Chapter 26
By the time I left Portman Square for Mandeville House several hours later, the effects of my mother’s nerve tonic had finally faded.
Thus, the butterflies swirling around my stomach could only be on account of my destination.
The feeling increased as I ascended the front steps of the imposing red-and-white brick mansion in Mayfair.
I had never met any of Oliver’s family members.
His mother had died when he was away at Eton, and his father a few years before we married.
Then, when his brother was made viscount, they had some kind of disagreement about money, but Oliver never divulged the particulars, and I never asked.
He had a younger brother as well, Archie, but he was something of a libertine and, from what I knew, didn’t show much interest in his family.
I had never even communicated with him, aside from a short note of condolence after Oliver’s death.
Harold was another matter. He had no sons of his own, so after Oliver died, he encouraged me to send Tommy to Eton, claiming that it was necessary for his heir.
When I politely but firmly declined, he then tried to claim guardianship.
It was an ugly business, conducted at the worst possible time.
If we had been in England, he might have been able to use his position to force my hand, but it was much harder to do so from across a sea.
Eventually, he relented, and I agreed to allow him to have written contact with Tommy.
But privately, I still held out hope that Harold would have a son of his own so he would stop focusing on mine.
Though at this point a grandson was more likely.
An ancient butler ushered me inside to an imposing drawing room: high ceilings, pale green walls decorated with Adam-style plasterwork, a gold-and-crystal chandelier, massive marble fireplace, and Louis XIV–style furniture in gold and pale green silk coverings.
I was so taken by the space that I did not notice the man in the far corner of the room, standing before a large window with his back to me.
“Mrs. Harper to see you, sir,” the butler rasped.
“That will be all, Bodwin,” the viscount said in a deep voice that easily carried across the space.
I felt a little shiver of foreboding as the door clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing throughout the room and leaving us alone.
I moved with slow, cautious steps, my gaze fixed on the man’s back.
He was tall, about as tall as Oliver, and his hair was the same shade of blond, it was shot through with silver.
He turned around then, all at once, and his blue eyes met mine.
Perhaps I should have prepared myself for the likely family resemblance, but it was still a shock.
The viscount was the near picture of my late husband and I inhaled sharply, stumbling over the edge of the carpet.
The viscount was beside me in an instant, his firm hand on my arm, steadying me.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Of course,” he replied as he led me to the sofa.
I was grateful that at least he didn’t sound like my husband.
His voice was deeper and far colder than Oliver’s had ever been.
I doubted he could have sounded that stern if he had tried.
The thought brought me some comfort, and I held on to it as the viscount took the straight-back chair across from me.
Now that he was closer, I could see that the resemblance wasn’t quite as identical as I had first thought.
For one, the viscount was older than my husband would ever be, with deep furrows across his brow and the beginning of jowls on his still admittedly strong jaw.
But most notably, he lacked Oliver’s spark, the infectious zest for life that had immediately drawn me to him.
Rather, the viscount exuded a sober air that perhaps was expected of a man in his position and with his responsibilities.
He cleared his throat, and only then did I realize I had been staring at him rather rudely. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice,” he said. “I understand you had an … eventful evening.”
“You know about that?” I had assumed this summons was to do with Tommy and had not even considered the timing. Perhaps Mother’s nerve tonic had addled my mind more than I thought.
“When a peer of the realm is shot, word does get around rather quickly,” he said dryly. “I was at my club last night when I first heard the news and was further shocked to learn that you were involved.”
I lifted my chin at the disapproval in his gaze. “It was regrettable that someone was injured, but his lordship was pointing a gun at me at the time.”
“So I heard,” he said, arching a brow. “You and Mr. Dorian, the writer.”
His words practically dripped with disapproval, but I simply held his gaze.
When it became clear I had no intention of elaborating any further, the viscount huffed.
“I did not ask you here to remonstrate with you, Mrs. Harper. I am only trying to understand how on earth the mother of my heir found herself in such a frankly scandalous scenario.”
