One Night in London (10 page)
E
dward expected it to take a couple of days to find a solicitor for Lady Gordon, which meant there was no time to be lost. He sent notes to two of the names on her list he recognized the next morning right after breakfast, requesting their presence in Berkeley Square. Both replied with alacrity that they would wait upon him in the afternoon, and Edward dashed off another note to Lady Gordon. With any luck, either of these solicitors would agree to take the case, and the fascinating, alluring, unpredictable Francesca Gordon would be out of his life before he slipped and did something stupid.
He had to send a footman out specifically to hunt down a copy of Sloan’s gossip rag. Edward hated funding anything of that sort, but he had to know if Sloan had kept his word and printed the retraction. And yes, there it was. On the bottom of the page, naturally, rather than blazoned across the top as it had been yesterday, but at least it wasn’t small type that no one would ever read. “It has come to the Editor’s attention that the Durham Dilemma might be quite easily solved,” Sloan had written. “We have learned that the broken engagement, of some several month’s standing, between Lady Louisa Halston and Lord Edward de Lacey may have helped ignite the rumor of that gentleman’s imminent fall from Good Society . . .”
It was hardly the groveling confession of error Edward privately wanted, but it would have to do. He gritted his teeth and wrote the bank draft to Sloan, then touched the corner of the scandal sheet to the candle flame and flung it in the grate, watching until the paper curled in on itself and blackened to a pile of cinders. If only the words could be so easily burned from the consciousness of everyone in London.
His brother was quick to remind him they couldn’t be. Gerard arrived home from his morning ride in a towering bad temper, not mollified by the retraction in the least. Unlike Edward, he’d gone out the night before and gotten an earful of the gossip, which was, predictably, centered on their troubles.
“The Durham Dilemma!” Gerard scowled. “That’s what they’re calling it; it’s not just some smoky business from Durham’s youth, it’s a scandal of national concern!”
“Not really,” Edward replied. “It merely has all the elements of a novel—clandestine marriage, a long-lost wife, a deathbed confession after decades of secrecy, the ruination of us three . . . It would be nearly irresistible to most people, I daresay, if it were a melodrama on the stage, let alone real. Fortunately, it has been retracted.”
His brother grunted. “What did that cost you?”
“Two hundred pounds.”
“Yesterday you said it would cost you a favor, not two hundred pounds. Were you able to pay it off instead?”
“What does it matter to you?” Edward asked, a little sharply. “I said I would tend to it, and I did.” He resisted the urge to look at the clock. He’d told Lady Gordon to arrive only half an hour from now, and already his nerves were drawing up in anticipation. He’d find her a solicitor today if he had to drag Pierce to London and put him on the case. It was wrong—unnatural, even—to look forward to seeing a woman so much.
Gerard raised his head at Edward’s tone. “What does it matter to me?” he repeated. “It’s my name being dragged through the mud as well! I’d like to know what you had to promise in exchange for this pathetic, half-hearted retraction—which, by the by, is hardly kind to you, as it implies you abandoned poor Louisa.” He waved one hand at the gossip sheet he’d brought home with him. Edward wished he would stop bringing additional copies into the house.
“I’ve promised to help secure a solicitor’s services,” he said tersely, ignoring Gerard’s last shot. “On a completely unrelated matter. Two of them are supposed to call in less than an hour, so you’d best be off.”
“At least tell me who our mysterious accomplice is.” Gerard stayed in his chair and looked stubborn. “I’m rather grateful to the fellow, even if his help cost two hundred quid as well as this favor.”
“Actually, it was a woman,” said Edward as levelly as he could. “And we should be quite grateful to her.” It was time to change the subject. “I don’t suppose you learned anything at the churchyard.”
His brother flipped one hand. “Of course not. Unless it’s the rector blackmailing Father, there’s been no one unusual at the church these six months, and the grave in question is ancient and overgrown. No one’s left anything or asked for anything left there. Tell me about this woman.”
“She’s calling today to meet with the solicitors—”
“She’s coming here?” Gerard’s interest was well and truly roused now, and thoroughly diverted from the blackmailer and his letters. “Soon?”
Edward stretched his fingers to keep from curling them into a fist. He had no reason to be proprietary about Lady Gordon. “Yes.”
