“Though a connection surely does not exist,” Sir John said.
“I believe there is a way to discover it,” Lord Grayson said, as if Sir John had said nothing at all. “My grandmother is an ardent genealogist. She has kept contact with our distant relations, a fair number of them located in Sweden, Denmark, France, Portugal, and Spain. Of course, Sweden and Denmark would be of interest. If you see what I say.”
“I think I do!” Kitty said, all enthusiasm. “You will make inquiries with your relations to see what anybody may have heard of John Hill. There may be some family stories, some remembrance of him, just as my father remembers the story from my grandfather. Perhaps Veritas is even a relation of John Hill!”
“Exactly,” Lord Grayson said. “Any bit of information may provide a clue as to the connection of the old to the new.”
Kitty hoped she contained at least some of her astonishment. Here was a real action to be taken. So far, at least from what she gathered from Mrs. Herschel, nobody had thought of anything to do that might solve the mystery beyond reading recently published papers.
“A ridiculous goose chase,” Sir John said gravely.
Lord Grayson turned sharply to Sir John. “I see,” he said. “And what, pray, areyoudoing to unmask the culprit?”
A faint bloom of pink arose and made its way across Sir John’s pallid cheeks. “I, sir, am examining the papers recently published. As all of us with sense are doing. It is in words that truth may be found, if only one is equipped to read them.”
Kitty took a breath in. Sir John was running dangerously close to an insult that must be answered. And, though Lord Grayson was most certainly a dandy, she suspected the lord to be no stranger to a pistol.
Lord Grayson laughed. “You speak an infinite deal of nothing, or so Shakespeare would say of you. AndSirJohn, take note that I am not a sir, I am a lord. Address me as such or you will find we have a most unpleasant meeting some early morning.”
Kitty watched in alarm and prayed Sir John would make his apologies. Though she prayed it, she was not certain he would do it. His breath came quick and his eyes had taken on a strangely cold and distant, almost dead, aspect. His pupils were unnaturally small, and his dark irises seemed pools of black.
As if it were a hundred miles away, though it was only the other end of the drawing room, Lady Milton said loudly, “Everyone, let us go through.”
*
Giles had ledMiss Blessy to her seat and the lady had only managed to step on his toes once. Lady Milton had been as good as her word, Miss Dell was seated across the table from him. What Lady Milton had not revealed was who the gentlemen would be to have the honor of being seated next to Miss Dell.
Though he was infuriated, he was not surprised to see that one of them was Sir John. Hewassurprised to see Dalton was the other gentleman.
Were he such an unsuspecting man as Lockwood or Hampton or Cabot or Ashworth, he might have idly wondered why Dalton had made an effort to secure Miss Dell to his right. As he was not any of those innocent-minded gentlemen, he did not wonder. Dalton had taken great pains since the inception of the Dukes’ Pact to insert himself and cause trouble between any couple he feared might make their way to the altar.
Apparently, Dalton’s fears over Miss Dell had grown to such a degree that he was once again sticking his nose in.
It was ridiculous, of course. How many times must he explain to his friend that he only engaged in infatuations? That he had become a bit single-minded about this particular enchantment did not make it any different whatsoever.
The hard outer layers of his heart were all for Miss Dell. The inner layers, though, would never be for anyone. The deep recesses where Shakespeare and Byron lived were theirs alone.
As for Sir John, Giles was more determined than ever to reveal him as Veritas. Of course, he’d not mentioned his suspicions to Miss Dell. Not yet, anyway. Though he wondered if Sir John did not seem exceedingly uncomfortable with the whole idea of gathering information from the continent? He supposed the fellow would be even more uncomfortable if he realized the subject of Giles’ inquiries was not only John Hill, but Sir John Kullehamnd as well.
As the dinner wore on, it was proving difficult to insert himself in the conversation across the table. For one thing, Miss Blessy had a lot to say. She was a regular Gratiano—words and words adding up to nothing. If he was not mistaken, it was a good ten minutes of talking before she managed to convey that she had a brother still in the schoolroom.
Lady Philippa on his other side provided little relief from the onslaught of Miss Blessy. The lady was recently married, which had surprised everybody, as her temperament was very like Lady Montague’s—always seeking to find fault and condemn. Among other things, Lady Philippa related the shocking story she’d been told, by one who had been told, by one who knew someone who had been there, of Lady Cabot driving a phaeton at scandalously excessive speeds. At the end of each story, Lady Philippa would narrow her already narrow eyes and say, “What do you think aboutthat?”
Giles thought absolutely nothing aboutthat, except to think it was well that Lady Philippa had not heard the rumor of Lady Cabot riding her lord’s horse at Newmarket.
Finally, he saw his opening. Miss Blessy was telling the roundabout story of her brother to Mr. Fister and Lady Philippa was relaying the shocking story of Miss something-or-other who’d worn a delicate silk to a picnic to Lord Macendray. Dalton was turned away, as was Sir John.
Miss Dell’s eyes met his.
Before he could speak, she said, “Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.”
Giles knew the quote perfectly well, though it seemed apropos of nothing at this moment. “Timon of Athens?” he asked.
Miss Dell nodded, though she appeared surprised that he should know it.
“But what does it mean?” Giles asked.
Miss Dell inclined her head toward Lord Dalton.
