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“So you think that could be possible?” He tilted his head and looked interested.
Kit
ty shrugged then relaxed with a smile. “Not when I know Lord Nash is going to realize he needs a viscountess with all the attributes I possess. That—you say—is not possible, Lord Silverton, but I shall prove you wrong. And now I really must go.”
“Well, Miss La Bijou, just remember my door is always open to you, and should you find the ennui overwhelming while Nash is gone, I’ll ensure the cribbage table is ready in front of the fire so we can take up where we left off. How’s that for a hospitable offer?”
“Thank you, Lord Silverton. It is indeed.”
Kitty gave him a little wave as she said farewell, her mood well and truly brighter since their encounter. If there was one thing for which Lord Silverton could be relied upon, it was to make feel her happier.
***
Silverton’s mood, too, was vastly brighter for the encounter when he left the jewelers and returned home to change.
Kitty did strange things to him. She filled him with frustration for her stubborn insistence that she knew how to get what she wanted out of life, but with enormous admiration for the fact she refused to allow herself to be downcast for long after any setback.
Most of all, she unleashed a tremendous feeling of protectiveness, which left him being the one frustrated for, as her friend only—and one whose advice she, more often than not, chose to ignore—he was no position to keep watch over her and safeguard her concerns as he would like.
He was certain he could offer her everything, and more, that Lord Nash purported to offer her. If she became his mistress, Silverton would not put her out to pasture when her youth and beauty faded, as he was sure Nash would. No, Silverton could see himself enjoying her company through all the trials and tribulations of life. He would be as loyal and attentive as any husband. He just couldn’t marry her.
After dinner with some friends at a chop house in Soho, he carried on alone to No. 10 St James Square, a snug gaming hall humorously known as the Pigeon Hole where he was to meet Debenham and Smythe.
Debenham, who was in the midst of casting the dice in a game of Hazard, hailed Silverton when he happened to glance up and see his colleague framed in the doorway.
Initially, Silverton had cultivated Debenham’s acquaintance at the request of his old university friend Sir William Keane, though Silverton and Debenham had known one another for many years.
When Sir William, who was then working for the Foreign Office, had outlined to Silverton the suspicion that Debenham had been involved in a plot to assassinate a member of Cabinet, Silverton had agreed to reporting on Debenham’s activities.
He was well aware of the unsavory proclivities of the man sometimes referred to as the ‘villainous viscount’. Women, cockfighting, and other forms of gaming were his popular pastimes and one evening, after Debenham had suffered more than unusually severe gaming losses, Silverton had taken advantage of an opportunity to save him from pecuniary embarrassment. Debenham had eventually settled, but Silverton gained the impression that contrary to appearances, Debenham was in more dire financial difficulties than was suspected.
All the more reason to watch him, Sir William had said, on the eve of his departure to Constantinople with his mistress, the delectable Mrs. Crossing whose defection from her husband had sent shockwaves through the ton. Silverton didn’t wonder she’d made good her escape while she could. Crossing was a renowned thug.
As was Debenham, but Debenham managed matters with more aplomb and, with a title and connections, he’d so far slid out of every difficulty with insufficient evidence to convict him of anything. A letter, purportedly written by his cousin—Sir Aubrey’s late wife—accusing Debenham of being the ringleader of a plot to assassinate Castlereagh, was not enough, on its own, to see Debenham arraigned. As the writer had taken her own life within minutes of penning the damning charge, she was considered clearly not of sound mind.
But Sir William had heard whispers of a multitude of associations with men suspected of radical leanings—Lord Smythe and the shoemaker, Buzby who was suspected of racketeering and counterfeiting.
Now, as Silverton advanced toward Debenham, who was clad entirely in black relieved only by his snowy white cravat, he thought wistfully of a comfortable feather bed with crisp white linen, occupied by Miss Kitty La Bijou. Perhaps if he’d pressed his advantage when she was more vulnerable and thus susceptible to his overtures, that’s what he could look forward to tonight. But then he berated himself with the knowledge that this was the way Debenham worked. Rumors abounded that Debenham had seduced and tricked his viscountess, the lovely and lively Miss Partington that was—into marriage. Clearly, she’d succumbed to his overtures when she was particularly vulnerable.
That wasn’t to say Miss Partington had an unblemished reputation. Maybe Debenham had been her only option. Still, Debenham’s method of pressing her to the altar had disgusted Silverton. Blackmail was what he’d used to seduce her and give her no option but to say what he needed her say after a sketch had been drawn showing Debenham in company with Lord Smythe and Buzby; damning evidence of collusion between three suspected radicals who claimed they did not know one another. Then the indicting sketch had mysteriously been replaced with a sketch in which Debenham had been substituted for Sir Aubrey, as if painting him as a co-conspirator, while Debenham had then produced Miss Partington, who’d sworn under oath she’d been with Debenham all night. As Miss Partington had already been caught en flagrante with Lord Debenham at Miss Hosking’s betrothal ball, it was not surprising their wedding had followed shortly afterward.
Silverton did not know the identity of the artist, but had heard it was a woman who was assisting them with their investigation into whether Debenham had been involved in the Castlereagh Affair, and, more lately, was involved in some secret matter involving a member of the royal family. Though referred to as Lady C, Silverton believed Debenham was engaged in a plot involving Princess Caroline, the Prince Regency’s estranged wife. Beyond that, Silverton knew little, but he’d pledged to supply an inventory on the company Debenham kept, and the haunts to which he gravitated.
“Feeling lucky?” Debenham stepped aside to let Silverton play, and Silverton sensed the tension in the man. He could smell the brandy on his breath, and suspected Debenham had already lost a great deal tonight. Clearly, he was in his cups, which might make him less cautious than he usually was.
“After you. One more throw. A lucky one.”
Obediently, Debenham rolled the dice, and his fortune turned.
Silverton knew there were advantages to seeing Debenham get in deeper, bailing him out, and thus perhaps being in a position to see the man compromised, or, in fact, being the recipient of Debenham’s drunken confidences, but he felt sorry for his wife.
As he watched Debenham rake in his winnings, he said to him over his shoulder, “Why not go home while you’re ahead? Lady Debenham will be pleased to see your pockets lined with gold tonight.”
Debenham waved him away. “Lady Debenham is in the country dutifully delivering my heir. There’s no one to rein in my good fortune. Methinks I’ll throw again.”
So the tone was set, and another two hours at the Pigeon Hole saw Debenham win a small fortune only to lose it again before a bottle of Madeira had him suggesting Silverton accompany him to Maggie Montgomery’s.
Silverton shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ve business to attend to in the morning and, like you, I’ve already lost quite enough. I’m sure Smythe will go with you.”