“Splendid!” Gerard lounged in his chair with an expression of pleased speculation. “I should thank her myself.”
“I thought you were setting off for Somerset at any moment in pursuit of that blackmailer.”
“I have a few things to tidy up in London first. Writing to my commanding officer, of course, to get permission for a longer leave. Had to get my horse reshod. I might need a new pair of boots as well, now that I’m in town . . .”
Edward raised his eyebrows. “Excellent. I’d no idea you were staying in town for so long. Perhaps you’ll be good enough to query these solicitors for me, so I can attend to other things.” Just because he was in London with a cloud hanging over the Durham estates didn’t mean there was no work to be done. It had simply followed him from Sussex, and was stacked on his father’s wide mahogany desk right now awaiting attention. The fact that he hadn’t been able to attend to it because he was awaiting Lady Gordon’s arrival only made the work seem more pressing.
“We all know you’ll do it much better than I could.” Gerard gave him a wicked look. “But I should
so
like to meet our benefactress.”
“Hmm.” Edward shook his head. “Dodging the dull part, as ever.”
“I’ve spent the last day chatting with a rector and skulking about a graveyard,” his brother replied. “I think I’ve earned a look at this woman you obviously want to keep hidden away for yourself.”
Edward inhaled, but caught himself in time. Snapping back at Gerard that he was not trying to keep her hidden would only make it appear that he cared whether Gerard met her. Which was certainly not his concern. Much. “Very well. She’ll be here soon.”
Lady Gordon arrived a short while later. Edward got a strange feeling as he introduced his brother to her. She wore some dress of blue that seemed to float around her like a cloud. Her hair had been tamed into a modest knot, although a few wisps still teased her neck. She looked utterly respectable, but Edward could tell from Gerard’s face that he wasn’t nearly as impressed by her matronly propriety as he was by her siren’s voice and her lush mouth and her direct manner. He watched his brother’s expression change from curious to surprised to enthralled in a matter of seconds, and almost expected Gerard to offer to interview the solicitors after all. But when Blackbridge came to announce Mr. Fowler, Gerard merely bowed and excused himself, sparing only a darkly amused glance at Edward on his way out.
For a moment he and Lady Gordon were alone. It was both a blessing and a curse, he thought, as she turned on the sofa to face him and a stray beam of weak sunlight caught her glorious hair again. Even primly pinned down as it was, it still glowed like something Titian would have painted.
“Thank you for acting so promptly, Lord Edward,” she said. “I had to wait four days to see Mr. Fowler the first time.”
“I wouldn’t have dreamed of delay.” What would her hair look like down? He pictured a waterfall of coppery waves spilling over her bare shoulders, down her bare back . . . God Almighty, he had to stop doing this.
She smiled rather wryly. “Of course,” she murmured. “I’m sure not.”
Edward supposed there was more than one way to interpret that, but he hoped she had chosen an innocuous reason rather than the truth: that he was looking forward to the end of their association because he was far too attracted to her for his own good. He was disgusted with himself for being so intrigued by her, and he was horrified at the flicker of possessiveness that burned his chest when Gerard bowed over her hand, holding onto it for a moment too long. Theirs was a temporary acquaintance, born of unfortunate circumstances and desperation on both sides. In a matter of days—even hours—it would be over, and she would never walk through his door again. And he would never admit to thinking about her again. Ever
.
Fortunately the butler showed in Mr. Fowler then, and Edward turned his attention to the solicitor. He intended to sit back and let Lady Gordon present her case, look appropriately approving of her hopes, and then shake Mr. Fowler’s hand after he agreed to represent her. After a few introductory words, he did just that, explaining that it was Lady Gordon’s case they had summoned him about. This was reasonable, he told himself. She knew the particulars, and he did not. She would be employing the man, and he would not. But after a while it became clear that Mr. Fowler’s interest had been caught by the prospect of working for him, and not for her.
He watched, narrow-eyed, as the solicitor gently but inexorably beat down Lady Gordon’s every point. The man was good at making an argument; he was just choosing the wrong side to argue, for Edward’s purposes. When at last Lady Gordon nodded and said she understood if Mr. Fowler was still unable to take her case, Edward had enough. He got to his feet when the solicitor did so.
