Chapter Ten
Thunderous clouds piled up on the horizon and seemed to chase Jack as he rode toward London.
The rainstorm caught up with him before he arrived at the impoverished, overcrowded outer reaches of the metropolis.
While he shrugged on his oilskin, two black-and-white cows watched him from their shelter beneath the boughs of a spreading oak.
He rode on, determined to reach London before Colonel Bascombe left to go to his club.
At Bascombe’s house in Mayfair, the butler informed him that the colonel was expected home from the country the following day.
In need of a bath and a change of clothes, Jack left his card and rode to the stables.
After Arion was brushed and his feed dealt with, he walked to his rooms in Albany and called for hot water.
Devon, a valet who served two other gentlemen on Jack’s floor, laid out his clothes, and with a resigned shake of his head, carried away Jack’s boots while Jack bathed.
He washed the dust out of his hair and then stood toweling himself while planning how best to manage Lord Caindale.
Although he remained suspicious, he decided to take a sympathetic and respectful approach.
Gentlemen such as Lord Caindale were born and bred to expect it.
The valet had laid out the dark-blue tailcoat, freshly starched white shirt, gray-and-white-patterned waistcoat, and gray trousers for him to wear.
Once dressed, Jack stood before the mirror and tied the crisply starched stock into a mathematical; the precision of the style appealed to him.
With a brush of his hair, he was transformed from Jack of the highways to someone he considered respectable enough for house calls.
“This coat is an excellent fit, Captain,” Devon said as he applied the clothes brush to Jack’s shoulders. “Stultz is also Brummel’s tailor, I believe.”
Jack thanked the valet with a generous tip.
As he left his rooms, he smiled to himself.
Althea had said he looked his best naked.
“Except for riding clothes, men with a build such as yours do not wear clothes as well as a slightly built man,” she’d said, running a hand over his chest. “But I’m sure a slight man would much prefer to look like you do naked.
” He had kissed a pert, pink nipple and remarked that while she looked beautiful in her gowns, she was breathtaking without them.
Jack had enjoyed dalliances with widows in the past. It was an unspoken but accepted fact that bachelors and widows or even some married ladies enjoyed liaisons.
He couldn’t equate Althea with any of that.
Her sad past, her limited experience of life, her passionate nature, her intelligence would make it very difficult for him to forget her.
She eclipsed any woman who had previously entered his life.
Since he considered himself a realist, he had to steel himself against falling in love.
Knowing how impossible a future for them was, he still looked forward, far too eagerly, to seeing her again.
He pushed away those thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. To solve her father’s murder.
With his tall hat settled on his head, Jack tucked his cane under his arm and pulled on his gloves. His boots buffed to perfection by Devon, he walked along the Mayfair streets to Rosemount House in Curzon Street. Thankfully, the rainstorm had passed, the pavements already drying in the sun.
The butler led him to a chair in the entry hall. “Please wait, sir, while I see if his lordship is receiving.”
Jack declined to sit. He watched the dignified servant climb the sweeping stairway and disappear into the upper echelons of the elegant townhouse.
Within minutes, a gentleman descended. Dressed in a black cravat and coat, Lord Caindale came forward to greet him.
Tall, with thinning, fair hair brushed back from a high forehead, his eyes, more pewter than blue, looked strained and apprehensive.
“Captain Ryder. I heard about your father’s passing.
May I offer my sincere condolences? I was privileged to enjoy his company while in the House. ”
“Thank you, my lord.” Jack bowed. “I’ve come from Ivywood Hall. Your footman bearing your message arrived before I left. Lady Althea asked me to call to tell you how relieved she is that you are safe and well. She and Lady Butterstone were most concerned.”
“Good of you. Then you have had a long ride. May I offer you a brandy or a glass of wine?”
“A brandy would be appreciated, thank you.”
