Flipping the letter onto the desk, George placed his forefinger over the wordGratin, then leaned forward. “Look at the elegant handwriting. What male writes as neatly as that? None I happen to know. The swoop of the G is a dead giveaway—that’s exactly how my wife writes.”
A ripple of surprise shot through Robert. Could his restaurant rival actually be a female? No. That would be ludicrous. Then again…
He picked up another of the notes, skimming his gaze over it. It wasn’t just the handwriting, it was the tone. There’d been something about the letters he’d not been able to put his finger on. George’s words made perfect, horrible sense.
“A woman. A female. Someone of the opposite sex,” he muttered.
“Yes, all those things,” snorted George. His man of business had more leeway with his employer than most others did and wasn’t afraid to call a spade a spade.
Brushing the paper between his fingers, Robert could tell it was of a particularly good quality. The sort of stationery that could only be purchased in one of London’s more refined paper shops.
He set the letter down. “Bloody hell. Why would a woman want to get me fired from the job?”
George sipped from his glass. “You can’t seriously have assumed that all your readers would be men, did you? My wife reads your column with great interest. Though she doesn’t know that it’s you. If she did, that might make a difference.”
He caught the hint of an insult in George’s words but had to laugh. “Let’s not start a conversation about your good lady’s taste in the finer things in life. She did happen to marry you. The poor thing.”
“Touché, Your Grace.”
The thought of the letter writer possibly being a female held Robert’s interest. Stirred something in his blood. More than likely she was some ancient crone who felt it was her right to put him in his place. The sort of woman who had dined out more times than he could ever hope to do, and who wanted to show him that she knew what she was talking about. And if she wanted to take him on, who was he to refuse a lady’s demands?
He glanced at the topmost letter and picked it up once more. There was no post mark.
My dear lady reader, I think I have you.
“None of the letters are post marked. So someone has to make the effort to hand deliver them tothe Morning Heraldeach day,” said Robert. If the author of the notes was a lady of quality, they wouldn’t do the job themselves. They would have a servant. Or even better, a liveried footman.
And if there was one thing he knew beyond a doubt, it was that a coin or two pressed into the right palm always got him the answers he sought.
“If our correspondent is indeed a female, I need to find out who this woman is. Only then can I decide on the best way to take the battle to her doorstep.”
George downed the last of his drink and rose from his chair. He slowly shook his head. “I’m at a loss as to what to think of you taking any action against a lady of quality. Either you are a brave man or a very foolish one.”
Chapter Thirteen
“That cheeky, rotten swine,” huffed Victoria. Other readers ofthe Morning Heraldmight not have noticed the sleight of hand, but she had caught it straight away. The sly dog had run an updated piece for an establishment he’d already reviewed last year.
Seated at her writing desk, which overlooked the green space of Berkely Square, Victoria steamed with rage. Her efforts to get people to see reason had included sending the editor some of her own reviews covering older places the newspaper had featured. Something she considered to be more than fair. But the restaurant reviewer’s response had been nothing short of an outrage.
Victoria slowly shook her head. “Did he just look at one of the letters I sent and decide that since I liked that particular restaurant, he could just repurpose old material? This fraud of a reviewer has to resign.”
It was beyond her comprehension that anyone could think to stoop so low. The last of her good regard for the restaurant critic was gone.
But in dusting off his old review, he’d now left her with the thorny issue of what to do with it. Victoria’s beloved scrapbook sat on the desk, full of all the clippings she’d carefully pasted into it. If she went ahead and put today’s review piece in, it would sully the book. She would have two reviews for the same restaurant. But if she didn’t, today would forever be missing from her collection.
He has no regard for the feelings of others.
While her thoughts were torn as to what to do about this latest review, her mind was firmly made up as to her next course of action. Pushing the book aside, Victoria reached for a fresh piece of paper and began to pen her response to this monstrous outrage.
Robert lingered on the corner of Catherine and Tavistock Streets, casually munching on an apple, watching with interest as to who came and went through the front doors ofthe Morning Herald.He’d deliberately rerun an old review in yesterday’s newspaper, dressing it up as a new piece. The deadline-focused editor hadn’t noticed his underhanded move.
If there was one thing which he presumed would get a hot rise from his vexatious, letter-writing enemy, it would be this dishonorable, disgraceful act of wickedness.
Robert chuckled under his breath.
I wish I could have seen her face when she opened the newspaper yesterday.
He’d been standing out here without success for several hours. So far, only clerks and delivery boys had passed in andout the door. But he had learned long ago to trust his gut. That quiet perseverance was always rewarded.
