Page 92 of Rules for Ruin

When Effie returned to Brook Street, a note awaited her from Gabriel. Lady Belwood handed it to Effie as Effie entered the drawing room with her embroidery bag. Franc pranced alongside her on his thin velvet lead.

“It was delivered a quarter of an hour ago,” Lady Belwood said, resuming her seat on the velvet settee. She didn’t attempt to disguise her curiosity. “Who is it from, pray?”

Effie sat down on the sofa opposite, placing her bag next to her. Franc remained at her feet, gazing about the drawing room with avid interest. He rarely ventured into the public rooms. Lady Belwood preferred it that way. But he’d already been alone long enough today, restricted to Effie’s bedchamber while she paid her afternoon calls. She wouldn’t permit him to be confined any longer.

As he settled himself on the soft Aubusson, Effie broke open the wax seal on the envelope. Her pulse quickened with anticipation.

But it was no love letter. No passionate declaration or heartfelt apology. To be sure, it was no more or less than exactly what she’d asked of him.

Mrs. Young resides at Yew Cottage, Trowley Green, Hertfordshire. Take the 9:30 train to Sawbridgeworth Station. She expects you Tuesday at eleven o’clock.

Effie read it twice, a knot forming in her stomach. Gabriel hadn’t even signed it. He hadn’t even used her name. It was what she’d wanted—distance. But now he was giving it to her, she felt only disappointment and a dull sort of muted anguish.

She folded the note away, tucking it into her sewing bag. “No one,” she said. “Just an address I required.”

Lady Belwood’s lips compressed. “Your dealings are a mystery to me, I confess.”

Effie was glad of that, given what she’d learned today. She withdrew a sampler from her embroidery bag. It was already completed, save for the necessary bit of code. She threaded her needle, preparing to sew the first number necessary to spell out her secret message, informing Nell that Lord Compton was in possession of Miss Corvus’s medieval books.

“There is no mystery,” she said. “Last night I attended the performance at Cremorne Gardens, and today I visited Carena Compton.”

“A fine, accomplished young lady,” Lady Belwood remarked. “I have no objection to the association.”

Effie stabbed her needle through the coarse cloth. “You are well acquainted with her father?”

“There are few in polite society who are not.”

“Yes, but his lordship surely doesn’t visit them all.”

“I expect not. However, Lord Compton and I have known each other since he first arrived in London. It was I who introduced him to his wife.”

Effie ceased her stitching. “You?”

“She and I were friends as girls,” Lady Belwood said dismissively. “She was formerly Miss Axton, an heiress of no small fortune. After my marriage to Sir Walter, I gave a dinner. She was in attendance. So, too, was Lord Compton. He’d newly arrived in London. A well-to-do second son of an elderly viscount. He wasn’t in line to inherit, but he had already made a fortune in his own right and was, therefore, a suitable prospect for my friend.”

“What if he hadn’t had a fortune?”

Lady Belwood sniffed. “Naturally, I wouldn’t have put him next to Miss Axton at dinner. She’d been dealing with fortune hunters since she came of age. You cannot know the burden it brings to be pursued by such disreputable creatures.”

“But Lord Compton wasn’t disreputable, you believed, because he was rich.”

Lady Belwood adjusted the braided cuff of her green silk afternoon dress. “He was a gentleman then, and remains so today. After he inherited the title, his social capital only increased. It is my honor to boast an acquaintance with him of such long standing.”

“Does he often call on you here?”

“When he can spare the time.”

“And questions you about your houseguests?”

Lady Belwood’s gaze flew to Effie’s.

“I learned this afternoon that you had been discussing my history with him,” Effie said.

“I never—”

“My fortune—or lack of it—and my prospects.”

Lady Belwood blanched. “He did inquire…” She stumbled over her words. “I could scarcely reply with a falsehood. But I would not betray—”