and closed her eyes, wishing she was in the country. How long had it been since she’d walked past open fields, with cows grazing, occasionally lifting their heads to look at her with their large, gentle eyes? What she would not give for a walk in the open air, far away from London and Sir Douglas Drury, and the woman who sought to harm them both.…
Woman? It had been men who had attacked them.
Men could be paid.
Paid by a woman who was angry with a former lover? Who might be spiteful and jealous? Who might be enraged enough to wish to kill the lover who’d left her, as well as a rival for his affection?
Had Juliette not seen and heard enough of women to know that their jealousy could be as strong and fierce as any man’s? And that they were capable of great cruelty and malice?
She immediately got out of bed. “Is Sir Douglas at breakfast?”
“No, miss. He left at the crack o’ dawn. Lord Bromwell’s still in the dining room, though.”
Disappointed that Sir Douglas was not there, Juliette decided she could still tell Lord Bromwell her idea, so she quickly washed and submitted to Polly’s assistance with one of her new gowns. It was a very pretty day dress in bishop’s blue.
“Do you know when Sir Douglas might return?” she asked as Polly hooked the back.
“No, miss. Depends how long he’s at court, I suppose.” The maid sighed and shook her head as her hands worked with swift, deft skill. “I wouldn’t want to be questioned by Sir Douglas Drury in a courtroom, I can tell you—or anywhere else. A right terror in court, they say, although he never raises his voice or does anything theatrical like some of ‘em do. He just stands there as calm as can be and asks his questions in that voice o’ his until pretty soon, they wind up convictin’ themselves. They call him the Court Cat, you know, because even if he isn’t moving, it’s like he’s stalkin’ ‘em. Quiet, and then bang! They’re caught.”
Juliette had no trouble imagining this. “He wins most of the time?”
“He wins all of the time. The best there is at the Old Bailey.”
Once Polly was finished, Juliette left her to tidy the bedroom and walked down the long corridor toward the staircase. As she descended, she passed a footman who dutifully paused and looked at the floor. While she might get used to having somebody dress her hair, she doubted she would ever get used to the way the servants turned away when she passed, as if they were not even worthy to be seen.
She arrived in the dining room and found Lord Bromwell seated at the long table, dressed in plain clothes, reading a book, and with a plate of half-eaten eggs quietly congealing in front of him. Two footmen stood at either end of the long sideboard, where a host of covered dishes rested.
Lord Bromwell glanced up, smiled and rose in greeting. “Good morning, Miss Bergerine!” He frowned. “You look tired.”
“I had a bad dream.”
“How unfortunate! Come, have some tea. It’s just the thing to give you a little vitality. I’d steer clear of the kidneys, though.”
No need to tell her that, Juliette thought, her stomach turning at the thought of that revolting English dish. “Just toast, please,” she said, heading to the sideboard.
“Have a seat and I’ll get it,” the nobleman offered with his usual kindness.
As he set a plate with toasted bread before her, Millstone appeared at the entrance to the paneled room, a silver salver in his hand and something akin to annoyance in his eyes. “I beg your pardon, my lord. There is a gentleman here who refuses to leave, even though I told him you are at breakfast and planning to depart in an hour.”
Juliette hadn’t heard about any journey. “You are leaving?” she asked the young nobleman.
“I have to go to Newcastle for a few days. Lord Dentonbarry may contribute to my expedition, if I can make it clear to him why he should.”
Juliette couldn’t help wondering that herself. After all, what good could spiders do anyone?
Lord Bromwell grinned, looking very youthful despite the wrinkles around his eyes which were neither completely blue nor gray, and the well-fitting morning coat that accentuated his broad shoulders.
“It seems odd to you, I’m sure,” he said. “But all knowledge is useful in some way. And consider the spider’s web, Miss Bergerine. Given its size and weight, the fibres are incredibly strong, yet very flexible. If we could figure out why, it would be very useful knowledge, don’t you agree?”
She had never thought of a spider’s web as useful before. They had always been nuisances, strung across a path, or cobwebs in corners. Or things to frighten her in her dreams.
Millstone cleared his throat. “The visitor, my lord?” he prompted.
“Oh, yes.” Lord Bromwell studied the card. “Mr. Allan Gerrard. I’ve never met the man.” He raised his eyes to Millstone. “What does he want?”
“He wouldn’t say, although apparently, my lord, he was expecting Sir Douglas Drury to be here.”
Lord Bromwell brightened. “Oh, he’s probably come to see Drury,” he said, as if that made everything all right. “Didn’t you tell him Drury’s gone to his chambers?”
Millstone cleared his throat with a delicacy that would have done credit to an elderly maiden aunt. “I did, my lord. He asked when Sir Douglas would be returning, and since I have no idea, I said I didn’t know. Then he asked if your lordship and Miss Bergerine were here.”
It was clear Millstone didn’t approve of the young man, or having to interrupt Lord Bromwell at his breakfast.
Lord Bromwell didn’t seem as concerned about that as confused by the man’s request. “Miss Bergerine?” he repeated.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler replied. “I told him I would inquire if you were at home.”
A wild, hopeful notion burst into Juliette’s head. Perhaps Sir Douglas had asked this man here because he could help find Georges.
She rose swiftly. “I will be happy to meet this Mr. Gerrard.”
Lord Bromwell gave a good-natured shrug. “Very well, Miss Bergerine. Where have you put Mr. Gerrard, Millstone?”
“In the study, my lord.”
“Excellent. Come along, Miss Bergerine. Oh, and Millstone, I still intend to leave within the hour.”
Juliette had never been in the study of Lord Bromwell’s town house. Unlike the other rooms, however, it was not a pleasant chamber. It was too dark and too much the English gentleman’s, and it smelled strongly of tobacco.
A young man who’d been sitting in a heavy leather armchair got to his feet as she entered with Lord Bromwell. If this was Mr. Allan Gerrard, he was a nice-looking fellow, fair and with a pleasant smile.
“Mr. Gerrard, I presume?” Lord Bromwell said.
“Indeed, yes, I am,” he answered. “I hope
