Lady Jane rested her fork on the plate. The maid, Jenny, had the makings of a wild little thing, as did Lady Perry, come to think of it. “What friend did she visit?”
“Hmm. She says here it is Cecilia Broadmoor.”
Jane squinted at her cup. After so many years on the fringes of Britain’s wide social scene, her memory of names was encyclopedic. “I know her. She’s a bit older than Perry and…the last I’d heard, she’d married and gone off to India. She must be back visiting her family. I attended a house party once many years ago at an estate near theirs and —”
She bit her lip. Before Charley and Gracie left for their new home, they’d had a lively discussion about Yorkshire families.
Lady Perry’s interest then had been keen.
She felt Sirena’s gaze on her. “The Broadmoors live in Lincolnshire,” Jane said.
Sirena bit back a smile. “Perry has bolted.”
Jane paced to the window and looked out, unseeing. Lady Sirena had done her own bolting a few months earlier and had been lucky to land in Lord Bakeley’s noble arms, but it had been a near thing. Lord Shaldon was rounding up old enemies from the war, and at least one was still out there for whom Shaldon’s only daughter would be a grand prize.
Shaldon was such a consummate actor his children thought he knew everything that went on. She knew better. They’d met many years before, when she had been not much more than a child.
She went back to the table, downed the rest of her tea, and wished Sirena a good day.
“Are you sure you want to go tell him?” Sirena asked. “Perry may never speak with you again.”
“I’m afraid if I don’t tell him, she won’t survive to speak to me again.” She sighed. “You of all people know the dangers, Sirena.”
Shaldon had holedup with Kincaid in his small study, and both stood when she entered, two tall striking men of late middle years, and each seemingly unattached. Kincaid was the shorter of the two, a dark-haired Scot who had served as Shaldon’s second for so many years the men didn’t need to talk to communicate.
Kincaid’s personal history was something of a cipher. Not part of theton, he’d appeared at his lordship’s side sometime after Jane had met Shaldon, but nevertheless, many years ago. Where Shaldon went, he went, unless Shaldon sent him off on a tasking. He was related to Shaldon’s eldest son’s wife, Paulette.
Jane had exchanged no more than a few polite words with him, weighing his responses carefully. It had been enough to judge his character favorably. Whether he had a wife and family tucked away somewhere, she didn’t know. She hadn’t touched upon that topic with him.
Shaldon, on the other hand, was widowed. Either man was vital enough to take a much younger woman to wife. Or perhaps they preferred to pay for sucharrangements. Men could be a fickle, dispassionate lot.
Shaldon invited her to sit, but she shook her head. They were obviously at their business, and she’d dispense with the niceties. “Sirena has received a letter from Grace. We believe Lady Perry may have departed their home using subterfuge.”
