Robert stared atthe three missives spread on the cherry desk before him, trying to fully gauge their impact. Each one alone had been a broadside that startled him. Together they had left his brain in a confused stew. He smoothed them again, pressing down on the precise folds, his fingers grazing across the remnants of the wax seals, as if that would change their words.
The first to arrive had been from his father, Philip, its language formal, right down to his signature of “Kennet.” It had been a mere two lines, but those had carried the weight of a royal command:I have a communication from the Duke of Makendon regarding the contracts for your marriage. We must speak immediately.
No room for argument or hesitation there. Robert knew that whatever it was Makendon wanted from him in exchange for Lydia’s hand had been made clear—and the Duke of Kennet had not been pleased. Robert had sent one of the emporium guards with a response, giving his father the direction for a coffee house near the rooms he had rented. The establishment had a private room and entrance, and Robert would arrange for luncheon at one. No one would see Robert or the duke arrive or leave.
The second missive had arrived less than a half hour later, the language also clipped and precise. Lord Percival Surrey was also most unhappy with Robert. The formal address was followed by—
Sir,
Your efforts to help locate my son, Lord Timothy Surrey, are unnecessary and unwanted. Please cease your inquiries and remit any information you have gained to Cons. H. Lewis, who is conducting the investigation.
Likewise, desist in any communication with Lady Eloise Surrey. Lest recent events sully her reputation, she will no longer be serving as a companion to Lady Lydia Rowbotham, and will be sent from the city forthwith. Until which time she departs, I insist you refrain from contacting her in any manner.
Pentney
The second paragraph clearly summed up the heart of the earl’s concerns. Not only did Pentney not want Robert around the search for Timothy, he had also been annoyed that Makendon had not sent Robert packing. Obviously, a man who wanted to avoid a scandal more than he wanted to locate his heir. But Robert would not fault the man for trying to protect his family from the rough vagaries of London’s elite. He tried to imagine the confrontation with Eloise that had resulted in such decisions, but he didn’t know Pentney well enough to speculate.
Nor did he have to, since Eloise’s reaction had arrived in the third missive, also on point but a great deal more casual and affectionate.
My dear Robert,
No matter what you may hear in the next few hours to the contrary, please know that I will indeed meet with you outside Adrienne’s shop at three this afternoon.
I had a quite unpleasant meeting with my father earlier this morning. I had hoped he would share what he had learned at Eton, but it appears he preferred to confront me about my various efforts to locate Timothy. He had heard much I had not expected him to, although not so much that he would consider calling you out, a most fortunate omission for all of us, I should think.
Papa has decided that he has been far too lenient with me, and plans to reinstitute restrictions on me, as if I were once again an innocent debutante. He has lost sight of the fact that—at my age—his approval of my actions is more desired than required. I do not wish to dishonor him—and hope that what awaits us both will not—but my need to retrieve Timothy from whatever hell has consumed him drives me more than approval from Society—or my father.
For now, I have broken with him. While this causes me intense distress, I will not abandon my efforts to find Timothy. I cannot. I must proceed, and I hope to rely on your aid to do so.
We are scandal, we two. But I will not turn back. As Mr. Ravenscroft might claim, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
At three, my friend, I will be in for the pound.
With affection,
E
Ah, my little mouse. What have you done?Robert sighed, ignoring the urge to treat Eloise as her father had by finding her quickly, scooping her up, and spiriting her away to a safe haven. She had clearly responded to her father’s attempts to do so by fleeing the vicinity—she would not react kindly to Robert’s desire to do the same. Scandal they could survive, even if it changed their lives forever. He just hoped her stubborn sense of independence did not get her injured or killed.
Where had that determination come from? In all the weeks of his courtship of Lydia Rowbotham, Lady Eloise had not spoken a word. She had barely looked up from her book. She had been a quiet observer, a spinster with little or no presence, the perfect chaperone. But what a dynamic woman that silence had kept hidden. Since Timothy’s disappearance, she had burst forth, making outrageous choices and taking remarkable risks. She had acknowledged their attraction to each other before he had—and taken action on it.
Robert leaned back in his chair. He, on the other hand, had simply reacted to events as they came at him, holding what he could at bay, dodging others, pretending everything would work out. Before his confrontation with Jeremy Shank, the last decisive action he had taken in years had been to court Lydia—and that, in many ways, had also been a reaction... to losing Rose. In fact, the last major decision he could remember making had been to—
His thoughts ploughed to a halt.No.
—Had been to follow Yeatman to London.
Robert jolted out the chair, went to the window, and looked down into the gaming hall. Few people were out—it was still quite early for the denizens of the emporium. Some had barely been to bed. The skylights overhead illuminated the floor below, which was being swept and scrubbed, one of the few early morning tasks. Robert had been surprised by Bill’s insistence that the hall be kept clean, in good repair, and well lit—most gambling dens were not so fastidious. But Robert had seen the eventual results—elegant peers and nobility—men, sometimes brave and masked women—were drawn to a facility that appeared to be more ballroom than gambling hell. The richer the patrons, the more money flowed through the coffers.
A group of four young men were in the process of lowering each of the large chandeliers to clean the intricate designs and replace candles, reminding Robert that one of Bill’s smaller businesses was a candler, a man who exclusively provided candles for the emporium. They went through almost a thousand every day, a total that kept the candle shop profitable and insured no break in supply to the hall.
If Robert closed the emporium, the man, his family, and his employees—many of them children from the rookeries—would suffer, along with the people who provided the candle maker with the tallow, wax, and wicks, a mere sample of the cascading failures that would happen if Bill’s carefully constructed business empire were disrupted.
He could not allow this to happen.
Watching as the crew deftly lowered the chandeliers and went to work with rags and soapy water, Robert admired their agility and efficiency. All were small and quite young—he was sure none were more than twelve—and he felt a touch of pride that he had been part of a company that provided them work, gave them an alternative to the scraping life of depravation that usually gripped children in the rookeries. A life that drove them to sometimes desperate measures.
You were not desperate. You were just worthless.
