“Where are you staying, my lord?” Theodora asked in curiosity.
“I have yet to discover an appropriate house of my own,” he explained as he maneuvered the gig through heavy traffic. “I have taken rooms at the Mirvat. In that manner, I may simply choose to walk to the evening’s entertainment. Do you know the Mirvat Hotel, my lady?”
“Yes, our Lady Emma stayed there briefly when her father’s house was awaiting repairs, and Lord Donoghue had not yet arrived from the Continent. Naturally, she was there only a few days, despite the suites being offered monthly. Mrs. Ottoway shared the quarters as a chaperone.”
“Mrs. Ottoway? Have I taken the lady’s acquaintance? I do not recall the name,” he admitted.
“You would not. The woman is Lord Donoghue’s housekeeper.” Theodora would not say his lordship had fired all those who stood idle while Miss Babbington had beaten Lady Emma over and over again. The fact Mr. Palmer had released them all for the evening proved to be little excuse for his lordship.
“Let us stop for a cream ice,” Lord Almano suggested, “and then I will see you home.”
“It is a beautiful day in London. The warm air and blue sky and gentle breeze have one feeling of a welcoming freedom,” she observed.
“The sky seems to stretch into infinity,” he shared as he stopped the gig before Gunter’s on Berkeley Square.
“I suppose it does,” Theodora teased. “Infinity, that is.” Though she did not wish to admit it, it had been too long since she knew the thrill of a small flirtation. “Would it not be wonderful if humans could ride the up and down drafts of flight—follow the blue sky, truly to infinity?” She stopped speaking abruptly. “I apologize, my lord, just a girlish fantasy.”
“I pray not, my lady,” Lord Almano pronounced. “I rather enjoyed the idea of your dream. Mayhap we could visit Venus, the goddess of love and proclaim our agreeableness.”
“Do you find me agreeable, my lord?” she asked, wishing for a compliment from the man.
“Most assuredly, my lady,” he declared.
A bittersweet ache inside her chest announced that, despite the world considering her fortunate, Theodora was suddenly quite discomfited by her attraction to this man.
On this particularevening, four lords sat at the Oakley Arms watching a variety of the citizenry who lived in the area come and go, all spending time in the inn’s common room with William Booth’s associate, John Yates, who had come to London, to share a private room near the rear of the inn.
Self-consciously, Alexander reached for the wig he wore to know assurance it was still in place. His russet-colored hair generally made him more memorable than the mousy-brown wig upon his head. He eyeballed each of his table mates. In Alexander’s opinion, despite their disguises, they each appeared to be a bit too “polished.” He considered himself more believable, for, after all, he had spent a decade of his life sitting in the corner of an inn waiting until his father had drunk enoughale to ease his guilt, and then Alexander would lead Robert Dutton back to the single room they two shared, where he put his father to bed. The few pennies Alexander earned each day for a variety of jobs, ranging from mucking out stalls to running errands, went towards the room and the occasional crust of bread, while Robert Dutton’s few attempts at making a living went to drink and guilt.
“John Chavvywool,” Beaufort said under his breath, drawing Alexander’s attention to the man crossing the room to join Yates at the rear of the inn. This was the first confirmation of their suspicions that the forgery ring had grown and was more organized.
“Keep your head down,” Duncan hissed. They all followed the Scot’s orders until after Chavvywool walked past their table.
It was a few seconds later when Alexander raised his eyes to behold Honfleur, Lady Caroline, and Miss Moreau entering the inn. Like him and his cohorts, the trio had dressed to blend in with the locals inhabiting the inn; however, even in disguise, both Miss Moreau and Lady Caroline would be easily identifiable: pitch black hair for Honfleur’s daughter and bright red for Miss Moreau. In truth, Alexander knew surprise. So far, Honfleur had not made a misstep. Until this very moment, there had been no identifiable connection between Honfleur and Yates. True, the Frenchman had employed carpenters and a stonemason who had made repairs on the town house Honfleur let while in London, and, also true, those same workers had been seen with Yates, but the marquis could obviously claim that particular fact a coincidence. Honfleur’s presence in this very inn and being in disguise offered proof of the “Frenchman’s” involvement in what appeared to be preparation for a capital crime, and, depending on its extent, it might truly be considered a form of treason against the King.
Alexander was glad his seat backed to the wall, and he sat in the shadows, for, as if sensing his presence, Miss Moreau’s head turned sharply in his direction for a few brief seconds, and he again ducked his head to hide his face from the woman’s perusal. Duncan’s back was to the table Honfleur chose. Therefore, it would be Beaufort’s and Orson’s duty to watch the interactions. Even so, Alexander’s eyes often returned to the trio.
After viewing Miss Moreau in both the daring costume she wore to Lady Godfrey’s masque, as well as her perfectly coiffed self in a day dress, bonnet, and spencer at the park, Alexander had thought he had the right of the girl, but viewing her in the garb of the street, he realized there was more to Miss Moreau than he expected. In fact, once he looked more closely upon the trio, he would agree all three appeared comfortable in their “borrowed” robes. Perhaps Lord Honfleur had not only erred with his acknowledgement of John Yates, William Booth’s associate, but his lordship’s comfort with men not of the aristocracy said the marquis was likely not really of French nobility after all, which was what they had all suspected.
“Interesting,” Beaufort said softly, and they all leaned in to hear what else he might say.
“What is interesting?” Duncan asked as a frown marked his brow.
“They are likely to draw more notice than any of us,” Beaufort observed.
“My thoughts exactly,” Alexander confirmed. “A true marquis would not appear so comfortable in such a room.”
Duncan instructed, “Orson, you should be prepared to follow them when they depart. I imagine they will hire a hack.”
“Theirs will be a long ride in a hack,” Alexander observed. “The driver will not mind the extra coin.”
“You could have the right of it,” Duncan observed. “Yet, it is possible Honfleur left his carriage nearby. His driver appears quite capable of handling any situation.”
“However they get on, I will follow,” Orson declared.
While Honfleur ordered the stew and a mug of ale for all three, Alexander studied Miss Moreau. She chatted with Lady Caroline until Honfleur snapped his fingers. Then the woman quickly dropped her eyes and sat quietly. The move bothered Alexander more than he had a right to know.
Despite Miss Moreau obviously being a part of whatever Honfleur and his co-conspirators planned, Alexander would know great sadness to have her arrested along with her relations. If found guilty, she would know a hangman’s noose. As he watched the three together, Alexander made a silent promise to attempt to remove the lady from Honfleur’s control before she was beyond redemption. If necessary, he would kidnap the woman and lead her to a new life somewhere where Honfleur could never touch her again.
