Chapter Twelve #2
He could not know how that lord had even heard of the foreigner looking around down there, but he supposed somebody had thought to alert him. Maybe they’d all thought to alert him. Damiano had not exactly been welcomed with open arms in that part of the country.
Tramondeley’s questioning at the candlelight picnic had given away his suspicions. It was not just what he asked, but the tone he used in asking.
Had he expected a confession? Or perhaps he’d just wished to see Damiano’s reaction to the questions. He thought he’d covered his alarm, but one never knew. He was a skilled card player, he could wear a mask of disinterest, but he’d not been expecting that question. He’d been taken by surprise.
If Tramondeley knew he was the man looking for the Mosquito, what would he do about it? Damiano thought he must be on his guard far more than he had been.
For a moment, he wondered if the party was a trap. But then he dismissed the idea. Lord Tramondeley would not allow Lady Valor to be brought into a dangerous situation.
He’d not had a chance to inquire of Lady Valor if she had suggested to Lord Tramondeley that he be invited, but he thought that must be the case. He doubted Tramondeley would have come up with the idea on his own.
Unless it was a trap.
Which it could not be on account of Lady Valor attending.
His thoughts were just going round in circles at this point.
To make matters worse, he had been plagued with Lady Letitia all evening.
Tramondeley had stolen away with Lady Valor and no matter where they looked, those two people could not be located.
They had finally caught up with them talking with the duke and Lord Ledderbey as if they’d not been missing for an hour.
Most concerning, Damiano was near certain that they had purposefully avoided him and it had not been the work of Tramondeley alone.
This made him exceedingly unhappy. The Town was down to two dukes’ daughters and one of them was Lady Letitia.
He could not bring a less loftily titled lady to the marquis.
His father would be offended to be presented with the daughter of an earl, or worse, a viscount.
As for a baron, well, he might as well blow his brains out before his father did him the courtesy.
It must be Lady Valor or Lady Letitia. Lady Valor might be leaning in Tramondeley’s direction.
Tramondeley was certainly the Mosquito and might know he was the man poking around Cornwall.
To kill him would kill two birds with one stone—rid himself of the Mosquito and an inconvenient suitor.
He was not at all sure if he could get away with it, though.
And then, did Tramondeley have any plans of his own to expose him?
He could not settle in any particular direction.
For now, he just must stay on his guard.
He would arrange for his trunks to be packed and only what was necessary at any moment to be taken out of them.
There might come a moment when he was forced to flee to the continent.
On no account could he be suspected of working for the French.
Further, if he found he must dispose of Tramondeley, on no account could he be suspected of murder.
All this, as he attempted to woo a duke’s daughter. While his friends would be lounging in sunshine and sipping prosecco, he was trapped in this dark and dank town full of fog and smoke. It was turning out to be a very trying time.
Then how to swing Lady Valor in his direction and away from Tramondeley?
It was especially noticeable last evening.
He had noticed her mooning in that lord’s direction before they even slipped off together.
They would not have had the opportunity had not Lady Letitia cornered him and demanded a description of his villa out of him.
If that were not enraging enough, Lady Letitia had hinted that she might utilize the sketch artists at Tramondeley’s Cornwall party to have one done for him.
Having her visage staring back at him when she was nowhere nearby was an unsettling prospect. He would not tolerate it and would be forced to accidentally drop it into a fire.
Where had Lady Valor gone with Tramondeley? What had they talked about?
He needed to pull ahead of that lord. He rubbed his chin and then thought he’d hit on something.
He would visit the continental baker that kept Lady Tallifer’s kitchens supplied with things he found tolerable.
He would order a dozen Susamelle to be delivered to the duke’s house.
Nobody could dislike a biscotto flavored with honey, orange, cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.
Particularly, this baker’s biscotto, which were light and crisp and dipped in a powdered sugar glaze.
Yes, that is what he would do. It would not be too forward.
