Chapter Nine
Grayson watched as Kate excused herself from the breakfast table, irked that she refused to look at him. He could follow her, of course, but he had learned that the most successful negotiations were conducted after tempers were allowed to cool, and Kate’s was still burning brightly.
In fact, she had been treating him like a leper since yesterday’s frolic in the kitchen. Obviously, she did not approve of such public behavior.
But, then, neither did he.
He was not sure what had possessed him, but he was immensely relieved that Badcock had interrupted before things went any further. He was also keenly aware of the good fortune that had caused his valet, and not the protective Tom, to come upon the scene.
Had the irate coachman been there, Grayson’s pleasure might have been halted by a carving knife buried in his back. He probably would not have felt it, either, considering the state he was in. The memory made him uncomfortable in more ways than one, and he shifted in his seat.
The movement drew Tom’s attention, but instead of scowling, the old fellow actually grinned. Pushing away his clean plate, he patted his belly. “I’ll say this for you, my lord, you know how to pick a cook.”
“I agree that Meg is a treasure, but I cannot take credit for her employment. That was my mother’s doing. As always, she showed both impeccable taste and good sense,” Grayson said. It seemed that Tom took no delight in chicken plucking either and would rather eat the food than prepare it.
“Now that our most immediate needs are provided for, I would like to ferret out my imposter,” Grayson said, studying the coachman carefully. “What do you know of the rendezvous point where Lucy met her lover?”
Tom gaped at him, his face turning red. “What?”
“Lucy told me she met him in the woods at an abandoned cottage near my hunting box. Can you take me there?”
Tom eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
Grayson met his gaze coolly. “I would like to have a look at the place. Maybe it can tell us something about the man’s identity.”
Tom snorted. “I know where it is, all right. I’ve been there. I waited for the bastard night after night when Lucy told us about him, but he never came back. He’s gone. Make no mistake, there’s nothing there that will lead you to him.”
Grayson lifted a brow. “You’ll pardon me if I would like to see for myself.”
“Suit yourself,” Tom said with a shrug. “I’m to take Meg into the village for supplies, but I can show you where it is first.”
Grayson nodded his agreement. Since he put no faith in Tom’s investigative skills, he was not discouraged by the man’s pessimism. If his suspicions concerning the imposter were true, there was a good chance there was a trail that would lead right to him.
And Grayson intended to find it.
An hour later, Grayson had to admit that the dimwitted coachman might have been right.
The tiny cottage where Lucy trysted with her lover was bare of all except a narrow bed, a table and chairs, and a few implements.
Grayson walked around the interior once, twice, then strode to the bed and pulled back the blankets.
“Lucy’s,” Tom said smugly. “She brought ’em from Hargate. And this set is fresh.”
Grayson frowned and tucked the linens back into place. He looked beneath the bed and found nothing but great clods of dust. Obviously, Lucy was not a vigilant housekeeper, either at home or at her love nest.
Abandoning that corner of the room, Grayson moved to the table, studying its workmanship and eyeing the tin cups and plates for any clues to their origin. Unfortunately, the tableware probably was his own property, pilfered from the hunting box some time ago.
Next, Grayson stepped to the hearth, hunkering down before it and poking through the remains of the fire with a stick, searching for a scrap of paper or telltale trace of wood, but there was only a blackened log and lots of ashes.
“Nothing,” Grayson said, leaning back on his heels in frustration.
“I told you,” Tom said. But his words lacked their usual spite, whether because of his interest in helping Lucy or his improved mood, Grayson could not tell.
“It’s hopeless, my lord.”
Grayson lifted his head at that. “Nothing is hopeless,” he said.
“If this place will not yield an answer, then we must find it elsewhere. Let’s look close at hand first. Here’s Hargate.
” With a gloved finger, he drew an X in the dust of the floor, then a circle around it.
“Now, I want you to tell me who lives within a ten-mile radius, all the way around.”
Tom looked at him blankly, then turned belligerent. “Who’s to say the fellow lives nearby? What makes you think it wasn’t one of your noble friends having a lark?”
Grayson eyed the coachman calmly. “Our imposter is no lord.”
