Page 64 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“Good morning to you both. And what may I do for you?”

“Oh! No, we aren’t here…” Mrs. Whyte finished the sentence in an inaudible murmur.

Mrs. Gorse took over. “We have a message for you. A letter. From Lady Townes. She is our neighbor, you see. And she asked us to bring it.”

Trentham stifled a groan. Sir George must be tightening the screws if Felicity had to resort to sneaking messages from the house. He wondered what sort of tale she’d concocted for these women. “I am much obliged.”

He waited while Mrs. Gorse fished in her reticule, then pulled out an envelope and came closer to put it in his hand.

“Thank you. Is she awaiting a reply?”

Mrs. Gorse cocked her head to one side and frowned. “She didn’t say.”

Better to read it now. Just in case. He turned his back to the women, to hide any potentially revealing facial expressions.

Robin, I need your help. George has threatened me with divorce. I don’t know what you may have heard, but I trust you’ll know it isn’t true. He says he will take Julia away. You know how these things work. He can and will. He’ll try to keep the boys away from me too. I am too anxious to think straight. George has not yet banned Mrs. Gorse and Mrs. Whyte from visiting, but he will if he finds out they’ve come to you. If you can think of anything, anything at all, please. –F.

Damn him. Trentham’s eyes burned, and he had to blink away the moisture before he could face the women again.

“You are Lady’s Townes’ neighbors?”

They both nodded. Mrs. Gorse replied, “We live at one-fourteen. If you…if you need to reach us.”

How much might they know? “I will be in touch before the week’s end.” A promise he would keep, come hell or high water. “If you see Lady Townes in the meantime, just tell her I said ‘yes.’”

For a moment, they all stood silent. The women seemed nervous, and Trentham feared he must appear either desperately worried or dangerous.

“Thank you for bringing this. I’m afraid I have another appointment,” he lied. “If you’ll excuse me, Henson will see you out.”

*

If Eli was up before noon, he would be in the music room. Trentham found him, fingers dancing up and down the scales.

“Eli.”

The man ceased playing and spun on the bench to face him.

“Felicity is in trouble,” Trentham began.

Eli nodded. “We saw this coming.”

“I didn’t. Not this. Sir George wants a divorce. I can’t fathom—”

“His latest mistress is a virago and she is with child. He needs the divorce to marry her. Inexplicably, he wants to marry her.” Eli stated this all so matter-of-factly, Trentham could do nothing but stare.

Then he shook his head, not in disbelief but in wonder. “How do you know this?”

“I run in less polite circles than you do. And anyone who believes their servants don’t talk about them in taverns is sadly naïve.” Eli paused, then went on. “I learned too, that it is commonly suspected that Sir George is responsible for spreading the rumors in London. He has been paying his steward to sniff out, or, I’d say invent, whatever damaging information about Lady Townes that he could. The timing of Lord Hayworth’s return was a gift to Sir George.”

“You learned all this since yesterday?”

Eli dipped his head. “Last night. I’m not as useless as you think. You should ask more of me than you do.”

Trentham acknowledged this with a shrug. “Thank you. This gives me a starting place. Sir George is threatening Felicity with the loss of her children. I doubt she’d mind being shed of him otherwise. Except for the damage to her reputation.”

Saying that gave him a pang. Loss of reputation was more painful than one might imagine. It was not given due consideration until it was gone. Trentham’s head swam as distressing moments from his own fall from grace flashed before him. His character assassinated—by his friends; his name becoming a byword for debauchery and ungentlemanly conduct. He couldn’t bear to think of Felicity being put through that. “Blast it! Sir George has no proof! How could he?”

“I think…” Eli paused. “Excuse me. It isn’t my place…”