Lady Valor’s sisters and assorted lords were found in various attitudes around the room while the violinist played softly from a corner. Weston thought that it was a rather odd party and hoped none of them ever went to Cornwall and described it to anybody.
He stopped for a brief conversation with Lord Wembly and Lady Verity. Lord Ledderbey had just now separated himself from the party and examined the books on a small shelf in the corner of the room. Weston presumed this was to give him the opportunity to speak privately.
He walked over and said, “He sits for a sketch.”
“Excellent, my boy. Your plan unfolds. I do think, though, that you must be careful. It is one thing to be investigating who was in Cornwall, poking around for the Mosquito. It is another thing to, well what I say is, if that newspaper report is true, he might be a very dangerous fellow. It just struck me, seeing him in this house, that he might be a hornet’s nest.”
“Which makes it even more important to unravel what he’s doing here. If someone in Napoleon’s circle is in his father’s house, then I will guess he’s been sent for some purpose.”
“Just be careful. Do not forget you have a lady to secure at the end of this. There is life to live past all this skullduggery and Napoleon will not always be a thorn in everybody’s side. Live to see the day, is what I hint at.”
Weston nodded. “For now, I will return to the ballroom and see how things get on.”
He and Lord Ledderbey parted as if just ending a natural conversation that was to be had at a party and Weston headed back to the ballroom.
He was near assaulted by Lady Letitia waving a paper in his face. “Tramondeley, you must tell me if this is a good likeness. I do not see it myself.”
Behind Lady Letitia, the poor artist who’d been forced to sketch her glared at her back. Weston glanced down at it and it was in fact a very good likeness. Not particularly complimentary, but accurate.
“What disturbs you about it?” Weston asked.
“Well look here, my eyes look a bit bulgy when I’ve been repeatedly told they are my best feature and my face seems rather long.”
Weston did not bother to point out that her eyeswerebulgy and her facewaslong. “I’m sure Mr. Kendall will be happy to make adjustments,” Weston said. He was not at all sure about that, as Mr. Kendall looked highly annoyed, but it might send her on her way.
“Good thought, yes, excellent, I’ll simply point out the deficiencies,” Lady Letitia said, hurrying back to that poor man’s side.
Glad to be rid of her, Weston glanced at Lady Valor, who seemed to be having a jolly conversation with Mr. Wiggins. Then he looked to see where the count was in the process.
His artist was still there and still working, but the count was not there. He hurried over. “Where is the count?” he asked, peering over the artist’s shoulder.
“Ran out of patience, men often do. It’s no matter, my lord, I can finish it off by memory. He’s got very angular features, they’re easy to replicate.”
“Excellent,” Weston said distractedly. “When it’s finished, on no account let it out of your hands. In fact, take it upstairs and finish it there. Then make me three copies. All the rooms are unoccupied but for the two closest to the stairs. I’ll pay you double if you make the copies and stay out of sight for the rest of the evening.”
“Very good, your lordship,” the artist said hopping from his chair with alacrity.
Where had di Compressio gone? Did he figure out why Weston wanted a likeness? Or had he just become bored?
If he’d just become bored, though, Weston would have guessed he’d have made a beeline to Lady Valor’s side, which he had not.
Had it been anybody else, Weston would assume they’d excused themselves to visit the water closet. Maybe that’s where the count had gone, but he would like to be certain.
He turned on his heel and strode out.
