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CHAPTER7
The Bow StreetRunner stepped inside Billington House, then, greeting everyone else in the hall with a cursory nod before turning his full attention back to Susan.
“Would you like to speak in a more private location, Miss Wingfield?”
Before Susan even had the chance to respond, Edward stepped up to her elbow.
“I will accompany the two of you to my study.”
Susan nodded her agreement.
“Yes, thank you.”
She reached over and gave Edward’s forearm a grateful squeeze. He was always thinking ahead, always careful, and very protective of Susan and Eliza, ever since he’d become their brother-in-law.
Once, Susan would have thought that protectiveness annoying and unnecessary. Now that she had experienced first-hand the power of rumour and hearsay to affect her circumstances and happiness, she counted herself blessed to have such a thoughtful and careful brother-in-law looking out for her best interests, not to mention protecting her honour when she might otherwise have been rash and thoughtless enough to accidentally compromise herself because she was so impatient to hear what the Bow Street Runners had uncovered.
Edward led the way down the hall to his study, and Susan followed with the Bow Street Runner in tow behind her. Her brother-in-law would not leave her alone with a strange man, she knew, and she was grateful for that, too.
She clung to the desperate hope that the man following her into Edward’s study was bringing her the news she wanted more than anything to hear - that there was no such person as the Count D’Asti, and that she was not, in fact, promised in marriage to him. This man might hold the key to her future freedom and happiness.
Please, she prayed silently, please let this man give me the news I want to hear.
Edward closed the study door behind him, then motioned to the chairs which sat in front of his desk.
“Please, have a seat, both of you.”
Susan smoothed her skirts and sat down, stifling a frustrated sigh. She wanted to hear the news the man had come to deliver to her. She hardly had the patience for pleasantries. Still, she did as Edward asked, watching as he walked around to the other side of the desk and seated himself facing them across the expanse of its polished wood surface.
The clock on the mantel above the fireplace ticked so loudly that Susan had to ball her hands into fists in her lap as she struggled to quell the urge to smash it to pieces. She looked back and forth between Edward and the man from the Bow Street Runners, noting that the stranger shifted uncomfortably and darted a sideways glance at Edward, as if unsure whether he should really be speaking in front of the Marquess or not.
Susan cleared her throat.
“You may speak freely in front of my brother-in-law, I assure you, Mister…?” Susan trailed off, hoping it would prompt him to give them his name.
“Stephens, Miss Wingfield. Mr. John Stephens.” The man responded with a quick nod, then turned to face Susan more fully. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “When you visited Bow Street to employ us, you asked us to discover whether the Count D’Asti is, in fact, a real person, and whether the man who recently arrived in London and has taken up residence in the townhouse across the street from this house is who he claims to be, correct?”
Susan twisted her fingers in the fabric of her skirt, gripping the cloth so tightly her knuckles turned white. She swallowed hard.
“Yes, Mr. Stephens. That is correct. What have you discovered?”
Her stays were suddenly much too tight, and it seemed that she couldn’t properly draw a breath. All her hopes, her heart and soul, and any chance at love with Lord Seabury, hung on what he might say next.
“I am not certain what you hoped we might uncover, but I have learned several things during my investigation thus far.” Mr. Stephens swallowed reflexively, then cleared his throat and continued. “First, the Count D’Asti is a real title, long held by the firstborn sons of the renowned and widely respected Bianchi bloodline.”
Susan’s eyes burned at this revelation, and she blinked furiously, trying to force herself not to cry. Surely, there was still hope. There had to be hope or some sort of way out for her, still. Perhaps the man who claimed to be the Count wasn’t, really. That could be possible, couldn’t it? A hard knot of emotion formed in her throat, making speaking painful.
“And what of the man who has taken up residence in the townhouse across the street from Billington House? Is he… is he truly who he claims to be?”
Mr. Stephens went very still, then. The clock on the mantel’s obnoxious ticking filled the study in the silence which followed her question. Susan was absolutely going to smash that putrid clock at the first possible opportunity.
“Yes.” Stephens licked his lips, as if delivering this news made him nervous, or uncomfortable. “The man who has taken up residence in the townhouse across the street from this one is, in fact, Marco Bianchi, the rightful Count D’Asti.”
Susan went utterly and completely still, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling as she listened to what Mr. Stephens had to say. Her heart ached so terribly she was sure that it was shattering into a thousand pieces at that very moment.
She stared across the desk at Edward, nearly overcome with dread, and shook her head wordlessly. Even if the Count D’Asti was a Prince in disguise, and set to inherit an entire kingdom, she could never — would never — marry him, not after the dance and conversation she’d shared with Lord Seabury at the Yuletide Ball.
Her mind raced. Surely, there was something they were overlooking, here. That he was, in fact, who he claimed to be was all well and good, but it did not mean that Susan was ever really promised in marriage to him. She clung desperately to that hope. Her determination not to believe it was all that held the tears which threatened to fall in check, all that gave her voice any measure of calm when she fixed her gaze on Mr. Stephens and spoke again.
“Well… that is certainly not what I’d hoped to hear, Mr. Stephens. However, be that as it may, I still do not believe that I was ever promised in marriage to the Count D’Asti. I have an elder sister who would have been the much more likely choice for any such promise, if it truly existed. However, none of us — not even my Mama — knew of such an arrangement. Papa would have told her if he had arranged such a thing. Therefore, there is no such promise of marriage, to my mind. There must be some other reason that this… ridiculous fabrication exists, which means that there must be some other reason for the Count to be pursuing the rumour and the supposed match.”
Susan sat back and folded her arms, as if that was that. Mr. Stephens blinked at her and cocked his head, as if not quite comprehending what she was getting at. Edward mirrored Mr. Stephens’ movement, but his eyes were narrowed, focused, as if encouraging Susan to elaborate further.
So, Susan smoothed her skirts and continued, forcing a tight smile.
“I would like to continue to employ the Bow Street Runners, Mr. Stephens. Find out if there is an as-yet hidden motivation for the Count D’Asti’s sudden interest in marrying me. Surely, there must be something.”
Mr. Stephens shifted in his chair, then, looking back and forth between Susan and Edward as he processed what she’d asked of him.
“I am not sure how much I will be able to uncover, but I am more than happy to remain on the case and to do my best to discover what I can for you.”
“Please do,” Susan gave a firm nod and stood, unable to sit a moment longer in the chair Edward had offered her.
