5 #2
Sylvia turned to the group at large, clapping her hands in anticipation. “Now that we have possession of this useful bit of intelligence, we may begin gathering information on Lord Durand’s hired guard. What did you say his name was, Iris dear?”
A vision of Mr. Beckett’s face filled Iris’s mind, the strong, square jaw and strangely full lips and piercing gray eyes beneath a slash of brows. Why did she suddenly feel so warm?
“Mr. Beckett,” she murmured, almost to herself, remembering how much she had liked his name when he’d spoken it in that deep yet incredibly smooth voice of his. “Mr. Oliver Beckett.”
“Either Lord Durand is paranoid, or he fully expects there to be reason for this guard to be necessary,” Laney mused, tapping a finger to her lips.
“Either way, he would have made certain to hire a man with impressive skills. There cannot be many backgrounds that he could have originated from to have built those skills.”
“I shall write to our informants in London,” Sylvia declared, then just as quickly frowned. “It would be infinitely easier if one of us returned to London to collect the necessary data and look further into things as they crop up.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Heloise bolted to her feet. “I volunteer.” At the collection of startled and amused glances at her very obvious eagerness to return to her husband, she flushed and continued. “And it will give me a chance to see if Ethan knows anything as well.”
Sylvia grinned at her. “What else is a husband good for but to gain information from? And what a useful husband you have, Heloise.”
She turned to Euphemia then. “And darling—?”
Euphemia had already risen. “Say no more,” she chirped cheerfully. “I already have an idea on how to infiltrate Lord Durand’s household.”
As the women dispersed, like busy puffs of dandelion seeds, Iris felt a warmth spread in her chest and the prick of tears behind her eyes.
No doubt one day she would commit a large enough blunder that these women would not be able to overlook it.
In the meantime, however, she could only be thankful for their presence in her life.
Three days later they had nearly everything they needed about the enigmatic Mr. Beckett.
Though he was not enigmatic any longer. Or, at least, not as enigmatic as he had been.
Iris scanned one of the letters from the packages of missives Heloise had brought back from London, all from their informants, all brimming with information.
There was certainly a plethora of intelligence on him.
And while it should have made him less interesting, seeing as just about every secret of his had been laid bare, Iris found that she was even more transfixed than before.
“So he is a former Bow Street Runner, is he?” Sylvia murmured, sitting back in her seat.
The Widows had gathered in the small drawing room that evening after dinner to go over everything they had learned, and were now looking vaguely troubled as they digested it all.
Though why troubled, Iris didn’t have a clue. She was nothing so much as intrigued.
“A disgraced former Bow Street Runner,” Laney pointed out. “Or so his superiors claim. They have worked very hard to keep the reason for it hushed up.”
Heloise gave a small huff of frustration. “Even Ethan was unable to unearth the reason behind his disgrace. All he learned was that Mr. Beckett betrayed one of his own.”
“It seems to me,” Sylvia mused, tapping one carefully manicured fingernail against her lip, “that there is much more to that story than meets the eye.”
“One must always be cautious not to take the words of men in positions of power at face value,” Euphemia rejoined.
Iris, surprised at the strange edge to her tone, glanced at her, then froze.
The other woman’s face was harder than she had ever seen it.
The look was gone in the next instant, her typical calm back in place before Iris could make heads or tails of it.
“Whatever the reason for his disgrace,” Sylvia said, “it has put him in quite the spot. Unable to find employment, needing to support his mother and sister, he must have been grateful for Lord Durand’s offer. No doubt Mr. Beckett will be deeply loyal to the man.”
“It will make our job a bit more difficult,” Laney added, the troubled look in her eyes intensifying.
Sylvia pursed her lips in thought. “Indeed. But though we have received intelligence on Mr. Beckett’s past, we should not let up on our nightly survey of his movements at Durand Manor,” she said, referring to their sneaking about the perimeters of the garden to unobtrusively watch the guard’s patterns.
“We shall continue observing him at a distance throughout the night and keep track of his schedule. Thus far, the man has been almost boringly rigid, but that can only be in our favor when we finally infiltrate the house.”
They all murmured their assent, and she nodded her satisfaction.
“Very well. Now that we have gotten that out of the way, it is time to return our attention to Lord Durand. It is obvious from our efforts of the past three days that the earl does not go out in local society, and in fact appears to actively avoid it, and so we cannot gain an introduction to him through traditional means. Therefore, we must go to him.”
A memory tickled the corner of Iris’s mind. “Mr. Beckett did suggest we contact Lord Durand to view his collection,” she said to the group at large.
All four women turned to stare at her. “When did he suggest that, Iris?” Sylvia asked in the gentle tone she used when she was trying her utmost to be patient.
Which tipped Iris off that she should have perhaps recalled that bit of information earlier. Much earlier. Say, three days earlier. “When I met him,” she replied hesitantly, unconsciously digging her thumbnail into her wrist.
Euphemia laid a light hand over Iris’s, halting the agitated action. “Was there something more, perhaps in his wording or the context he said it in?”
