“And thank you for your offer,” Kitty said. “I can hardly wait to begin reading.”
“Though we will have many other things to attend to,” the baroness said firmly.
Sir John made his bow and left the room.
Kitty heard Penny out in the hall. “Sir John,” she said, her voice all enthusiasm. “How charming to encounter you here.”
Kitty did not hear his reply, as his voice was deeper and did not carry as well as Penny’s. It was not a moment before her friend was in the room.
Penny curtsied to the baroness and skipped to Kitty’s side. “I see he has wasted no time in calling,” she said.
Kitty blushed and studiously ignored Penny’s hint.
“And what say you, baroness, on further acquaintance?” Penny said.
The baroness smiled. “He seems a pleasant enough gentleman,” she said.
“Yes,” Penny said, “I think so as well. He is so like Kitty.”
“In some regards,” the baroness said softly.
*
Giles had arrivedto Destin’s in good time and secured a private room. He had told Dalton he would go there to meet Crackwilder, as Dalton might very well turn up there himself at some hour. It had become a more and more favored spot, as Marty was one of the few people they owed money to that did not constantly point it out.
Giles had not told Dalton the reason for meeting his lieutenant. Dalton would have thought him gone mad and locked him above stairs.
Dalton might have been right in the assumption. Really, it was one thing to chase a lady, but what was he doing now? He’d hired himself a tutor so that he might become learned. It had never been one of his ambitions to store great collections of uninspired facts in his mind. Give him Byron over Aristotle any day of the week. Give him tales of love and adventure, highs and lows, foibles and redemptions. It was those things that were the stuff of life, not dry measurements and dusty theories. And yet, here he was, preparing for a lecture on he knew not what sort of tedium.
Perhaps it would not be so bad. After all, he supposed he was reasonably intelligent, his downfall had only ever been a lack of interest and effort. And, would it not be a delight to spring his improvement upon Miss Dell? Would it not be a delight to spring it upon the puffed-up Sir John as well?
In any case, he supposed learning something of the sciences would not kill him.
Crackwilder came in, his hands full of a stack of papers. Giles eyed them with trepidation. There seemed to be far more than he had anticipated. Did these fellows spend their entire day writing?
“You are on time,” Crackwilder said. “It is a miracle.”
Giles shrugged as Marty Destin came in with the coffee tray. “It is only miraculous that I hurried LaRue,” he said. “My valet was entirely out of sorts and is certain my neckcloth is not as it should be, but I refused to allow him to start over.”
Crackwilder sat down and said, “You describe it as a battle hard fought and won. I really do not know how you survived an actual war.”
“You certainly do,” Giles said, “as it was you who saved me.”
After Marty Destin shut the door, Crackwilder said, “I have never told anybody that I pulled you down to the ground as you were straightening a cuff while bullets sailed over your head. Nor will I ever. It does not do either of us credit. You are an excellent swordsman and a crack shot, but neither of those attributes would have saved you from yourself.”
“Never mind my idiocy on a battlefield,” Giles said. “Today you are to rectify my idiocy in a drawing room.”
Crackwilder laid the stack of papers on the table. “Here are the papers published by the society for the past two years. Read them, and I will clarify anything you don’t understand and quiz you on the contents. That should prepare you to have a reasonably literate conversation with Miss Dell. Further, if you stumble upon anything that seems suspect, point it out. The society has reason to believe there is some sort of counterfeiter in the mix and he must be discovered.”
Giles pulled the papers toward him as Crackwilder helped himself to coffee. The task did not sound difficult. Only read some dusty papers on dusty subjects and he would be able to go toe to toe with Sir Gloom. As he knew that the knowledge contained in the papers was theonlything Sir John had over him, the man would be easily defeated and got out of the way. As for any counterfeiter in the mix, he could not care less. His aim was to impress Miss Dell, not become one of the society’s Bow Street Runners.
He thumbed through the papers, reading the titles, to get an idea of precisely what he would be tackling. As he did so, he became more and more suspicious.
He laid them down. “Very amusing,” he said. “I see your purpose—point out to your stupid friend exactly how gullible he is. Now that we have got past that, where are the real papers?”
Crackwilder stared at him. “Those are the real papers.”
“They cannot be,” Giles said.
