“…a warning will only give him time to decide what not to tell us,” Gabriel finished.
Leticia lifted the top ledger again, letting her fingers skim the brittle edges. “What if he doesn’t remember? Thirty years is a long time.”
“Some things,” Gabriel said quietly, “are worth remembering.”
Her gaze locked with his, the unspoken pressing between them heavier than the paper in her hand. “Let us hope he agrees with you.”
A knock came at the door, and Kenworth showed with a tea tray. The pot steamed fragrantly, but the cups remained untouched as the conversation swirled on.
Townsend leaned forward. “There’s a chance we’re chasing a shadow here. But if we’re right, the estate manager could put a name to whoever gathered these pieces before they went to auction. Once we have that…”
“We follow the chain,” Gabriel said.
“And when we reach the end?” Leticia asked.
He held her gaze. “We’ll know.”
“Or we’ll have to start all over,” Barrington said dryly. “And you’ll wish you’d let me send that note.”
Townsend laughed under his breath. “If nothing else, it will be an entertaining ride.”
Gabriel gathered the papers into a precise stack, soldier’s order in every motion. “We ride at first light.”
Leticia’s eyes softened, though her voice stayed brisk. “I’ll see that we have the proper maps.”
“We?” Gabriel asked again, a hint of amusement threading the word.
She held his gaze, heat sparking in her chest. “You didn’t think I’d let you chase ghosts while I stayed home to pour the tea, did you?”
Something flickered in his eyes. She wasn’t certain if it was wariness, desire, or recognition. For the first time since they’d met, a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.
“No. I didn’t.”
Chapter Sixteen
The long galleryof the Sommer-by-the-Sea Historical Society was not yet visible from the vestibule, but Leticia could already hear the low murmur of voices and the occasional ring of polite laughter. The mingled scents of beeswax and champagne rode the crisp breath of early autumn, slipping through the high windows to brush her awareness. The afternoon promised the pleasure of fine company and remarkable displays, though she never trusted first impressions, not at gatherings like this.
The receiving room ahead glowed with lamplight and polished wood. Sir Albert Westcott stood just inside, offering bows and handshakes with the precision of a man long trained in Parliament. His once-dark hair was silver now, but his stance remained soldier-straight. Beside him, Lady Westcott, tall and elegant in pale blue silk, greeted each arrival with an appraising glance and a smile that warmed or cooled according to her estimation.
Gabriel inclined his head. “Sir Albert, it has been some time. The last occasion was Lady Stanhope’s musicale.”
Sir Albert’s eyes softened. “Ashcombe. Yes, though my ears never fully recovered from the violins.”
Lady Westcott’s laugh was light but controlled, as though amusement were a form of courtesy.
Sir Albert turned to Leticia, studying her with a statesman’s thoroughness. “And this young lady?”
Introductions were made. Lady Westcott’s smile deepened by afraction. “Lady Salisbury, how pleasant. I have heard of your aunt’s work with the reading society. Do convey my regards.”
“I will,” Leticia said, her voice steady though her awareness sharpened. Lady Westcott’s approval might set doors swinging wide. Her favor could open doors, or quietly keep them closed.
Before she could say more, Lady Westcott’s gaze shifted past them. “Colonel Barrington. Mrs. Bainbridge. We were just speaking of you.”
The couple stepped forward. It was Barrington with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to command, Mrs. Bainbridge with a smile warm enough to coax confidences from strangers.
“You must be deep in preparations,” Lady Westcott continued. “Two weddings in such close succession will be the talk of the county.”
Mrs. Bainbridge’s eyes sparkled. “Preparations, yes. Agreement on the guest list, not yet.”
