Romancing the Earl (13 page)

Her gaze narrowed at him in an assessing manner. “Why are you so interested?”

“Because I need to question someone employed at Stratton Hall. After you and Grey left the inn in Bradford this afternoon, we learned from my brother’s former valet that the footman who’d attempted to steal the tapestry is now in service at Stratton Hall. I mean to speak with him in order to determine who put him up to the task, and you are perfectly positioned to help me. You’ll arrange for us to visit.”

Her lips curled into a distasteful moue. “I did say I would help you, but I must admit I’d rather not. Stratton is universally regarded as an awful person. He’s a philanderer and a drunkard. I’ve never met anyone with a lower opinion of women.”

Derision weighted her tone. This was not the first time she’d made an observation regarding the status of women. As a female antiquary, he knew, she fought a near-impossible battle to gain attention, let alone respect. “Since he is a relative, I assume you’ve met him.”

“Yes, a few times, and I must say that I don’t blame Lady Stratton for leaving him. In fact, I think she deserves a knighthood—if women could receive them—for staying with him for nearly ten years.” Her features softened. “But then I know she only did it to be with her son. Who can blame her for that?”

Who indeed? Elijah wondered if his own mother would’ve done such a thing. Not for him, certainly, but would she have suffered such a husband for Matthew’s sake? Judging her behavior, one would have thought she’d suffered the husband she had, but Elijah’s father—though fond of drink—had never treated her poorly.

Shoving his own disappointing childhood to the recesses of his mind, Elijah scanned the room for the gentleman he’d seen earlier, certain that he was Lady Stratton’s offspring.

“Who are you looking for?” Miss Bowen asked. “I thought you didn’t know anyone.”

“I don’t, but I believe I saw Lady Stratton’s son. He bore a striking resemblance . . . ”

“Kersey’s here?” Miss Bowen joined him in searching the room. “Ah, yes. There in the other corner.” Her lips curved down ever so slightly.

“You don’t care for him?”

She looked at Elijah. “It’s not that. I actually have fond memories of spending summers together when we were children. He’s cut in the image of his father, unfortunately. I often wonder if he would’ve turned out differently if Artemesia hadn’t left him at such a young age. Alas, we’ll never know.”

Elijah surveyed the gentleman from across the room. Kersey was engaged in conversation with a portly fellow who was gesturing enthusiastically with his hands. “You mean he drinks too much and has a low regard for women?”

“The term ‘rake’ comes to mind, but I fear that may be too tame of a description. He did marry, but his wife died just six months later and he fell right back into his bad habits. Artemesia hopes remarrying will calm him down again, but I doubt we’ll ever find out. No decent woman will have him because the rumor is that his wife killed herself to escape him—something his father’s first wife is also said to have done.”

Elijah’s head swam. “Stop. Please. I can’t possibly retain all of this information, nor do I want to. Unless Kersey has something to do with the men who visited my brother, I couldn’t care less about his romantic situation.”

She stared up at him. “I couldn’t agree more. How refreshing. Can you imagine”—she leaned closer as if to impart a secret, not that any of their conversation ought to have been exchanged in full voice—“Stratton actually hoped for Kersey and me to
marry
?”

Elijah shot a sharp glance toward Kersey. “But he’s your cousin.”

“Not that closely related by blood, but yes, I do share your dismay since we somewhat grew up together. Stratton liked the union because it would combine his meager manuscript collection with my father’s massive medieval library. He fancies himself some sort of collector, though I don’t think he has the faintest notion of how to go about it.”

“I take it your father is more competent at collecting?”

Her dark gaze simmered with pride. “My father is a scholar. He acquires medieval manuscripts to study them. His father before him was the most renowned medieval manuscript scholar in all of Britain.” The love and admiration she felt for her father was palpable, and Elijah felt a surprising stab of envy. He’d loved his father, but there hadn’t been much to admire about either of his parents, though he supposed his father deserved credit for enduring his wife’s frigidity and verbal abuse.

“Should we talk to Kersey about the men who tried to purchase the tapestry?”

She pulled her gaze from her cousin and looked up at Elijah. “I doubt he would know anything. Let me talk to Septon. Never fear, I’m confident we’ll learn something.”

He didn’t share her confidence, but didn’t say so. He ought to tell her about the tapestry, but he would wait until after dinner.

At that moment, the butler announced that dinner would be served. Elijah offered his arm to Miss Bowen. “May I escort you?”

She slipped her hand over his sleeve, the contact giving him another jolt of awareness. “Thank you.”

As he guided her to the dining room, he decided it was good that their association would be over soon. The more time they spent together, the more he was drawn to her. The last thing he had time or inclination for was a wife, and when it came to someone like Miss Bowen, he couldn’t have her any other way.

After a pleasant dinner during which Cate was able to observe Lord Norris discussing his assignment in Australia, she suffered the requisite post-meal gathering of ladies in the drawing room while the men enjoyed their port in the dining room. Cate was usually bored during these times as the conversation typically focused on the latest scandal or, even more tedious, the prospects on the Marriage Mart. If only one of her comrades from the Ladies’ Antiquities Society were present, she could have enjoyed the event. Instead, she smiled and nodded and thought about whether Grey had been able to obtain the key to Septon’s library.

At last, Lady Stratton—the de facto hostess—led them from the drawing room. As they neared the front hall, where Septon housed a great deal of his collection, Cate was intercepted by her host.

