Stephen cleared his throat. “We have taken up enough of your time, your grace. Perhaps it is best that Lady Bridget and I should leave.”
The duchess snorted. “We have only just got started. I know you well enough, Stephen Moore, that I won’t have been the only one on your list of suspects. Hand it over.”
She clicked her fingers imperiously in his direction, and Bridget didn’t know where to look. Or whether to laugh. Stephen didn’t strike her as the sort of man used to taking orders from anyone, let alone a woman.
He fished in his jacket pocket and after producing the list, handed it over.
Kitty perused it for a moment, making strange faces as she read each name out aloud. “I must say I am disappointed in both the names and the paucity of the list. I hope you are not taking Bridget’s money for this job because if you are, you should hand it back.”
“I . . . I,” stammered Stephen.
The duchess tossed the list onto a nearby table. “The women above the rank of baroness can go immediately. None of them need the blunt. The same goes for the new money ladies; they are trying to claim a spot in society, not tear it down.”
Stephen picked up the note and, taking a pencil, put a line through every single name. In one fell swoop, all the suspects were cleared. He sat back in his chair and sighed.
They had to start all over again.
Or perhaps not.
“What about the men? I’ve just noticed that there were only women on the list,” said Bridget.
Lady Steele nodded. “Now that is possibly a more fertile piece of ground. I know of at least one gentleman who mixes in our circles and is circumspect with his spending to the point of being tightfisted. And I don’t think it is by choice but rather financial circumstance.”
Seated side by side on the sofa, Bridget and Stephen both leaned forward. “Who?” they asked in unison.
Kitty turned the page with the cribbage list over and pointed at the nude sketch of Lady Linton. “The man who drew this picture. Lionel Hosey. He is often at functions and parties, always lurking around the ladies and paying them sweet compliments. He tried it once with me, but I gave him short shrift. I understand his formal employment is with M. Jones, the former editor ofThe Scourgeover in Bond Street. These private portraits are extra income for him, but his main job is to create illustrations for the public to buy.”
Lionel Hosey had a particular reputation among the women of thetonfor not only being well-endowed but knowing exactly what do to with his gift. There were whispers of him possessing special talents. He had at one time been on Bridget’s private list of potential lovers.
Not that I am going to tell either of these people.
She hadn’t been aware that Mister Hosey was the gentleman artist behindthosepictures. Now that Bridget knew he had seen her mother naked, he most certainly wouldn’t be getting anywhere near her.
After picking up the notebook, Bridget retrieved the remaining pieces of folded paper which had been stuffed into the back and laid them out on the table. Stephen had to know the full story of her mother’s connection to the illustrator.
“Mister Hosey also did these for Mama,” she said.
Lady Linton had always had a soft spot for struggling artists. She claimed that paying them to create pieces for her was a form of artistic charity. Little wonder Lionel Hosey had found his way to convince her to pose for him.
“He certainly presents an interesting view of the world,” said Stephen.
An embarrassed Bridget went to pick up the drawings. She hated herself for having shown them to him, worried that he would judge her mother as being a foolish and unscrupulous woman.
Stephen placed his hand on hers. “Wait. We haven’t discounted Lionel Hosey as a potential suspect. In fact, I think he should go to the top of the list.”
The duchess nodded. “Poor struggling artist, watching rich women from the sidelines as they gamble money he will never have. I would suggest he is a prime candidate for a spot of blackmail.”
Stephen clasped his hands together. “This is really useful information. While Bridget and I were sitting observing some card games at a party last night, I started thinking about who else could go on our list. It is clear we need to look beyond just those seated at the cribbage table.”
“Come to think of it, I can imagine it wouldn’t take much for someone who was paying close attention to be able to spot when someone wasn’t counting properly. I wondered why you had turned to watching the watchers before we left,” said Bridget.
“I meant to raise that with you last night, but we got distracted,” he replied.
Lady Steele gave a not-so-subtle cough before reaching for her cup of tea.
Stephen got to his feet. “Thank you for your time this morning, your grace. It has, as always, been illuminating.” He turned to Bridget. “I shall go and say a quick hello to his grace before we leave. I won’t be a moment.”
As soon as he was gone, Lady Steele fixed Bridget with a sly smile. “I am not going to ask what possibly could have got the two of you distracted last night, though I can just imagine it was more than cards. I couldn’t help but notice Stephen giving you the occasional small glance, my dear. And I must say, you make quite a sweet pair. Shall I start looking for a new hat to wear at a future wedding?”