Tom snorted. “Why? Because of what he did?”
“No,” Grayson said. “Because of what he didn’t do. He brought her no gifts, no trinkets of any sort indicative of wealth. And he wore no rings, no distinguishing jewelry, not even a watch fob.”
Tom gaped at him in amazement, while Grayson continued.
“I questioned Lucy at great length yesterday,” he explained.
“And I discovered that the fellow did not even have a substantial wardrobe, so we can rule out anyone with money. Of course, it is conceivable that our man was some penniless aristocrat passing through, but if so, where did he stay? How did he live?”
When Tom did not answer, Grayson went on.
“No. I’ll wager that our imposter is a commoner.
But not too common. A local farmer or traveling tinker would not be able to fool Lucy into thinking him a marquess.
Therefore, I suspect him to be a member of the area’s gentry or someone of similar circumstances who was visiting for a time.
Let us hope for the former, so that he can be more easily discovered. ”
“I’ll be damned,” Tom muttered, staring at him. “You are a clever one.”
Grayson’s mouth curved wryly. “High praise from you, of course. Now, tell me of our suspects.”
Tom looked down at the markings in the dirt and crouched down across from Grayson.
“Well, saying as this is north, there is nothing up that way but the old earl’s land.
And west is your fancy place. South is the village, but there are few gentry living there.
” He scratched his beard. “The squire’s house is a bit east of it. ”
“Does he have a son?” Grayson asked.
Tom grinned. “Aye, but he’s too young to be chasing skirts.”
“Any other young men living there?”
Tom frowned thoughtfully. “Well, that’s the trouble, my lord. I’m not so sure of local gossip as I used to be, seeing as how we keep pretty much to ourselves these days. I think there’s a nephew or a cousin, someone in charge of the home farm at the squire’s, but I’ll have to check.”
He paused. “Then there’s the vicar. He’s got five boys, three that might be of an age. He lives east of the village, too,” Tom said, pointing to a point on the circle. “His sister has a house nearby. And there’s the small manor next to it. I’m not sure who’s living there now.”
Grayson studied the small marks on his makeshift map. “Then that area, southeast of Hargate, must be the focus of our investigation. The squire or the vicar and his people might have had guests for the winter, to say nothing of the residents of the manor.”
He lifted his head to fix Tom with a steady gaze. “I hesitate to show myself in the village, so I will have to rely upon you for the time being.”
To his surprise, the coachman nodded and puffed up his chest like a toad.
“Start today, when you take Meg in for supplies,” Grayson said.
“She can help you. She has a good ear for gossip. You can let it be known that she is the new cook and hint at a change in fortunes at Hargate. Then perhaps our imposter, if he was frightened off by the girls’ lean circumstances, might come sniffing around again. ”
As he waited for the coachman’s assent, Grayson wondered if he was entrusting his investigation to the wrong man.
There was no love lost between Tom and himself, and he had considered sending Badcock.
But the valet was a stranger and might have difficulty getting the villagers to talk to him. A local would be best, and Tom was it.
As if sensing his misgivings, the old man scratched his beard.
“You’re a smart one, make no mistake,” he said, shaking his head.
For a moment, Grayson thought he would refuse the task, but then his wrinkled face split into a wide grin.
“You’re even beginning to make me think that you just might find the lad. ”
Grayson acknowledged the compliment with a jerk of his head, but he could not help lifting a brow at the coachman’s lack of faith. “Of course I am going to find him,” he said with complete conviction. “I never fail.”
After Tom and Meg left for the village, Grayson sought out Kate, only to find that she and her sister were busy being fitted by Mrs. Leeds.
If not for Lucy, he might have tossed all decorum to the winds and sat in on the session.
Then again, the sight of a half naked Kate draped in silks and satins would have tested his already strained control.
Instead, he took the opportunity to walk through the house while Badcock took notes on its furnishings, condition, and potential problems. Obviously, the place had been neglected for years, and on top of that, various improvements, such as a bathing room, were sorely needed.
Again Grayson noticed the telltale signs of paintings that had been removed, and he was reminded that he must question Kate about the missing items—and about her guardian’s dubious financial support.