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‘The oil, of the British troops at Blenheim.’ Alec stepped closer. ‘It looks different. Brighter. Or has it always been like that?’
‘Lord Stephen’s been telling your father he ought to get some of those old paintings cleaned, sir. In fact, Lord Stephen’s been seeing to it himself over the last few months, taking them off to be restored. That one’s just come back.’
Alec frowned. Restored? But his father had always declared that he liked the patina of the old oils …
‘You’ll realise, Master Alec, that I had no choice but to agree,’ Jarvis was saying anxiously.
That evening Alec had had a fencing lesson and was tidying away his equipment when Garrett came in. ‘One of the lads has got some news of a poetry reading in Piccadilly, Captain.’
Alec almost laughed. ‘Poetry! God’s teeth, why should that be any concern of mine? And confound it, Garrett, didn’t I tell you to get rid of that dog weeks ago?’ The big golden mongrel bounded happily up to Alec, wagging its tail.
‘His name’s Ajax, Captain. And I keep tellin’ him to go, but he won’t.’
‘He’ll eat us out of house and home!’
‘I’m payin’ for his food myself, Captain.’
‘Anyone ever told you you’re a fool, Garrett?’
‘I know that, Captain.’
Sighing, Alec continued putting away his foils. ‘This poetry reading you mentioned. I can only assume there was some purpose in your raising that unlikely subject?’
‘Well, yes, Captain. The girl’s there, you see—the one that was writin’ those lies about you and this place, the other week.’
Alec went still. ‘Mrs Rowland?’
‘Aye, Mrs Rowland. You ordered us to keep an eye on her, since we told you about that printing press of her friend’s bein’ all busted.’
‘Indeed,’ muttered Alec. ‘Busted, as you put it, by some enemy Mrs Rowland’s made with her scurrilous writing, no doubt.’
For God’s sake, she looked for trouble! She’d been blatantly on stage at the Temple of Beauty, half-clad, then she’d written some vile stuff directed at him and confronted him with a whole pack of lies in his own home. Yet she was so young, so vulnerable, despite her bold defiance … The dog came up to him, wagging its tail, and Alec absently stroked its head. ‘So you’ve discovered she’s at a poetry reading. Is that the sum of your information, Garrett?’
‘Not quite, Captain. We’ve got an informer there—a cousin of McGrath’s—who was hired as a waiter, ‘cos there was refreshments, see. And he’s told us that someone else you know is at this lit’rary faradiddle. Your brother. He and the girl seem pretty friendly.’
Alec’s hand went very still on the rapier he held. Despite her defiant words to him, the little widow knew Stephen!
‘What do you expect me to do, Garrett? My opinion of her is already pretty low,’ he answered, sliding the rapier back into the wall rack. ‘Finding out that she’s a friend of Stephen’s does nothing to alter that.’
Red-haired Sergeant McGrath had come in also. ‘There was somethin’ odd, Captain, if they’re friends,’ McGrath offered. ‘My cousin told me your brother ordered some gin to be put in the girl’s lemonade. And she was startin’ to look a bit sick, apparently.’
Damn it. Alec gave up hope of a quiet evening. ‘Saddle up my horse, Garrett. This place is in Piccadilly, you say?’
‘You will remember she ain’t no friend of yours, won’t you, Captain?’ Garrett warned. ‘Remember that nasty stuff she wrote about you …’
‘I’ll not forget it, never fear,’ Alec gritted, heading for the door. ‘That’s why I’m going to see what they’re both up to. Oh, and saddle a horse for yourself, too.’
‘Why’s that, Captain?’
‘You’re coming with me.’
Pulling on his greatcoat, Alec left. And Garrett muttered to McGrath, ‘I hope, I do hope, that our Captain’s not laying himself open to the tricks of another sweet-faced whore.’
‘Now you know and I know, my lad,’ replied McGrath, ‘that our Captain’s no fool in dealing with the muslin company … unless you’re talkin’ about that society lassie with all the money who ditched him just before Waterloo?’
Garrett snorted. ‘Her? The bird-witted little Lady Emilia? He was well rid of her and he knew it. No. It was someone else I was thinkin’ of. Someone who’s a real bundle of wickedness and is out to make more, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
‘Who—?’
But Garrett had hurried on after Alec, leaving Sergeant McGrath scratching his head in bewilderment.
‘Wait,’ Rosalie said urgently to Stephen as his carriage turned into Holborn. She clutched Katy tighter. ‘Can we stop? Please? I—I don’t feel well.’ Thanks to the lurching of this heavy coach, she was actually feeling desperately sick.
‘You’re just cold, my dear,’ Stephen said soothingly to Rosalie. Solicitously he placed a plaid rug across her knees. ‘We’ll soon be at my house, you and your little daughter.’
Katy hid her face from him. Rosalie tried to say, ‘She’s not my daughter.’ But something choked in her throat and her head was swimming. ‘I need fresh air now. I must get out …’
Suddenly she realised that the carriage had indeed come to a juddering halt, but not at Stephen’s bidding. As Stephen exclaimed, ‘What in God’s name—?’ Rosalie was already on her feet and heading unsteadily for the door with Katy in her arms. It was opened before she could reach it by a tall, rain-soaked man who looked blazingly angry.
Alec Stewart was here. Alec Stewart, from Two Crows Castle, had stopped the coach. She saw suddenly that his horse was close by, held by none other than Eyepatch, who looked at her balefully. Stephen’s driver up on his box was swearing, but Alec rapped out a few choice words that silenced him utterly.
Rosalie’s stomach was roiling. With Katy still in her arms, she stumbled down, swaying. Alec grabbed the child and held her very tight as Rosalie leaned her hand against the side of the carriage and vomited into the gutter.
The gin, thought Alec. He cursed under his breath. Garrett had warned him that Stephen had doctored her drink. But no one had warned Alec that she had the child with her. At a poetry reading? What the hell was going on? He held the infant close, protecting her from the distressing sight of her mother being sick. She reacted by reaching up her chubby fists to his cheek, instantly smiling through her fretful tears. ‘Tick-tock man,’ she said.
And now his damned brother was climbing out of the carriage, his face livid with rage and, yes, fear as he growled out, ‘Alec. What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see what you’re up to, Stephen.’ Alec’s voice was harsh. ‘It’s not your usual style to be conveying a sick woman and her infant in your carriage.’
‘Do you know,’ breathed Stephen, ‘it’s absolutely none of your business. Now, I know you fancied this little blonde slut that night at the Temple of Beauty …’ he glanced swiftly at Rosalie, who, still leaning against the carriage with her head bowed, was beyond hearing anything ‘… but if you’ve come to try to blacken my name with her, don’t expect her to believe a word you say!’
Alec didn’t, especially as last time they had met, he’d locked Rosalie in the basement of Two Crows Castle. She was an interferer. A troublemaker. But she didn’t deserve this.
She was turning