“Yes, of course,” Iris replied hastily, furrowing her brow.
Truly, that first meeting with Mr. Beckett had been fairly branded into her brain.
“I had just informed him I was a botanist and was interested in Lord Durand’s collection.
He replied, ‘Perhaps the next time you feel the urge to view Lord Durand’s collection, you might approach the man himself for permission.
I’m certain he would love to show it to someone as passionate as you.
’ And then he finished with, ‘Until then, Mrs. Rumford, know I shall be guarding this property and everything on it,’ and told me to show myself off the grounds. ”
“It was a threat,” Laney said in a low voice. “He fully believed that her presence there was due to nefarious means and she would not dare to approach the earl.”
“I agree,” Sylvia mused. Again that carefully manicured nail tapped at her lips in thought.
“Wait,” Iris said, sitting forward, “it was a threat?” At their sympathetic looks, she blew out a sharp breath, deflating in her seat.
She had been frustrated at being unable to read nuances in language and expression before.
But never so much as now. And she had just stood there, staring at him, thinking how kissable his lips had looked. Her face heated in embarrassment.
Sylvia sat forward. “Which just proves it’s the best course of action.
” She smiled, an almost calculating look to it.
“I have been around men of a scientific mind nearly all my life, and they are made up of two kinds of people. The first are so passionate about their work they wish to share it with everyone, even those who don’t wish to listen. ”
“And the second?” Heloise prompted when Sylvia paused.
The viscountess’s smile widened. “The second are so completely infatuated with themselves, so certain of their brilliance, they love nothing better than to showcase that brilliance to anyone and everyone in their purview. Both are more than willing to share their knowledge.” She glanced about the circle.
“And I have a feeling, from all I have heard of the man, that Lord Durand is quite firmly in the latter category. If we approach him, shower him with effusions, beg to view his collection—”
“He will jump at the chance to show us,” Iris finished for her, her excitement—and fury—returning tenfold.
This was a man who had stolen from her mother, had taken her life’s work and claimed it as his own, all while destroying her reputation in the process.
And on top of that, it was quite possible he had set the fire at her mother’s house.
No, more than possible. What were the chances a fire would occur at that very moment, obliterating all evidence of theft?
“When can we go?” she demanded, her body fairly vibrating.
Rather than reply with equal excitement, however, Sylvia’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Perhaps,” she said gently, “it would be best for you to remain here.”
Iris gaped at her. “Remain here? What do you mean? I’m part of this. You said so yourself.”
“Of course you are,” Sylvia soothed. “What I meant was, remain here for the initial meeting with Lord Durand, until we determine if he knows who you are.”
Iris blinked. “Knows who I am? Of course he doesn’t. I have never met him before. How could he possibly know me?”
“Mr. Beckett may have informed Lord Durand of your trespassing on his land,” Euphemia said gently.
“And even if he did not, your mother was well-known in botanical circles. Circles that Lord Durand was—and indeed still is—part of. And you are a botanist, following in her footsteps. There is every chance he might have heard of you.”
“Not to mention the time you spent in London,” Heloise added. “You spent a season in town before you married, correct?” At Iris’s nod she continued. “Though you may not have met him personally, there is every reason to believe he might know your identity.”
Laney sat forward, brown eyes kind. “And if he knows that you are the daughter of the woman he stole from, whose work he is attempting to pass off as his own, our plans will be finished before they have even begun.”
Once more Iris deflated in her seat. Though this time the hot prickle of tears accompanied it.
“What am I to do then?” she demanded. “Euphemia is set to approach Durand Manor for work. The rest of you are to make a social visit. Am I to sit back and wait at home while you all do the work that should be mine?”
“Iris,” Euphemia said softly, her hand once more covering Iris’s.
But Iris could not bear to be touched just then. Pulling her hand away, she dashed the backs of her fingers against her damp eyes and raised her chin. “I know I am being unreasonable.”
“You are not being unreasonable,” Heloise countered firmly. “There is a sense of responsibility for a job that you are intimately connected to. I recall that feeling well.”
Iris stared at Heloise, warmth spreading in her chest at the understanding in her eyes.
Most of her life had been spent having people treat her as if something was deeply wrong with her.
She never acted as they expected, always deviated from what they deemed appropriate.
She had never been made to feel thus with the Widows.
Even so, no matter the years she had spent with them, their kindness and empathy never failed to surprise her.
Like now, Heloise’s compassion affecting her much more deeply than she could have ever predicted.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s it exactly. ”
“You will not be pushed aside,” Sylvia said. “I promise.”
“Just let us determine if he knows of you first, that’s all,” Euphemia said with a smile.
They were right. She knew they were right.
Even so, it still hurt dreadfully. But as she watched the rest of the women discuss how they might approach Lord Durand, as well as the possibility of Euphemia infiltrating the household as a maid, she vowed that she would do everything to honor her mother’s memory and see this job succeed. No matter what it took.