A footman opened a gilt-and-white door, and Jack followed Lord Caindale into the luxuriously appointed drawing room. He took the blue-and-cream-striped brocade chair offered to him while the other man poured brandy from a decanter on the sideboard.
He handed Jack the crystal tumbler and took the chair opposite.
“I’ve received word that you witnessed Lord Butterstone’s death.
An awful business. You will know something of what occurred.
I’d very much like to hear what happened to my brother-in-law.
So far, I have received only a brief, rather garbled account from a frantic servant, as well as a sad missive from my sister, which omitted most of the details. ”
While he studied his lordship’s pale countenance, on the alert for a sign the man dissembled, Jack explained he had been staying at the inn when they’d brought Lord Butterstone in, how his lordship had been shot in cold blood and had said little before he’d died, except to ask for Jack’s help.
Baron Caindale clutched the padded arms of his chair. “Did he mention in what capacity he required your help?”
“To look after his wife and daughter and escort them safely home.” Jack wasn’t prepared to reveal how he intended to find the marquess’s killer.
Lord Caindale’s steely gaze met his. “No clue as to who these devils were?”
When Jack shook his head, the other man’s face crumpled.
He rubbed his eyes. “I was not far from Ivywood Hall when I was kidnapped at gunpoint.”
“Dastardly business,” Jack agreed. “How did you manage to escape?”
“I didn’t. The scoundrel forced me at gunpoint to return to London.
He shoved me into a cellar. Questioned me at length about my last trip to Paris.
And then, in the depths of the night, I was released blindfolded into an alley somewhere in Westminster.
Took me a while to get my bearings. I admit to being completely terrified.
” He gulped the last of his brandy. “I’ve no idea what lies behind this, but I hope they’ll leave me alone.
I have every intention of attending Butterstone’s funeral.
I must lend my sister and niece my support.
” He stood and held up his glass. “Another?”
Jack accepted, wondering how much Lord Caindale was prepared to tell him. “What did the men look like?”
“The rogue who brought me to London was no gentleman,” the baron said from the sideboard.
“But there was nothing unusual about him. He barely spoke. Might have emerged from a rookery in St. Giles, for all I knew. I didn’t see the man who questioned me because they kept me blindfolded in a cellar reeking of stale wine and rats.
I felt instinctively that he was a dangerous man.
His voice reminded me of hoarfrost.” The glass he offered Jack shook in his hands.
“What did they ask you?”
Caindale sat, stretched his legs out, and sighed.
He took a deep sip of his drink. “Whether I’d visited Butterstone in Paris, which I had.
It was no secret. What we’d talked about.
Butterstone had been sent to France to deal with a matter for Castlereagh because our foreign secretary is in Greece, working to maintain the Ottoman Empire and extend British trade in the Levant.
Vital that we secure the land and sea routes to India.
” He shrugged. “Our conversation centered on the usual parliamentary concerns. I sought Butterstone’s advice about a bill for my constituents I wished to support.
We talked about our families. My daughter, Lady Slowe, has recently given birth to a boy.
” His face slackened with grief. “Dear God! I can’t believe he has gone. ”
Jack nodded sympathetically. Would the marquess have told Lord Caindale about the plot he’d uncovered to assassinate Napoleon?
He would have wanted to discuss it with someone.
Who better than a trusted relative? Perhaps Lord Caindale did know and was keeping it close to his chest. It might prove wise of him to do so.
If he was lying, he was very adept at it.
Jack would have to tread lightly in the affair.
He could see there was little more he could learn from the baron.
Whether he was culpable or not, the man was clearly shaken.
Jack reassured him that the ladies, although greatly upset, were as well as could be expected.
Without mentioning Lord Butterstone’s diary, Jack finished his brandy and took his leave.
The rain continued to hold off as he went on foot along South Audley Street to Lord Butterstone’s house in Grosvenor Square.
The air rang with the sounds of workers who had taken up their hammers again after the deluge.
