“I suppose so. Kitty, do not be as foolish as I once was with Lord Cabot. Do not turn from someone who so well suits you.”
“Sir John,” Kitty said.
“Of course, Sir John,” Penny said. “I cannot express to you the wonder of marrying a man who is suited to you. It is everything, Kitty. Absolutely everything.”
Kitty nodded, though she was not certain she meant it. She was not certain of anything. Her opinion of Lord Grayson had changed so much in the last day and now it was to swing back in the other direction? It was like staring at a pendulum until one felt dizzy.
Had she been led down a merry path by a handsome rake? It was too ridiculous. Sensible Kitty Dell, of all people!
And then, she could not deny that her feelings were hurt by it. Did Lord Grayson have no regard for her whatsoever? He must not, if he would seek to draw her into one of his notorious flirtations. That he would risk that she would be gossiped about and pitied!
And yet, was he really so skilled that she could not detect the falsehood? Could someone that devious make such a silly mistake as Lord Grayson had made with the book he’d sent? That seemed incongruous.
Was Penny so ranged against the lord that she suspected him without merit?
Or worse, was she, herself, attempting to rationalize away Penny’s opinion for reasons she had not yet examined?
“All I say, my dear friend,” Penny said, squeezing her hand, “is be careful of Grayson. Very, very careful.”
*
Giles had draggedLaRue from his bed at an ungodly hour, determined to actually read one of his grandmother’s Christmas letters. The valet was all irritation and mumbled quite a lot of French. Giles was certain he’d been painted an ungrateful mongrel, though he pretended he did not comprehend it. LaRue dug through some trunks and found the still-sealed sheet.
Giles had torn it open and scanned it. It was pages and pages of people nobody knew. My God, if the count already had four sons, why must it be of note that he’d had a fifth? Why must he care that baron so-and-so’s daughter had married some fellow in Kristianstad? Oh, and here, he was to know that Count De la Gardie had married for a second time, wife number one having expired five years ago.
There were plenty of entries from England, too. Some he knew as relations and some he’d never heard of. None of it was interesting reading.
Well, he supposed his grandmother must spend her time some way. At least it gave him a convenient list of people to write to.
“LaRue,” he said, “creep down to Dalton’s library and steal all of his writing paper. And pen and ink. I shall write a letter, and then you will copy it dozens of times. This must be done at once.”
LaRue stared down his nose. “J’étais autrefois valet et maintenant je ne suis plus rien!”
“You know I do not understand half of that,” Giles said.
“I was valet, now I am nothing,” LaRue said. “No more than the clerk!”
“When you are finished copying letters,” Giles said drily, “you may be a valet once more. Now go!”
LaRue did go, though slamming the door as he went. Had the other inhabitants of the house not imbibed far too much wine the night before, they would all have awakened. As it was, Giles thought LaRue would be safe to make off with writing paper until at least noon.
A half hourlater, Giles had written a letter begging his dear relations to forward anything they knew of either John Hill from the 1740s or ’50s, or Sir John Kullehamnd of lately. Any information would prove vital and no detail would be too small.
As LaRue started copying, and complaining in French all the while, Giles began to think of other methods of exposing Sir John as the fraud he must certainly be.
It would be convenient to hire an investigator, but hire him with what? He had not the funds. A bookshop or some creditor that did not understand precisely how penniless he was might extend him credit, but an investigator? No, they would demand a retainer, and a retainer he did not have.
He supposed he could sell off some of his coats.
No, he’d have to sell some of them as it was to keep Crackwilder in brandy and to pay for all these letters about to rain down on the continent. He could not sell all of his coats. Not yet, anyway.
He would have to be his own investigator. And LaRue could be his assistant. The valet would moan bitterly over it, but he would do it. What choice did the fellow have, anyway? Who else would put up with such a servant?
In any case, he’d made a good start. In the meantime, he and Dalton were to dine at Lord Milton’s this evening, and he had every hope of seeing Miss Dell there. Milton was friendly with her brother, and so certainly the sister would come?
That is what he hoped, anyway.
He would apprise her of the letters he was sending all over Europe. He could not yet accuse Sir John, he was astute enough to know that Miss Dell would dismiss that out of hand without solid evidence. However, he could claim he suspected a connection between John Hill and Veritas. He sought information about John Hill, as that fellow had been knighted by the Swedes or somebody else in that neighborhood, and God knew where else the man had hung his hat. That would show his interest and effort in the matter. In time, when he had the information he sought, he would condemn Sir John as being Veritas. Or knowing Veritas. Or in a cabal with Veritas.
