that as it may, he is not doing you any favours by serving all those heavy sauces and rich desserts,’ Barrington pointed out. ‘If you wish to be quicker on your feet, the weight will have to come off. In fact, I have a solution.’
‘I’m not sure I wish to hear it,’ Tom muttered.
‘Of course you do. I shall take Monsieur Etienne off your hands for a few weeks and you can have Mrs Buckers. I guarantee your clothes will fit better after only three days.’
‘Perhaps, but I won’t care because Jenny will have left me.’
Barrington clapped his brother-in-law on the back. ‘A man must sacrifice for his sport. Ah, there you are, Sam. Has my two o’clock appointment arrived?’
‘Not yet, Sir Barrington,’ the secretary said, ‘but another gentleman has and is asking to see you. I put him in your study.’
Barrington nodded. A visitor in his study meant one of his network had come in with information. Friends he welcomed in the gold salon. Any one else was made to wait in the hall until he had ascertained the nature of their business. He did not purport to be a private investigator, but, because of his past successes, there were those who sought him out regardless.
‘Thank you, Sam. Tell the gentleman I shall be there directly.’ He turned to smile at his brother-in-law. ‘Sorry to cut it short, Tom …’
‘No need to apologise. You’re a busy man, and, in truth, I’ve taken all the humiliation I can for one day,’ Tom said good-naturedly. ‘Before I go, however, Jenny wanted me to find out if you were available for dinner one night this week. She misses you dreadfully and even young George was heard to say it has been a great deal too long since his Uncle Barr came to play with him.’
Barrington’s pleasure was unfeigned. ‘Tell my sister I shall make a point of coming one evening this week, and then inform my nephew that I shall be sure to arrive early enough to play two games of hide and seek with him.’
‘He will not sleep for the knowledge,’ Tom said, starting for the door. ‘By the by, I should warn you that you won’t be the only guest.’
Barrington groaned. ‘Don’t tell me Jenny’s matchmaking again?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Who is it this time?’ He sighed.
‘Lady Alice Stokes.’
Barrington dug into his memory. ‘Lady Alice—?’
‘Stokes. Eldest daughter of the Earl of Grummond,’ Tom supplied helpfully. ‘Beautiful, cultured and an heiress in her own right. Jenny thinks she would be perfect for you.’
‘That’s what she said about the last three ladies she introduced me to and they were all unmitigated disasters.’
‘True, but at least you wouldn’t have to worry about Lady Alice marrying you for your money. Or for your title,’ Tom pointed out.
True enough, Barrington conceded. An earl’s daughter could do much better than a baronet, and if she had her own money, his wouldn’t be as much of an attraction. ‘Very well, you may tell my sister I shall come on Friday. That should give her ample time to put everything in place.’
‘You’re a brick, Barrington,’ Tom said in relief. ‘I was afraid you’d bow out if I told you the truth, but I didn’t like the idea of you being caught off guard.’
‘Rest assured, I shall be the perfect guest,’ Barrington said. ‘And you need not fear retribution from my sister. I shall act suitably surprised when the beautiful Lady Alice and I are introduced.’
‘You are a gentleman in every sense of the word.’
‘Just don’t let me hear any mention of the words engagement or marriage or I shall be forced to renege on my promise,’ he warned.
Tom grinned. ‘I shall do my utmost to make sure you do not.’
They parted on the best of terms; Tom to return to his happy home, Barrington to return to his study to find out what new information had come to light. While there might be more comfort in the former, he was not of a mind to complicate his life by taking a wife. Investigating the underhanded dealings of others was hardly conducive to forming intimate relations with gently reared young ladies. It was neither the occupation of a gentleman nor what he’d planned on doing when he’d returned to London after his father’s death.
However, when an unfortunate set of circumstances involving two of his father’s friends and a large sum of money had forced him into the role, Barrington had discovered a unique talent for uncovering the hidden bits of information others could not. His carefully cultivated network of acquaintances, many of whom held positions of power and even more who held positions of knowledge, made it easy for him to find out what he needed to know and, over time, he had established himself as a man who was able to find solutions for people’s problems.
Naturally, as word of his reputation had spread, so had his list of enemies, many of them the very men he had helped to expose. Beneath society’s elegant and sophisticated façade lurked a far more dangerous element—one comprised of men to whom honour and truth meant nothing. Men who were motivated by greed and who routinely committed crimes against their fellow man.
Hence Barrington’s wish to remain single. While he could be reasonably assured of his own safety, he knew that if his enemies tried to get to him through the woman he loved, he would have no choice but to comply with their demands. The unscrupulous did not trouble themselves with morals when it came to getting what they wanted.
That’s why he had taken to avoiding situations that might place him in such an awkward situation. He existed on the fringes of society, close enough to be aware of what was going on, but far enough away that he wasn’t seen as potential husband material. So far it had worked out well, much to the annoyance of his happily married sister. He was able to assist the people who came to him with problems, while avoiding the complications that came with marriage.
Now, as he headed to his study, Barrington wondered which of the sins was about to be revealed and who would be thrown out of Eden as a result. Paradise was sometimes a very difficult place in which to live.
‘Ah, Richard,’ he said, opening the door to see his good friend, Lord Richard Crew, standing at the far end of the room, his attention focused on a particularly fine painting by Stubbs that covered a large part of the end wall. ‘Still hoping I’ll sell it to you?’
‘Hope has nothing to do with it,’ Crew murmured. ‘Eventually, I’ll name a price you won’t be able to refuse.’
‘Don’t be too sure. I’ve rejected every offer you’ve put forward so far.’
‘Fine. I’ll make you another before I leave today.’
Barrington smiled as he moved towards his desk. Lord Richard Crew was an ardent lover of horse flesh and owned more paintings by Stubbs, Tillemans and Seymour than any other gentleman in London. Quietly picking them up as they came available for sale, he had amassed an impressive collection—with the exception of Whistlejacket, a magnificent painting of a prancing Arabian thoroughbred commissioned by the Marquess of Rockingham and acknowledged by many to be one of Stubbs’s finest. That was