The duke might not like flowers expressing love at this moment.
Sending a bouquet of friendship was always stupid.
Susamelle, though. That spoke of Sardinian sunshine.
He would include a charming note. She was bound to like them.
And, in any case, it would be well to acquaint her with Sardinian habits.
After all, Sardinian customs were far superior to whatever went on in Cornwall.
*
Valor had been greatly buoyed by the events of the candlelight picnic. First, Lord Ledderbey had made a point to tell her that Lord Tramondeley was a fine gentleman, which of course she already knew. But then…then…he’d said Lord Tramondeley might give up the nighttime sailing.
Had she not speculated that a gentleman might mature and leave behind his dangerous habits? She had, but she’d not dared to have the courage to believe in the idea.
It really might be true, though.
Perhaps he would not even wish to go back to Cornwall.
Perhaps he’d wish to go to the Dales. Of all the things she had ever feared in the Dales, the French creeping around had not been one of them.
He could build a boat and sail the lake if he liked and she would not at all worry over the danger of it.
Though, perhaps she would not like it if he went out at night and she could not see that he remained afloat.
After that exhilarating idea, Lord Tramondeley had very naughtily stolen her away from under the nose of the count.
She had not minded being stolen away one bit.
They’d walked the dim rooms and spoke of this and that and then were positively terrible about hiding behind cabinets and curtains.
When she was not thinking of him dying by drowning at sea, she was very relaxed in his presence.
And attracted too. She would never have believed it, but she had the urge to throw herself into his arms. As it was, their hands brushed several times.
In a fit of daring, she’d told the lord that her father wished his door to be always open to his heir and the duke thought he ought to have a closer look around since he was the heir. Lord Tramondeley seemed very appreciative of the idea and indicated he might take advantage of it this very day.
The duke had said no such thing, but she’d told him of it in the carriage on the way home and he named it a “grand idea.”
This morning, she’d sent a note to Felicity so she would have sisterly reinforcements. She’d been glancing out the window ever since.
“Is this to be it, then?” Felicity asked, watching her pull aside the curtain once more.
“Is what to be it?” Valor asked, though she thought she understood the question.
“Tramondeley?” Felicity said. “I had for a while thought you might be leaning toward the count.”
“Perhaps I was, on account of Lord Tramondeley’s night sailing.
You know I would never be able to stand up to the terror of it.
But then, Lord Ledderbey claims that he might give it up.
As well, Papa is convinced that, sooner or later, the count will wish to return to his homeland.
Can you imagine? I’d end up in a foreign land, far away from my people. ”
“I see, so the pendulum swung the other way,” Felicity said.
“I think I was leaning toward the count, just a little bit, only out of fear. Hertfordshire sounded so safe and Cornwall and Lord Tramondeley setting off in the middle of the night was terrorizing.”
“But if not for that, you leaned toward Lord Tramondeley all along,” Felicity said with a smile.
Valor nodded. “Well really, you can see for yourself how glorious he is.”
“Positively glorious,” Felicity said laughing.
Mrs. Right came in with a tea tray and sat down with them. Valor peeked out the window again.
“Here he comes!” Valor said, smoothing her skirt. “He carries something, it must be flowers, it is wrapped in white paper.”
“Shall I stay or go, Poppet?” Mrs. Right asked.
“You must stay, of course,” Valor said. “You are a member of the family and Lord Tramondeley is Papa’s heir. The sooner he understands you belong in here with us, the better.”
“Quite right,” Felicity said, nodding in approval.
Valor had dropped the curtain and picked up her sewing, which was the same sewing she’d been carrying around for months.
It was embroidery and if she would make progress it would eventually be a charming pillow for Sir Galahad’s bed.
That darling dog was just now lounging on the sofa, as it was one of his usual naptimes.
Felicity picked up a book that was laying on the table. Mrs. Right occupied herself with the tea tray. Valor supposed they would appear very serene when Lord Tramondeley was led in.