“May I have a word, sir?” The attorney nodded. “You must excuse me a moment, my dear,” he said to Lady Gordon, and led the solicitor from the room.
In the corridor he closed the drawing room door. “What is the fatal flaw in her case?” he asked without preamble.
“Ah, well, there is no single fatal flaw, my lord,” replied the man carefully. Fowler was a tall, broad-shouldered man with bushy black hair and sharp, shifty eyes like a weasel’s. “But the will is not in her favor, she has never lived with the child—”
“The guardian named in the will is dead, and the trustee of the child’s funds seems rather derelict in his duty. What argument would there be against bestowing custody of the girl on her aunt?”
Fowler scratched his chin. “The girl has been living with a mother.”
“Stepmother.”
The attorney shrugged off the distinction. “Unless there is hard evidence the stepmother has been abusing the girl, the court will likely not be moved to alter that arrangement. Lady Gordon, my lord, does not present a maternal appearance.”
Edward raised an eyebrow. “She is a respectable lady with her own income and home. She is the girl’s family by blood.”
“She is a widow,” said the solicitor. “She hosts parties with foreign guests. And . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Yes?” he prompted when the lawyer said no more.
Fowler cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “My lord, you must understand my position—may I speak bluntly?” Edward gave one short nod. “This is an argument between women. I’ve never been partial to female clients; invariably they require too much delicacy and consideration. The law is not for the female sex, sir. It is too harsh and critical for a woman’s moods.”
Edward turned toward the room they had just left, where Lady Gordon waited. Of course Fowler hadn’t seen her as he had, but he had never thought women were the weak, overwrought creatures other men sometimes did. “I saw no sign of hysteria or undue delicacy of mind. I thought she had a good grasp of the law and had considered very carefully how her case might succeed.”
“But would she be the same when she suffers defeats and reverses? I am not equipped to deal with weeping women, sir.” Edward tightened his jaw, wondering what it would take to make Francesca Gordon dissolve into tears. He had a feeling she’d shoot a solicitor before she sobbed on his shoulder. Fowler must have taken it as understanding, though, for he leaned slightly forward. “She appears to be a woman of strong emotions, sir—a rather tempestuous temperament, if you will, and I have no stomach for it.”
“I see,” said Edward coldly. “Yet if
I
wished to hire you to find this child . . .”
The man hesitated, but Edward had seen the spark of speculation in his eyes. Fowler didn’t want to deal with a woman, but he’d be happy enough to take Edward’s money. “Thank you, Mr. Fowler,” he said before the solicitor could reply. “Good day.”
Francesca Gordon was on her feet when he went back into the drawing room. “What is wrong?” she asked. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing.” Edward closed the door behind him. “He isn’t suitable after all. Mr. Hubbertsey will be here shortly.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t like him much anyway,” she said at last.
“Nor I,” said Edward under his breath. “Perhaps I should speak to Mr. Hubbertsey first. I think I’ve got the details in hand by now.”
Lady Gordon gave him a narrow look. “Why?”
“You wished to borrow some consequence, did you not?” Unconsciously he straightened his shoulders and flexed his hands as he returned to his seat.
She frowned. “Yes . . .”
“Then let us ladle it on,” he replied. “As a trial.”
She still looked dubious, but nodded. When Mr. Hubbertsey was shown in, Edward explained the case. By now he had heard it enough times he was beginning to have a vague interest in the girl at the center of it. He couldn’t help but pity a child who lost her parents so young. He remembered too well the grim atmosphere that pervaded the house when his mother died, just before he turned eight. Gerard, only five—as old as Lady Gordon’s niece when her mother died—had refused to believe the duchess was dead, and so Durham had taken all three sons into the room to see her. Edward hadn’t wanted to; like Gerard, he wanted his mother to wake up and be herself again. The sight of her so still and gray had been the biggest shock of his life, but at least his father was there, patting him on the shoulder as he tried unsuccessfully not to cry. And this little girl had lost both parents in short order and was now divided from her only living relative. It was quite right that he provide what assistance he could, Edward told himself. His father would have expected no less of him.