Though I saw no need to explain nor defend myself to this man, I didn’t like what he was implying. “I was investigating the murder of Charles Pearson. Surely you must have heard about that?”
He frowned. “Of course. But why were you involved at all?”
“Because my sister was the one who found him, and I was worried that she would be falsely implicated in his murder. Mr. Dorian is an acquaintance of mine and agreed to help. Eventually, I began to suspect that Lord Linden was involved, and last night I confronted him.”
The viscount’s frown deepened. “Surely, you did not.”
“I most certainly did. He confessed to everything and then attempted to shoot Mr. Dorian. Luckily, the police had arrived by then, and the inspector stopped him with a bullet.”
The viscount stared at me in bewilderment. “Good lord. But you could have been killed,” he said in outrage, as if that had somehow escaped my notice.
“Yes, I know. Luckily, it did not come to that.” The viscount continued to stare at me in shock, so I pressed on. “You should also know that while I was investigating the murder, I learned some things about Oliver that I had hoped you would be able to shed some light on.”
He immediately shifted in his chair, and his face went blank. “Oh?”
But I wasn’t at all fooled by his bored tone and scoffed, which seemed to catch him by surprise.
I gathered he was used to people always deferring to him.
I leaned forward and held his gaze. The butterflies were entirely gone now.
This man had answers. And I would not leave this room without them.
“I know he was illegally exporting artifacts while he worked at the embassy in Athens. The baron confirmed it last night. That was why he retired so suddenly and why we moved to Corfu.” The betrayal I had felt when I first put the pieces together was not as sharp and piercing as it had initially been.
Now it was more like a dull edge of disappointment.
“Because it wasn’t safe for us to return here,” I continued.
“He had made too many enemies. And you used your position to help cover it up.”
The viscount gave me a hard look. “You’re wrong.”
“He was your brother,” I said. “I understand that you were protecting him—”
“No,” the viscount barked. “That is not at all what happened. Frankly, I expected you, of all people, to know the kind of man you married.”
I sat back in my seat. That accusation stung. “I certainly thought I did, but what else am I to think?”
The viscount took a breath. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. And I know that it must have been a difficult thing to learn. I told Oliver many times that he should have been more honest with you—”
“Honest with me about what?” I could not control the surge of anger flooding my veins. I was so tired of being kept in the dark by men who thought they knew better.
“Oliver was a spy, for lack of a better word,” the viscount said plainly.
“He worked for the embassy, that was true. But he also took on other projects for the Foreign Office as needed. He wasn’t illegally exporting artifacts.
He was infiltrating a black-market ring of powerful collectors across Europe who were exploiting loopholes in the existing laws regarding the export of antiques. ”
It felt as if someone had struck me on the head. “Oh,” I breathed. “I … I had no idea.”
The viscount gave me a grim smile. “Yes, I know. Oliver was recruited when he was first hired by the Foreign Office. I told him he shouldn’t have married you because of his work, but he said it couldn’t be helped.
” I glanced away at the knowing look in his eye.
“Your father found out later and was livid, naturally. But somehow Oliver convinced him it would be all right. And perhaps it would have been, if he hadn’t died,” the viscount added softly.
When I looked back at him, he was staring past me, lost in thought. “What happened then? He was discovered?”
The viscount shook his head. “Oliver uncovered the identities of the British participants, and the powers that be decided it would be far worse if their identities were unveiled. For diplomatic relations and public morale,” he said in a mocking tone.
“You mean because one was a baron and the other a knight?”
Lord Linden and Sir Armstrong-Hughes.
“Among other illustrious fellows, yes. Anyway, Oliver didn’t much care for that decision and was determined to expose them.
Eventually, your father and I managed to dissuade him, and it was politely suggested that he retire instead.
” The viscount let out a long sigh. “Oliver never really forgave me for that, I’m afraid.
Not that we were on the best of terms anyway.
But he genuinely wanted to do good in the world and hadn’t realized he was only a pawn in a much larger game. ”