There appeared to be a number of new houses in various stages of construction, and those seeking work roamed the leafy Mayfair streets: painters, decorators, plasterers, and hawkers selling their wares, while delivery carts trundled along the macadam.
Jack considered how best to deal with Lord Butterstone’s staff.
The majordomo would be the man to speak with.
The rest of the servants would clam up with a stranger in their midst. Dash it, he should have asked Althea for a letter of introduction.
He’d just have to be pleasantly persuasive and hope he’d learn something of interest.
*
By the time Erina and Harry had finished luncheon, the squall had passed, and they were on the road again.
Harry seemed more at ease. They laughed when they saw a farmer, who had been guiding his sow along the road with sharp prods of his stick, lose control and go chasing after the escaping animal.
Erina said she was on the side of the pig.
Then she and Harry got into a heated argument about whether the man’s livelihood was more important than an animal that was bred for the table.
“You have a romantic view of life,” Harry commented.
“I suppose so. Is that so very bad?”
“It can lead you into trouble.”
She had no reply to that. It was a distinct possibility.
Hours later, at dusk, they drew into the Blackbird posting inn, where they would spend the night.
“Are you traveling far, sir?” the innkeeper asked after Harry ordered a private parlor and two chambers.
“Holyhead,” Erina answered him. “I am visiting my family in Ireland.”
“That is a long way.”
“My cousin has kindly offered to escort me.”
He flicked a glance at Harry. “You are fortunate, indeed, to have such a good relative.”
“I am.” Erina smiled warmly at Harry.
“Do you think the proprietor believed our story?” Erina asked when she and Harry sat waiting for their dinner at a table in their private parlor.
She had washed off the travel dust and changed into a white, sprigged muslin with rows of green, satin ribbon at the hem and sleeves.
She gazed approvingly at Harry, who wore a fresh shirt and crisp cravat, as well as a handsome, dark-blue silk waistcoat with cornflowers in black satin beneath his Spanish blue tailcoat.
He shrugged. “He will have heard many such stories from his guests.”
“It is not that much of a stretch of the truth. It isn’t as though we are… we are…” She fell silent.
“Eloping?” Harry offered unhelpfully.
“He wouldn’t think that!”
“Who cares what the fellow thinks? As long as we get a hearty meal and a comfortable bed.”
“Well, I care.”
Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Do you? If you truly did, you wouldn’t be here.”
Her spirits lowered. “Tomorrow you can be rid of me.”
He scrutinized her. “Who says I want to be rid of you?”
“You’ve made it quite plain.”
“I shall take you all the way to Ireland. Right to your cousin’s front door. Have no fear.”
“You will?”
“I just said I would, Erina.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“Do I want to go to Ireland? Not particularly. Do I want to see you safely to your destination? Yes, indeed, I do.”
“Why?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that you’ve never said you would take me to Ireland, so I assumed…”
“Please stop assuming. And stop worrying.” He reached across and stilled her hand as she arranged the cruet set in the exact center of the table. “I rather fancy a sea voyage.”
She didn’t believe that for a moment, but she laughed. “At least you don’t have to do it on horseback. But what will you do with the curricle and the horses?”
“A groom will be waiting for us at Holyhead.”
“You knew all along…” She fixed him with an incensed stare. “You wanted me to suffer.”
“No, I hoped you’d change your mind and allow me to take you home.”
Erina didn’t know whether to slap him or hug him. He was taking her all the way to Cathleen’s. The relief was so palpable, she couldn’t resist a grin. “Thank you, Harry,” she said softly.
A smile lurked in his eyes. “No need to thank me, Erina.” He turned to look at the door. “Where is our meal? The service here has been better.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yes. Once or twice.”
“Then… the proprietor knows you?”
“I suppose he might have recognized me. A good innkeeper remembers faces, if not names.”
She released a breath. She’d been lucky so far not to have come across anyone who knew her or her father, or the whole of London would learn about this before long. And then she and Harry would have to marry. Which neither of them wanted. Obviously.