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“In case you’re wondering, I left my stuffiest texts at my office in Lincoln,” James said. “As I’m sure Isaac left his stuffiest sermons at the vicarage.”
That was James’s subtle way of telling Lucas he was overreacting to Simon’s small jest, but Lucas didn’t care—he could still see the grief etched in Lavinia’s face, to say nothing of the anguish Artie was feeling.
“I shall keep you company, Susan,” Rebecca said. “And you can borrow one of my books, if you like—perhaps one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels?” she added hopefully.
“I would love your company, little sister,” Susan said. “But perhaps we should select something less Gothic than Mrs. Radcliffe for Miss Weston under the circumstances.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. Perhaps some poetry, then,” Rebecca said.
The footman stepped out of the dining hall to answer a subtle knock at the door and then returned and made his way swiftly to their father. “Excuse me, milord, but there’s a gentleman just arrived, wanting to speak to you.” He presented a card on a salver. In a lowered voice, he added, “Despite the lateness of the hour, he insists he will not leave until he is seen. He’s in the drawing room.”
Lucas’s father picked up the card and read it.
“Who is it, Thurlby? Don’t leave us in suspense,” Mama said.
“We have an illustrious visitor, Alice. The Earl of Cosgrove, of all people. I wonder why he should be calling, especially at this late hour. I’ve never even met the gentleman. I cannot imagine he has urgent business—with me or anyone else in Lincolnshire, for that matter.” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and set it on his plate. “John, you may tell the earl I shall be with him presently.”
Simon had gone still at the mention of the earl, and then drained his goblet a second time.
What did Simon know? Lucas wondered. Simon was the only person at the table other than himself who’d spent any time in London, where the Earl of Cosgrove resided most of the year, and Lucas had no connection to the earl, nor did Anthony. Cosgrove, while liked well enough by most of his peers, was also rather notorious for his dalliances with widows and actresses . . .
The food in Lucas’s stomach congealed all at once.
For there was another person here at Alderwood with connections to London. Not to mention her three traveling companions as well.
I have been kissed, Lucas, but I have never kissed.
Oh, Lavinia.
“Come, Alice, let us go welcome our guest and see what he is about.”
Lucas rose so quickly that his chair nearly toppled over behind him. “I would like to go with you, if I may, Father,” he said.
“Very well; I don’t see why not,” his father replied, looking curiously at him as he stood and walked to the other end of the table to assist Mama from her chair. “Anyone else? Perhaps we should set a place for him here in case he’s hasn’t dined yet this evening.” He nodded at the footman, who immediately left the room.
Lucas followed his parents from the dining room, down the corridor that seemed infinitely too short a distance, toward the drawing room, where the Earl of Cosgrove apparently waited impatiently for . . . Lucas didn’t know precisely what. But he knew with horrible certainty that it had to do with Lavinia, so he used this all-too-brief span of time to prepare to face the enemy, as he had done endless times before in Spain.
Whatever Cosgrove intended, Lucas would face it and prevail—no matter what.
* * *
At first glance, the Earl of Cosgrove seemed like many noblemen Lucas had met during his time at university and through his association with Anthony.
Lucas, however, was used to evaluating his enemies more thoroughly—their intellect, their guile, the details of their physical appearance. It may not provide all the information needed when preparing for battle, but it narrowedthe chances for failure. And Lucas was quite sure he was facing an enemy.
Lord Cosgrove was nearly as tall as Lucas but more slender and a good decade older than Lucas’s own twenty-six years. The earl’s riding clothes were of the latest style, his blond hair trimmed with precision. His boots fairly shone, even after what would have been a lengthy ride up from London, so fine was the polish on them. He would cut a dashing figure as he made his way on horseback through Hyde Park, Lucas thought.
“Welcome to Alderwood, Lord Cosgrove. Allow me to present myself,” Lucas’s father said. “I am Thomas Jennings, Viscount Thurlby, and this is my wife, Alice, Lady Thurlby. Perhaps you have met my son Lucas.”
“I have not had the pleasure, although I have heard of him as of late,” the earl replied.
Lucas bowed respectfully to the earl’s nod of acknowledgment.
“Please, be seated. Would you care for a drink?” Lucas’s father said as his mother sat on the sofa. “Or perhaps you would like to join us for supper. We would be only too happy—”
“Lord Thurlby,” the earl said. “The reason for my arrival here is best shared only with you and your son, no offense to Lady Thurlby intended. But as she is here and I have no wish to stay any longer than is necessary, I shall get right to the point. It is my understanding that you are in possession of something that belongs to me,” the earl said.
Lucas’s father knitted his brows. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I did travel to Peterborough yesterday about a new venture I’m considering. Are you an investor? I was sure I knew who they all were.”
