now. Run along.”
Dismissed like an errant schoolboy.
Samuel bit down on a scathing retort. He might have need of this jeweller at a later time and he’d best not antagonise him. Back out on the pavement, he scanned the street for Lord Cavanley, but too much time had passed and the man was gone.
Samuel pushed his hat more firmly upon his head and turned in the direction of The New Observer offices. He planned to learn all he could about this Lord Cavanley. He’d start with old issues of their rival newspapers saved for just such a purpose.
Adrian dashed to a line of hackney coaches. “Thomas Coutts and Company on the Strand, if you please.” He climbed in and leaned back against the leather seat.
At that last shop Mr Gray had confirmed what Adrian had suspected. Lydia had sold her jewels.
A lady did not resort to selling her jewels unless she was in desperate need of money. No matter her protestations to him, she was skimping on coal and candles, he was certain of it.
It rankled Adrian that Levenhorne and Wexin’s trustee, a banker of considerable wealth, would allow an earl’s wife to exist in such poverty. If her parents and brother were abroad and her sister forbidden to assist her, to whom could the lady turn for help?
Adrian had no connection to her, nor any obligation. It would certainly be commented upon if he stepped forwards to assist her, but assist her he would. In secret.
He smiled as the hackney coach swayed and bounced over the cobbled streets. At least he’d found something of interest to occupy his time. Solving the puzzle that was Lydia and easing her troubles seemed a better purpose than seating himself at a card table, checking out good horseflesh or, God forbid, entangling himself with Viola Denson. It mattered not one whit to Adrian that no one would know of it, least of all Lydia.
Although a part of him would not mind having Lydia look upon him with sapphire eyes filled with gratitude.
He shook that thought away. The coach passed Charing Cross as it turned into the Strand, and Adrian had a whiff of the Thames. He mulled over his plan until the hack stopped in front of Thomas Coutts and Company, a bank favoured by aristocrats and royalty. Adrian climbed down from the hack and paid its jarvey. He entered the bank.
In the marbled and pillared hall Adrian approached an attendant and identified himself. “I wish to speak with Mr Coutts. He is expecting me, I believe.”
Earlier that morning Adrian had sent a message to Mr Coutts, telling of his intention to call.
The attendant escorted him to a chair and returned shortly to lead him to Mr Coutts’s office.
As Adrian entered the room, the old gentleman rose from his seat behind a polished mahogany desk. “Ah, Lord Cavanley.”
Adrian extended his hand. “Mr Coutts, it is a pleasure. Thank you for seeing me.”
Coutts gestured for Adrian to sit. “Your note indicated that you wished to discuss Lord Wexin’s estate?” The man looked wary.
Adrian smiled. “On behalf of a friend.”
Mr Coutts nodded. “It is a trying affair, but I suspect there is little I might do for you. Allow me to direct you to Wexin’s solicitor, who is tending to the entire matter.”
“I would be grateful.”
“Delighted,” said Mr Coutts. “And how is your father? And the Marquess of Tannerton?”
Adrian responded, accustomed to people asking him about Tanner. In fact, in this situation, he’d counted upon it. Mr Coutts scribbled the direction of Wexin’s solicitor on a sheet of paper and handed it to Adrian.
The solicitor’s office was close by and Adrian quickly found the building and entered. A moment later he had been admitted to the man’s office.
The solicitor was a younger man, near Adrian’s age, but obviously trusted with a great deal more responsibility. His desk was littered with papers that he hurriedly stacked into neat piles at Adrian’s entrance.
“I am Mr Newton, my lord,” he said.
Adrian shook his hand and explained his purpose, stressing it was at the behest of a friend that he inquired about Lady Wexin’s financial affairs.
Adrian’s intention was to imply to Mr Newton that Lydia’s benefactor was Tanner, not Adrian. It was widely known that Tanner was a generous man, the sort of man who would assist Wexin’s widow. No one would suspect the frivolous Adrian Pomroy of such a thing.
“I am certain you understand that my friend—” Adrian emphasised the word friend “—does not wish his name to be known. He fears the lady would refuse his assistance. My friend would say, however, that it is the right thing for him to do for her.”
Because Tanner had been instrumental in exposing Wexin as a murderer, it was not too much of a leap of the imagination to think that Tanner might feel an obligation to assist Wexin’s innocent widow. In fact, Tanner would be very willing to assist Lydia, if he knew she needed help. He was that kind of man.
Mr Newton blinked rapidly. “Of course, sir.”
Adrian nodded. “The mar—my friend, I mean—” he smiled “—sent me in his stead. He is anxious to discover if Lady Wexin has any financial difficulty and, if so, charges me to see it remedied.”
“I do understand.” Newton gestured to a chair and waited for Adrian to sit. “Would you care for tea?”
“No, thank you.” Adrian lowered himself into the chair. “Tell me about Wexin’s finances.”
Newton rubbed his face. “Wexin’s debts, you mean.” He peered atAdrian. “We speak in complete confidence, I presume.”
“Indeed,” Adrian agreed.
“Because even Lord Levenhorne does not know how bad it is.” Newton leaned over the desk. “There is nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Worse than nothing. The townhouse is mortgaged to the hilt. There is only the entailed property, but even that is mortgaged, and it provides nothing to Lady Wexin. There is no money for Lady Wexin’s widow’s portion. I do not know how she is getting on. I have been unable to give her any funds at all.” His hand fluttered. “She assures me she is able to manage, but I do not see how.”
Adrian’s chest constricted. “It is as I—we—feared.” He straightened in his chair. “Tell us what needs to be done.”
Newton pulled out a wooden box, opened the lid, and lifted out a handful of small pieces of paper, letting them flow through his fingers like water. “Gentlemen have sent their vowels.” He picked up a stack of papers. “Shopkeepers have delivered their bills—”
Adrian had no interest in Wexin’s debts. His purpose here was solely for Lydia. “What was the marriage settlement supposed to provide Lady Wexin?”
Newton closed the lid of the box. “In the event of Wexin’s death, she was to receive the amount of her dower and the Mayfair townhouse.”
Adrian
