. I don’t know that Mr. Chetwynd has been sufficiently punished—he has only been banished for a couple of weeks, after all.

But that is by-the-by. May I ask what manner of service he performed for you? ”

Piers hesitated. One did not want to put too much information into this wily woman’s hands.

“The favor touched on a personal matter requiring both subtlety and discretion. I’m pleased to say that the gentleman did what I asked and showed both of those admirable traits.

Between you and me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I think it fair to say he’s learned his lesson and is ready to put his youthful follies behind him. ”

“Subtlety and discretion, eh? Both the qualities of an excellent spy.”

Piers’s eyebrows shot up. That was exactly what he’d used Roland for. Did Mrs. Dove-Lyon know everything?

“Miss Bellamy has a similar ability to weasel out information.” And how he wished she didn’t!

“A promising young lady. One only needs to give Miss Bellamy the benefit of the doubt, I believe, and one will find her friendship rewarding. She’s been shaped by difficulties in her past, but, like Mr. Chetwynd, she has accepted that those things cannot be undone.

It’s vital to let go of the past and move forward in life.

There are some rough edges to remove, I know, but in time, mark my words, Miss Bellamy will be a diamond of the first water. ”

Piers resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Belinda Bellamy, a diamond? The woman was a nightmare! But he wasn’t here to argue about Belinda. He’d rather not think about her at all.

“It sounds as if it would be in my interest to welcome Mr. Chetwynd back into the fold. I shall be certain to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get involved in any further high jinks. I know I allow a certain amount of latitude here—encourage it even—but there are limits.”

“That is most kind of you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I’ll keep an eye on him too, and when the earl returns to Town, perhaps we can discuss ways of keeping Roland out of trouble.”

His hostess got to her feet, so Piers stood too, and gave her a deep bow, then realized she was holding out a gloved hand to him. They shook on their arrangement, after which she rang for him to be seen out.

It was Mr. Starveling who hobbled forth to escort him from the premises. He was proving to be an intriguing character—Mrs. Dove-Lyon must make a habit of collecting them.

“Good day to you, sir,” the man said brightly as Piers shouldered himself into his coat and collected his hat and cane.

Starveling paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“You have something to say, Mr. Starveling?”

“I wanted to apologize for importuning you the other day, but I was grateful that you listened, and I got my own thoughts clear.”

Piers inclined his head. “I’m glad to hear it. And no offense taken. I would do anything to assist one who has been involved in keeping the French from these shores.”

“Well, I seem to be on the right path now, sir. The lady in question will let me court her.”

“So, she’s decided to trust you—and now all you have to do is prove yourself trustworthy. I can understand her concerns—you must see so many women passing through these doors, including members of the demi-monde. She probably imagined you consorting with all of them. I know how women’s minds work.”

He pressed his lips together—it simply wasn’t true.

As his recent experience with Miss Bellamy had proved, he had no idea how women’s minds worked.

Charlotte had confounded him as well. It was a pity that a gentleman’s education did not include a whole curriculum of lessons on how to deal with the fairer sex.

“On second thought, I don’t have a clue. But I’m happy for you.”

“It took a leap of faith for me as well as her, sir. I’m an unforgiving sort, and having once been burned, I wasn’t keen to try again.

But that’s cowardice, isn’t it? I’ve proved myself on the battlefield, I’ve stared down the muzzles of rifles and looked those murderous French in the eye—so why be afraid of marriage?

I’ll take my chances. Or my second chance, so to speak.

” Starveling held the door open. “Shall we see you this evening, sir?”

Piers’s smile faded. No. He wouldn’t dine here tonight—the soup would be average at best. Nor did he feel like gambling. If the last few days were anything to go by, luck was not on his side.

“Not this evening. Good day to you.”

He buttoned his overcoat right up to the collar and twined his scarf around his neck.

It was a grim day for May, dark and windy enough to chill a man through to the bone.

At least there’d be some shelter in between the buildings on the walk down toward Drury Lane and the river.

He pulled on his gloves, put a hand on top of his high-crowned hat to ensure the wind couldn’t steal it, and set off toward the Old Forum theater.

It had been an interesting conversation with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.

How odd that she’d spoken so kindly of Miss Bellamy!

It had been said that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had eyes and ears everywhere, but she could have no idea what had happened the other night, or she would not think so well of the chit.

Miss Bellamy was a walking disaster who destroyed other people’s dreams. He had to agree she was a good cook and exhibited a certain amount of girlish charm, but that was the end of it.

It was forgiving of Mrs. Dove-Lyon to speak any good of Miss Bellamy at all, considering her scandalous behavior. Dash it—he didn’t want to think about Miss Bellamy! Nor did he wish to acknowledge the tiny seed of doubt, the little jab of conscience that told him he’d been too hard on her.

Nothing must distract him from his renewed efforts to find Charlotte and the boy.

He’d been mulling ideas over but had yet to finalize his decision.

The first option was to have the lawyer’s office watched again, to see if Charlotte—or an envoy—would lead him to her new location.

Alternatively, he could leave his businesses to his deputies, and ride from town to town looking for traveling theater companies.

Or—and this was very much a last resort—he could stop sending the payments to Charlotte.

The latter option risked depriving Oliver of the lifestyle he’d become used to.

It was also dangerous because driving Charlotte into penury might also drive her into making some foolish choices—like finding a new male protector.

Then he’d have a competition on his hands, and who knew how that might end?

The best outcome would be that cutting off the money would drive Charlotte into the open.

She’d come to the lawyer to find out what was going on, or she would contact him to complain.

Even though it was potentially the most dangerous action he could take, it would yield results far quicker than any other option.

For a moment, the clouds parted, and the street was flooded with watery sunlight. The brightness changed his mood from melancholy to hopeful, and in that moment, his decision was made. He’d forget about the Old Forum for the moment; instead, he’d head for the lawyer’s office at Lincoln’s Inn.

The payments would be stopped.

He just had to trust that Lady Luck would change her mind and be on his side for once—or he stood to lose everything he truly cared about.