Page 31 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Three kinds of cake!” Gideon looked as though he might burst at the very idea of such abundance. “Mama! Three kinds of cake!”

Mrs Finchley pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle a laugh. “Well, you had best run along with Miss Barrington then, but mind you are a good boy.”

Tilly held out her hand to Gideon, who took it with a look of dazed happiness, allowing her to lead him away in search of cake.

“How adorable they look together,” Aunt Connie said with a sigh. “Like a couple of little angels.”

“Do not let my daughter’s looks deceive you,” remarked a deep voice from behind them. “She’s the naughtiest creature and I am afraid I let her get away with murder.”

The ladies turned and Larkin heard Miss Caroline’s breath catch as she came face-to-face with Lord Ashburton.

“Good morning, Pip,” Larkin said, shaking his friend’s hand. He made the introductions, intrigued by the varying reactions of the ladies.

Caro blushed, gazing up at Ashburton with stunned admiration, like Apollo had appeared before her. Her Aunt Connie, also openly admiring, but not the least hindered by inhibition, performed a deep and surprisingly balletic curtsey, as if she were being presented to a king instead of a mere earl. Pip looked a little startled but took it in his stride as he did most things. Mrs Finchley greeted him politely, with the perfect mix of warmth and restraint, and Larkin refused to admit himself relieved that she did not gaze upon his friend with such obvious admiration.

“Are you taking tea with us?” Larkin asked his friend with a smile, knowing Pip would avoid such an encounter, if at all possible.

“Sadly, no. I have business to attend to. I believe my father is expecting you, however,” he said to Larkin, before bidding the ladies a good day.

“Oh, my,” Caro said, letting out a breath once Pip was out of earshot and they were following the butler through to see Lady Montagu. She took her sister’s arm, whispering in her ear, but Larkin still caught the words. “I never saw such a handsome man in all my days!”

Mrs Finchley glanced at her with a little frown. “Did you think so? His is a rather cold beauty, in my opinion.”

“Maggie! How can you say so?”

Her sister shrugged and Larkin tried very hard not to feel pleased by her words.

Once again, Lady Montagu was everything that was elegance and charm, and Larkin left the ladies to their visit, taking himself off to visit Lord Montagu.

“Come,” replied a commanding voice from behind the heavy oak door as Larkin knocked.

“Ah, Larkin, how are you, my boy?” Lord Montagu rose, and once again, Larkin was struck by the resemblance between him and his eldest son.

Mrs Finchley was quite correct too, it was a cold beauty, austere, and utterly compelling. High cheekbones and a chiselled jaw gave them both a rather unearthly aspect, but Montagu’s eyes were a strange glinting silver and oddly penetrating.

“I am well, sir. Thank you for seeing me today. I know how busy you are.”

Montagu waved this away. “Sit down. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s a little delicate,” Larkin said, frowning. “And has to do with the ladies I brought today. Has Lady Montagu told you of their circumstances?”

“Indeed, a sorry business and I hardly wonder at her wishing to help them. I never met Mr Merrivale, but I remember the scandal. Fothersham ought to have stepped in, of course, but he’s an unfeeling brute, and quite remarkably stupid, I’m afraid.”

Larkin smiled at this brisk assessment and nodded, hoping this implied Montagu would help him as he hoped. The marquess had a vast network of contacts throughout the country and always seemed to know everything and everyone. Larkin knew he also worked closely with Gabriel Knight, and the whispers about things the two of them may or may not have done to those that crossed them, or their families, were many. Would he help the ladies, though?

“The viscount has abandoned them sadly and this vile creature, Mr Jenkins, has taken possession of their family home. I know it is a source of great sorrow to them all, and… and I wondered if you might help me to discover something about the man.”

“Larkin,” Montagu said, a warning note to his voice. “I sense a plot in the making. Can you not leave things alone? My lady wife seems to have things in hand. Surely you have saved enough young ladies through the refuge at Gillmont?”

Larkin stiffened but knew better than to rebuke the marquess. “This is different.”

“How is it different?” Montagu asked mildly, and sat back in his chair, his long fingers steepled together as he regarded Larkin. Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. “Let me guess. You wish to tempt Mr Jenkins into a card game at that wicked club you run and see if you can’t win back what they lost.”

Larkin felt his colour rise, for that was precisely what he’d been considering. “It could work,” he said defensively, feeling like a small boy caught doing something foolish. “I’m the best card player at the club and I’d like to see anyone try to cheat me. I know all the tricks there are.”

“It’s still a risky strategy. You must stake something of equal value, remember, and all this for women you hardly know. People will talk,” Montagu warned him.

“I do know how cards are played,” Larkin retorted and then cleared his throat as his lordship raised one elegant eyebrow. “I beg your pardon. But I very much doubt a creature like this Mr Jenkins has the skills to outplay me and, as for the talk, if things are done discreetly, no one need know it was me.”