Septon took her hand and gave it a warm squeeze as people walked by them on their way to the hall. “How long do you plan to stay?”

“I’m not sure.” She didn’t want to commit to a specific duration. “A couple of days. At least.”

Septon’s familiar gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he let go of her hand. “Does it depend on Norris? Is there a chance he’s courting you?”

“Goodness no, why ever would you say that?” She realized she’d responded with great haste and perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm, but it was true.

Septon’s gaze took on a curious glint, which Cate recognized from nearly everyone else who’d interrogated her about Norris. Why was everyone bent on matching them together? “I only want to see you happy.”

Which could be said of all who’d inquired about Norris. “I know. And I appreciate your concern. However, I’m not in any hurry to marry. Love will find me when it’s time, or mayhap not at all. That isn’t what guides my life. I’m not like most females.”

He laughed softly. “No, you are not, by the grace of God. However, you are still of the fairer sex and the world can be harsh for an unmarried woman.”

Cate clenched her teeth. She loved Septon and supposed he couldn’t help his archaic views since they were shared by the vast majority. “I assume you don’t give Penn these same lectures.”

“Of course not. I’m not sure he’ll ever settle down. That boy—not that he’s a boy any longer—has far too great a taste for adventure.”

Did no one recognize that Cate did too? She and Penn weren’t actually blood-related, since he’d been adopted by their parents when he was nine. Despite that, and their ten-year age difference, they shared a love of excitement and thrilling experiences that most people would never dream of. “Girls like adventure too,” she murmured.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” he said somewhat condescendingly. “You aren’t Penn, however.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Just how long do you think you can go gallivanting around with your Ladies’ Antiquities Society friends?”

Cate bit back her gasp. “How do you know about that?” she whispered. It was supposed to be secret. People would actively try to stop them or discredit their work. And they were on the cusp of publishing their first set of papers.

“I know everything that occurs in the antiquarian community. It’s not common knowledge—yet. But you can’t have expected it to remain secret?”

“In fact, we did,” she said tartly. They’d planned to publish their papers under male pseudonyms and fabricate a false name for their organization—something without “ladies” in its title. “How did you learn of it?”

His gray brows pitched low over his eyes, which held a sheen of regret. “I’m afraid I can’t say, but I’ll keep everything you told me inviolate.”

Septon seemed to harbor a wealth of secrets. She thought about what Andy had said, that she’d long suspected Septon of something more than antiquity collection and research. But what more could it be? “Since you’re privy to all things antiquarian-related, can you tell me who else might have wanted to purchase the flaming sword tapestry from Lord Norris’s brother? They were younger men, no one that made me think of anyone in the antiquarian community. Have you any idea who they could be?”

“None.” His answer came more quickly than she would’ve liked. “Cate, I have to ask about your association with Norris. You aren’t courting and yet you seem to share at least some level of intimacy.”

Intimacy? The word sparked a fire deep in her belly. She couldn’t deny they’d shared a . . . friendship, but it was nothing more than that and it was
temporary
. “When he learned that I am an antiquary, he sought my assistance in trying to identify these men,” she said.
 

“He told me someone tried to steal the tapestry. Did you know that?” Septon asked.

Though it would only underscore their close relationship, Cate answered in the affirmative. “I did.”

“And it truly can’t be found?” He sounded a trifle alarmed, likely because he understood the true value of the tapestry and what its loss would mean. His reaction, though subtle, perhaps indicated that the tapestry was the sole link in finding Dyrnwyn.

Cate kept her response deliberately mysterious—if he could be secretive, so could she. She offered a slight shrug. “I really can’t say. And since you don’t know who these men could be, I suppose it’s safe to assume you don’t know quite everything that happens in the antiquarian world.”

His lips pursed briefly. “I misspoke. I’m aware of
most
things.” His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Do you have any idea why these men would want that tapestry?”

It was quite obviously a coded question: Did she know the tapestry was a map? And yet, he didn’t ask her outright, and that told her that if she didn’t know, he preferred to keep it that way. Yes, Septon was a man of many secrets.

She blinked at him, suppressing the surge of triumph rising in her chest that came from knowing the secret he didn’t think she knew. “Of course. It’s an incredibly valuable piece of Arthurian art.”

The lines around his eyes and mouth faded a little—something she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been paying very close attention. “Just so.”

The crowd in the corridor had completely dissipated as everyone had made their way into the hall for Septon’s lecture. “My goodness,” Septon said, “I must attend to my guests. Please forgive me, dear.” He flashed her a smile and ducked inside.

As Cate watched him go, she tried not to tap her foot in irritation. She’d always trusted Septon as much as she trusted her own parents, but it certainly seemed that Andy was correct, that there was more to Septon than met the eye. And speaking of her parents, what of her father’s keeping that poem from her? Was all of this secrecy due to the fact that she was a woman? Was her mother also kept in the dark? She wished Mother wasn’t so far away—at home in Wales.

Cate stepped away from the door as Septon began to speak at the front of the room. She had no desire to hear a presentation when she had other objectives, especially not when the speech was to be delivered by someone who sought to keep her misinformed. Now more than ever she wanted to find that sword. She’d show all of them that she was as good an antiquary as any of them—better, even. Who else would be able to claim the discovery of something so history-changing?