A Secret Love (5 page)

“A walk? Oh, yes! That's a lovely idea—just what we need.” Having settled her sartorial requirements, Mary, all bouncing brown ringlets and glowing eyes, was ready for the next excitement.

“I'm starting to feel hemmed in with all these houses and streets.” With fair hair and doelike eyes, Alice was more serious and contained. She smiled at Augusta. “And Augusta won't want us disturbing Rose with our chatter.”

Augusta returned the smile sweetly. “No. Rose needs quiet.” Too young to share in the excitement that had infected the rest of the family, Augusta was content to stroll the nearby square, her hand in Miss Helm's, and stare, wide-eyed, at all the new and different sights.

“Is there somewhere else we can go—other than the park, I mean?” Alice looked from Alathea to Serena. “We won't have our new dresses until next week, so it's probably better we don't go there too often.”

“I would prefer that you didn't haunt the park anyway,” Serena said. “Better to appear only a few times a week, and we were there yesterday.”

“So where shall we go? It has to be somewhere with trees and lawns.” Mary fixed her glowing gaze on Alathea's face.

“Actually . . .” Alathea considered—just because she'd successfully recruited her knight didn't mean she had to sit on her hands and leave all the investigating to him. She refocused on her stepsisters' faces. “There's a particular park I know of, quiet and pleasant, cut off from all the noise. It's very like the country—you can almost forget you're in London.”

“That sounds perfect,” Alice declared. “Let's go there.”

“We're going to Bond Street!” Jeremy pushed back his chair.

Charlie and the earl did the same. The earl smiled at his womenfolk. “I'll take these two off for the afternoon.”

“I'm going to learn to box!” Jeremy danced around the table, thrusting his fists through the air, dealing summarily with invisible opponents. Laughing, Charlie caught Jeremy's fists, then half-waltzed, half-wrestled him out of the room. Jeremy's piping protests and Charlie's deeper amused taunts faded as they progressed in the direction of the front door.

Mary and Alice rose to follow. “We'll get our bonnets.” Mary looked at Alathea. “Shall I fetch yours?”

“Please.” Alathea rose, too.

The earl stopped by her side, his fingers light on her arm. “Is everything all right?” he asked quietly.

Alathea looked up. Despite his age and the troubles resting heavily on his shoulders, her father, two inches taller than she, remained a strikingly handsome man. Glimpsing shadows of pain and regret in his eyes, she smiled reassuringly; she caught his hand and squeezed. “Everything's going well.”

He'd been devastated when he'd learned about the promissory note. He'd thought the sum pledged was much smaller—the wording of the note was such that arithmetic was required to determine the total sum. All he'd intended was to gain a few extra guineas to spend on the girls' weddings. She'd spent some time comforting him, assuring him that although the situation was bad, it was not the final end.

It had been hard for him to carry on as if nothing had happened so the children wouldn't suspect. Only the three of them—he, she and Serena—knew of the latest threat or, indeed, of the perilous state of the earldom's finances. From the first, they'd agreed that the children were never to know that their future hung by such a slender thread.

Despite the fact she had spent all her adult life putting right the problems her father had caused, Alathea had never been able to hold it against him. He was the most lovable, and loving, man—he was simply incapable when it came to money.

Now he smiled, a sad, forlorn smile. “Is there anything I can do?”

She hugged his arm. “Just keep doing what you've been doing, Papa—keep Jeremy entertained and out of mischief.” She drew back. “You're so good with them—they're both a real credit to you.”

“Indeed,” Serena agreed. “And if Alathea says there's nothing to worry about, then there's no sense worrying. She'll keep us informed—you know she always does.”

The earl seemed about to speak, then muffled cries and thumps came from the front hall.

The earl's lips twitched. “I'd better get out there before Crisp hands in his notice.” He touched his lips to Alathea's temple, stooped to kiss Serena's cheek, then he strode out to the hall, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head as he crossed the threshold.

With Serena, Alathea followed more slowly. From the dining room doorway, they watched the melee in the hall resolve itself under the earl's direction. “He's really a wonderful father,” Serena said as the earl ushered his sons out of the front door.

