“Lockwood told me all about it when he explained to me, though I did not ask, why Lady Sybil’s father had such an aversion to his duke,” Lord Cabot said. “Ages ago, Gravesley hosted a house party and Mr. Shine was there, exposed as a cheat by Hampton’s grandmother. Lord Blanding became convinced that Gravesely and your own father knew all along.”
“Thatwas the card sharp at Gravesley’s house all those years ago?” Hayes asked. He needed to think quickly. Of course, he’d heard the story, as told from his father’s perspective, but the villain of the piece had always been called “the sharp.” His father had said the sharp had been a fellow he and Gravesley had done some sort of business with and had seemed respectable enough. They’d invited him to a shooting party as he’d claimed a great facility at it.
Now, he was to learn that the sharp was Mr. Shine? My God, the man himself must have been all too aware of the connection. Was there nothing the scoundrel would not dare?
“It was supposed to be a shooting party,” Lord Cabot went on, “and then it rained buckets and the gambling commenced. Lockwood said they all assumed he went off to America to avoid paying the price for his cheating. Lady Carradine lived in America too. They must have reconnected as cousins there.”
Hayes knew very well they were not cousins, though it was likely they had somehow made a connection in America. He would only wish that his friends would not find the story so interesting. Mr. Shine was appearing more and more troublesome, and the less said about the man, the better.
Thinking to turn their minds, he said, “In any case, he is gone. I suppose you will attend the Bergrams’ ball?”
The men nodded. Dalton said, “But for God’s sake, Cabot, do not make a fool of yourself taking Miss Darlington into dinner. You cannot always escort her, it is too marked.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Cabot said. “She is the only lady willing to spend an entire supper talking of horses. Who else I should take in?”
“I’ve a mind to set my sights on the charming Miss Farnsworth,” Lord Grayson said.
Hayes did not answer, and instead took his leave. Grayson wouldnothave the opportunity to secure Miss Farnsworth for supper. His own carriage would follow Mrs. Hemming’s carriage and he had a mind that it would be himself that would take Miss Farnsworth in.
It was only a necessity. He did not like to think of Grayson telling the amusing story of Mr. Shine’s history, his reemergence as cousin to Lady Carradine, and now his sudden departure. It would only discompose Miss Farnsworth to hear it.
*
Mr. Shine hadtaken all he could from the house. There was much he left behind that would have fetched a fair price, but he did not have the means or the time to remove furniture and carpets and drapes. He’d packed up the smaller items—the silver, most of the candlesticks, and the crystals from the chandeliers. There were various curios of good quality and slight size. He’d taken a sharp knife and carefully cut away the fine material from the furniture—velvets, embroidered silks, and damasks. He knew what he could carry discreetly, and he knew, from long experience, what he could sell. He’d changed his coat to one he always carried with him—it was decent but not well-fitting, its cut was out of vogue and its cuffs were markedly frayed. It spoke of a middling sort of person who scraped together a living.
Setting off from the house, he’d made his way to the Seven Dials and then chose one of those genially dark streets to follow. It had been no trouble to hunch over and take on the mien of gentle defeat that was so often to be found in that district. He’d grown up in those places and had been in and out of them as his fortunes waxed and waned. He knew how to be of the neighborhood and not arouse undue interest. Though, he was not wholly dependent on blending in, especially at night. Were some desperate fellow to attempt to overcome him, he would find a pistol between the eyes.
It had been no particular trouble to find lodging, even at that late hour. An interesting creature named Meg, she of missing teeth, soiled clothes and reeking of sweat and the blue ruin, had been found lounging in a rickety chair outside of her charming domicile. She had been more than happy to rent him a room, though he must pay for this night, even though it was after three in the morning. Meg, being of generous spirit and wishing to close the deal, had thrown in the inducement of a cup of tea each morning. This allurement faded somewhat when it was explained that he was not to expect it strong on every day. Meg used the same ounce of tea for a week, so by Saturday things were watery, but on Sunday they darkened up again. She then wrung her hands and mentioned that sometimes it was dandelion tea, depending on what was on offer in the black market.
Aside from the ghastly cup he would be delivered of each morning, the room was as he expected. A bare wood floor, a wobbly bedstead that he had no doubt was infested with fleas, a lone candle, and a small fireplace that sat cold. One might think there was no need of a fire in this season, but in these neighborhoods the buildings were so closely packed that precious little sunshine ever penetrated. The roofs and walls were so poorly built that there was an ever-present damp that lingered on a person like fog. Then, there was the smell of the place. Wood smoke went some way to tamping down the odors coming from the various buckets thrown out windows.
He’d paid for a small fire to be built and pulled the lone chair to the small and dirty window. He sat himself down, not pleased with his circumstances but feeling out of immediate danger.
He must think. He must develop a plan. Even after selling all he had taken from the house, he’d need more. What he’d fetched might have been enough to set himself up somewhere, had he been able to stay in England.
That, he could not do. He had the distinct feeling that Ashworth would attempt to seek him out. He could not know it as certain, but he had learned in his life that when the warning bells went off in his mind, he was best served to listen to them.
As had ever been his habit in a long life of uncertainty, he took stock. What did he have that might garner enough to lay low and then slip out, South America bound?
Almost an hour of cogitating went by. A drudge had been in and lit the fire, the room had slowly warmed and dried out. Meg had gamely brought him a cup of tea, though it was Friday so there was not much to it.
Very suddenly, he knew what he would do. It was the only course open to him and it had been lurking in his mind just waiting to be found. He’d always been certain that the overblown ideas of honor the high and mighty congratulated themselves upon could be made to work against them. He would find out if he was right. He must just carefully work out the details.
He was not done with this life yet.
Chapter Twelve
Lily had experienceda flight of emotions in the past hour. She’d taken considerable care with her dress and had chosen a white silk with embroidered violets along the neckline and hem. Pips had given up her annoyance with her and arranged her hair into charming curls. Lily thought she must feel less embarrassed, less nervous, less whatever she was in contemplating seeing Lord Ashworth again. Their first meeting should have dispelled the discomfort, but instead she felt rather more on edge.
Her carriage had been called for eight o’clock and arrived in good time. Lily had surreptitiously glanced down the street to see if Lord Ashworth would truly follow them to the Bergrams’ house. Perhaps he would have rethought and considered it an unnecessary precaution. Perhaps he would have determined that the lady who’d got them both into this circumstance could well enough make her own way there.
He had not thought those things. His carriage had awaited them as he’d promised and had followed them carefully to their destination.
The Bergrams’ ball, always well attended, afforded her some time to think as their carriage waited in the line that ran up the drive.
Mostly, her thoughts drifted to the carriage behind her. He was there.
He was so different now. No, that was not it. Her opinions were so different now. As she wended her way through her muddled ideas, she finally came upon the thing that most troubled her. The idea, the question, that had been sending bubbles through her insides all afternoon.
