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Another knock sounded on the door. Winter popped his head around the door. “Beg your pardon, my lord and my lady. The Duke of Southart and Mr. Martin Richmond are here to see you.”
Elizabeth looked at Robert with widened eyes.
He turned to Winter. In a terse voice, he instructed, “Please send them in.”
“Of course, my lord. A tea tray has already been prepared.” Winter nodded, then ushered the two men into the room.
Southart had a kind smile on his face for Robert. “Overton, good morning.” He greeted Elizabeth next. “Lady Overton, you’re a vision.” He took her hand and bent over it in a show of respect. “May I introduce my colleague? Mr. Martin Richmond.”
Elizabeth stiffened slightly. The movement was so subtle that only Robert could tell she was alarmed. She’d visited Richmond’s wife several times to have stories squashed before they were printed in the now defunct The Midnight Cryer. It had sometimes worked. When it didn’t, thankfully, the stories had never gained any momentum.
“I’ve met Mr. Richmond before.” Elizabeth smiled as if she were truly happy the man was in their home. “Mr. Richmond, welcome. Please tell Amelia that I’ll call on her soon.”
Dressed in a formal morning suit that perfectly fit his trim body, the man could have been mistaken as a member of the House of Lords. He smiled with genuine pleasure. “I will do that, my lady. My wife cherishes her friendship with you. Therefore, I do as well.” He turned to Robert and bowed briefly. “My lord. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Come, let’s sit.” Robert indicated the room’s sitting area.
Winter had already entered the room with the tea tray and had set out the extra cups and plates for the guests. Elizabeth smiled at the butler, then proceeded to pour the tea and prepared plates of biscuits and fruit tarts.
After everyone was served, Southart scooted to the edge of his chair. “Thank you for seeing us at such an early hour, Overton. And you as well, Lady Overton. But we didn’t think this information could wait.” He motioned to Richmond. “Tell them, Martin.”
The man nodded, then slowly released his breath. “Sometimes my old newspaper habits come in rather handy at times. I saw John Trimble harassing Mr. Hawksworth at White’s the other night. He purposely made a spectacle of himself asking Mr. Hawksworth why he’d returned to London.” Martin shifted his gaze to the floor, then slowly looked at Elizabeth. “I’m sorry, my lady, if any of this is offensive to you.”
The tension dissolved from the set of her shoulders. “It’s all right, Mr. Richmond. Mr. Hawksworth shared what happened with Lord Overton and me. I’m aware of the rumors.”
Richmond nodded, then continued, “It was the first I’d heard of any supposed affair. And I know Trimble from years past. The man never had much success in ferreting out news. He always followed me around when I was out hunting for stories, then copied what I wrote. The London-Town Tattler was never as popular as The Midnight Cryer because he did nothing but recycle news.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Elizabeth asked.
“Because I’m no longer publishing or reporting, I knew that Trimble had to be getting the story from somewhere else.” He rested his elbows on his knees and regarded Robert, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know how to say this.”
“Just say it.” Robert had never cared to have bad news spoon-fed to him.
“I told His Grace what my suspicions were, and he instructed me to investigate.” Martin straightened his back. “I went to Trimble’s office and waited. I had a clear view of the door that led to his apartment above the printing press room. I saw your aunt Lady Eleanor descend from the man’s apartments. I went upstairs and confronted Trimble. He fell like a house of cards.”
Southart nodded. “Apparently, your aunt has been a valuable source for all sorts of tales about members of Parliament. She’s the source for the London-Town Tattler’s article about Lord Hearn’s and Lady Markham’s supposed affair that erupted into a scene at my duchess’s soiree the other evening. It was all lies, but it sells papers.”
Robert's chest tightened at the information that the men were providing. It didn’t surprise him to find Eleanor using a gossip rag to destroy any potential rivals for the position of prime minister. But her machinations would devastate Elizabeth. She’d done everything Eleanor had demanded, and this is how Eleanor repaid that compliance—by shredding her reputation and throwing her to the wolves.
Elizabeth’s face had paled to a deathly gray. He took her hand, finding her skin ice-cold. “Darling, breathe,” he whispered.
“It's hard to fathom what she’s done.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes as she contemplated the news. She pressed her lips together in a slight grimace as her nostrils flared. “Why would she do this? What good would come from it? This hurts you as much as Ash or me.”
“Trimble has been paying your aunt a healthy sum for those stories for several years. She uses her connection with the wives of the members of Parliament as a source for the most salacious gossip.” Richmond grew silent.
Trying to grapple with the news, Robert stared out the window, strumming his thumb on the back of Elizabeth’s cold hand.
His thoughts sped, one over the other at her perfidy. Slowly, everything came together. Trimble’s money explained his aunt’s new wardrobe and redecorating budgets.
His own bloody aunt had betrayed them all. She’d made their lives a living hell over the last several years for nothing more than her own prosperity.
Robert scraped his fingers through his hair.
Elizabeth frowned and hesitantly said, “What did Mr. Trimble pay her for the rumors spread about my family?”
Martin swallowed, then pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, my lady. Trimble said that she gave him those stories for free.”
Rage roared through every vein in Robert’s body. Abruptly, he stood and walked to the fireplace. Resting an arm on the mantle, he stared at the unlit logs resting in the grate. He extended his hand toward Elizabeth. He needed to touch her for his own sake, but he knew she had to hurt worse than he did.