“I know.” Alathea smiled at his departing back. “I'm really very impressed with Charlie.” She glanced at Serena. “The next earl of Morwellan will hold a candle to all comers. He's an amazing amalgam of you both.”

Pleased, Serena inclined her head. “But he's also got a very large dose of
your
commonsense. Thanks to you, my dear, the next earl of Morwellan will know how to manage his brass!”

They both laughed, yet it was true. Not only was Charlie handsome, unruffleably good-natured, never high in the instep, and always game for a lark, but he was, largely due to Serena, thoughtful, considerate and openly caring. Thanks to the earl's influence, he was a gentleman to his toes and, as he also spent at least one session a week with Alathea in the estate office, and had for some years, he was at nineteen in a fair way to understanding how to successfully manage the estate. While he still did not know the level to which the earldom's coffers had sunk, Charlie now knew at least the basics of how to keep them filling up.

“He'll make an excellent earl.” Alathea looked up as Mary and Alice came clattering down the stairs, bonnets on, ribbons streaming, her own bonnet dangling from Mary's hand. Augusta had slipped out earlier; Alathea glimpsed her littlest stepsister heading out to the garden, her hand in Miss Helm's.

Charlie, Jeremy, Mary, Alice, and Augusta—they were the ultimate reasons she'd invented the countess. Even if he discovered her deception, Alathea couldn't believe her knight would disapprove of her motives.

“Come on!” Alice waved her parasol at the door. “The afternoon's winging—we've already ordered the carriage.”

Accepting her bonnet, Alathea turned to the mirror to settle it over her top knot.

Casting a critical eye over her daughters, Serena straightened a ribbon here, tweaked a curl there. “Where do you intend going?”

Alathea turned from the mirror as the clop of hooves heralded the carriage. “I'd thought to go to Lincoln's Inn Fields. The trees are tall, the grass green and well tended, and it's never crowded.”

Serena nodded. “Yes, you're right—but what an odd place to think of.”

Alathea merely smiled and followed Mary and Alice down the steps.

Gabriel discovered the bronze plaque identifying the offices of Thurlow and Brown along the south face of Lincoln's Inn. Surrounding a rectangular cobbled courtyard, the Inn housed nothing but legal chambers. Its inner walls were punctuated with regularly spaced open archways, each giving access to a shadowy stairwell. On the wall beside each archway, bronze plaques bore witness to the legal firms housed off the stairway within.

After consulting a book listing the solicitors of the Inns of Court, Montague had directed Gabriel to Lincoln's Inn, describing the firm as small, old, but undistinguished, with no known association with any matter remotely illegal. As he climbed the stairs, Gabriel reflected that, if he'd been behind the sort of swindle it seemed likely the Central East Africa Gold Company was, then the first step he'd take to lull gullible investors would be to retain such a firm as Thurlow and Brown. A firm stultifyingly correct and all but moribund, unlikely to boast the talents or connections that might give rise to unanswerable questions.

Thurlow and Brown's rooms were on the second level, to the rear of the building. Gabriel reached for the knob of the heavy oak door, noting the large lock beneath the knob. Sauntering in, he scanned the small reception area. Behind a low railing, an old clerk worked at a raised desk, guarding access to a short corridor leading to one room at the rear, and to a second room off the reception area.

“Yes? Can I help you?” The clerk clutched at the angled desktop. Frowning, he flipped through a diary. “You don't have an appointment.” He made it sound like an offense.

His expression one of affable boredom, Gabriel shut the door, noting that there were no bolts or extra latches, only that large and cumbersome lock.

“Thurlow,” he murmured, turning back to the clerk. “There was a Thurlow at Eton when I was there. I wonder if it's the same one?”

“Couldn't be. His nibs”—the clerk waved an ink-stained hand at the half open door giving off the reception area—“is old enough to be your dad.”

“That so?” Gabriel sounded disappointed. Clearly “his nibs” was out. “Ah, well. It was really Mr. Browne I came to see.”

Again the clerk frowned; again he checked his book. “You're not down for this afternoon . . .”

“I'm not? How odd. I was sure the pater said two.”

The clerk shook his head. “Mr. Brown's out. I'm not expecting him back until later.”

