Page 86 of The Best Marquess

Finn inclined his head, once again greatly appreciating a phrase other than your loss. “It has indeed. I also recently married; may I present my wife, Lady Pinehurst. Pippa, this is Mrs. Octavia Gordon, owner of the agency providing the finest and best trained staff in London.”

“That is us,” Octavia replied warmly. “And I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Pinehurst. My dear husband is downstairs teaching right now; I believe this afternoon the topic is how to break a nose with the heel of one’s hand. Later, I shall be demonstrating how to pick locks. You would not believe how many disasters have been averted due to this skill. Keys to doors, chests, desks, and secret compartments often go mysteriously missing, but my people ensure no one will ever be trapped in a cellar or lose access to estate deeds or an official will.”

“That is most reassuring,” said Finn. “Although today we’ll be requiring new staff with the nose-breaking rather than the lock-picking skill.”

The agency owner’s gaze sharpened. “An incident at your home? Or over at Golden Square?”

“Neither,” said Pippa. “It’s more…prevention than cure.”

“I see. While I am a firm advocate for caution, what events lead you to believe that prevention is necessary?”

Finn’s lips twisted. “A dead rat with an ominous note. Sent to a post office box.”

Leaning back in her padded chair, Octavia tapped her fingers on her pointed chin. “I wondered if this might happen. London is an odd city, almost at constant war with itself. Like the Yorks and the Lancasters, except it is the hedonists and the purists, with a different victor each century. No matter how modern or free-thinking a body is, and as you know, I certainly admire and share a progressive stance toward pleasure, you cannot just open that sort of business and expect all to accept it, my dear marquess. Do they have the address yet?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted Finn, reassured by her unflappable nature. He already knew Octavia to be discreet, but it was a unique issue: bodyguards needed for a secret pleasure toy business owned by the son of a recently deceased peer infamous for his moralistic rants. “However, a certain baron has taken over the crusade against Bliss and is extremely determined…you might have seen the scandal sheet?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Such slander against my beloved romance novels is not to be borne. I did laugh at the headline, though. Husbands Vow No More Bliss. Someone at that scandal sheet is either a pompous fool or has a wicked sense of humor.”

“Oh, I quite agree,” said Pippa, smoothing her black gown. “When I read it, I was torn between slapping them or inviting them to tea.”

Octavia chuckled, before reaching for a leather-bound notebook. Much like Abby, the woman kept meticulous records, and although the thought of it made his head ache, he was grateful for her attention to detail. The Gordon Agency didn’t just provide staff to households, they personally matched them based on skills required and personal preferences. Whether an employer wanted ten handsome blond footmen all precisely six feet tall, a lady’s maid who picked locks and styled hair with equal aplomb, or a nursery maid who’d birthed ten children and could soothe a fretful baby with a glance, this was the agency to assist. “Now. How many nose-breakers are you requiring, my lord? Two? Four? Did you want just men, just women, or a mix?”

“I think—”

“Pinehurst!”

At the faint call, Finn frowned and turned to Pippa. “Did you hear that?”

“I did,” she replied. “It sounded like it came from outside…Mrs. Gordon, do you happen to have a vantage point where you can see but can’t be seen?”

The older woman nodded in approval. “A cautious lady is an intelligent one. Beside the curtain there, you see the small leather patch? Lift it up.”

“How clever. It’s a glass lens. This wall has spectacles!” squeaked Pippa, her whole face lighting up before she leaned down and peered into it. “Er, Finn…it looks like Lady Campbell down there beside the carriage. Oh dear. She looks…anxious.”

As though the baroness had heard, the call came again. “Pinehurst! I must speak with you urgently!”

Finn stood and bowed to Octavia. “I believe I’ll hire four nose-breakers. Two men, two women. But I may need them sooner rather than later, for that lady on the street is the wife of the peer leading the protest against Bliss.”

“I’ll go and fetch Mr. Gordon,” she replied decisively, also getting to her feet. “It will take a day or so to select the best for the task, but if you need assistance right now, I know he would gladly go with you.”

“He would?” said Finn, a trifle startled.

Octavia laughed. “I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed your naughty gift. Now, you two go and see what the lady wants.”

With Pippa close behind him, Finn hurried out of the office and down the stairs to the front door of the agency. Octavia’s butler opened it for them, bowing as they continued outside to the carriage where the baroness waited.

“Lady Campbell,” called Finn, waving.

She turned and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank heavens. Pinehurst. Lady Pinehurst. All of my staff have been out searching for you; what a relief when a maid spotted your crested carriage, that you were here in Charlotte Street and not further afield.”

“Why?” he asked evenly, feigning calm to get the story even as his heart began to thump erratically. “What do I need to know?”

“It’s Campbell,” the baroness said. “The damned fool got a maggot in his head after he and Lady Kingsford visited you; apparently he was insulted beyond bearing, and has now gone to Golden Square of all places. He thinks you are the owner of Bliss, and aims to, and I quote, stop the filth spreading further.”

Pippa gasped. “Oh no. Oh God. Abby and Nerissa.”

“Get in the carriage, both of you,” snarled Finn. “I’ll get Mr. Gordon.”