Letting annoyance flash across his features, Gabriel thumped the reception railing with his cane. “If that isn't just like Theo Browne! Never could keep his engagements straight!”

“
Theo
Brown?”

Gabriel looked at the clerk. “Yes—Mr. Browne.”

“But that's not
our
Mr. Brown.”

“It isn't?” Gabriel stared at the clerk. “Is your Browne spelled with an ‘e'?”

The clerk shook his head.

“Damn!” Gabriel swung away. “I was sure it was Thurlow and Browne.” He frowned. “Maybe it's Thirston and Browne. Thrapston and Browne. Something like that.” He looked questioningly at the clerk.

Who shook his head. “I'm sorry I can't help you, sir. Don't know of any firms with names like that. Mind you, there is Browne, Browne and Tillson in the other quad—might they be the ones you're after?”

“Browne, Browne and Tillson.” Gabriel repeated the name twice with different inflections, then shrugged. “Who knows. Could be.” He swung to the door. “The other quad, you say?”

“Aye, sir—across the carriage road through the Inn.”

Waving his cane in farewell, Gabriel went out, closing the door behind him. Then he grinned and strolled down the stairs.

Regaining the sunshine, he strode across the cobbles. He'd seen enough to confirm Thurlow and Brown's standing—precisely as Montague had said, stuffily, dustily dull. He'd learned which room was whose, and through the open doors he'd seen the locked client boxes lining the walls of both partners' rooms. They didn't lock the boxes away somewhere else. They were there, within easy reach, and the only lock between the landing and the boxes was the old wrist-breaker on the main door.

There had also been no sign of any junior clerk. There'd been only one desk, and little space outside the partners' rooms—no area for a clerk or office boy to spend the night.

Entirely satisfied with his afternoon's work, Gabriel saluted the gatekeeper with his cane and strode through the secondary gateway into the adjoining Fields.

Before him, a small army of old trees, like ancient sentinels, spread their branches protectively over gravel walks and swaths of lawn. Sunlight streamed down. The breeze ruffled leaves, shedding shifting shadows over the green carpets on which gentlemen and ladies strolled while waiting for others consulting in the surrounding chambers.

Gabriel paused in the cobbled forecourt beyond the gate, gazing unseeing at the trees.

Would the countess be impatient enough to contact him that evening? The possibility tantalized, even more so as the realization sank in that her impatience could not possibly match his. While with her, he'd felt he knew her, knew the sort of woman she was; away from her, he'd realized how little he knew of the real woman behind the veil. Learning more, quickly, seemed imperative—he especially needed to learn how to put his hand on a woman who thus far had been a phantom in the night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't learn more until she contacted him—at least now, when she did, he'd have something to report.

Shrugging off his distraction, he settled on Aldwych as his best bet for a hackney and set out along the south side of the Fields. Halfway along, he heard himself hailed.

“
Gabriel!
”

“Over here!”

The voices coming from the Fields were assuredly feminine, equally assuredly young. Halting, Gabriel scanned the shaded lawns; two sweet young things, their parasols tilted at crazy angles, were bobbing up and down and waving madly. Squinting against the sunlight, he recognized Mary and Alice Morwellan. Raising his cane in reply, he waited until a dowager's black carriage rolled soberly past, then started across the narrow street.

Alathea saw him coming, and had to fight down an urge to screech at her sisters—what had they
done
? She'd seen him walk through the gates of the Inn and pause. Her attention locked on him, she'd assured herself that he wouldn't notice her in the shadows, that there was no reason for her heart to gallop, for her nerves to twitch.

He'd remained safely ignorant of her presence—she'd been surprised he'd acted so swiftly on the countess's behalf. That was, she presumed, why he was here—if she'd known, she would never have risked coming. Having him find her anywhere near any location he would associate with the countess had formed no part of her careful plans. She needed to keep her two personas completely distinct, especially near him.

As he'd walked along the street, cane swinging, broad shoulders square, sunlight had gleamed on his chestnut hair, gilding the lightly curling locks. Her thoughts had slowed, halted—she'd completely forgotten Mary and Alice were with her.