The rest he would not miss.
‘You wished to see me, sir?’ Elliot said, having found the books their homes.
Sloane picked up the Register for 1816 and handed it to his secretary. ‘How many servants do we employ?’
Elliot placed the Register right after that for 1815. ‘There is Sparrow, your butler. Mrs Wells, the housekeeper. Cook.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘Cook’s assistant. A scullery maid. Two upstairs maids. Two footmen. And your valet, of course. That makes ten.’
‘Ten?’ Sloane almost laughed. There was a time when even one maid of all work would have been woefully out of reach.
‘Unless you wish me to include your coachman and groom, and Tommy.’
He held up his palm. ‘Ten,’ he repeated. ‘Tell me, do they employ so many next door?’
If Elliot thought this an odd question, he made no sign of it. He looked to be calculating in his head. ‘I believe they have the same number. One more lady’s maid, but no assistant to the cook.’
Sloane might marvel at how Elliot came by this information, but not much surprised him about the young man’s ability.
‘I see.’ Sloane’s brow furrowed. Either all the maids were gathered in the library at once, or there were more people in Morgana Hart’s house than Elliot knew of.
Sloane contemplated a return to his hiding place near the mews. If he watched long enough, he suspected he would be able to count the different faces, but he would be no closer to knowing why so many were there.
‘Did you wish to go through the invitations?’ Elliot asked.
An impressive stack of invitations had arrived. Sloane received more each day, a measure of the increase in members of the ton who accepted him. Though Sloane was impatient to find a way to speak to Morgana, he dutifully sat down and discussed with Elliot which to accept and which to reject.
Another delay came that afternoon when Sloane received his first caller. His nephew David came to congratulate him on his purchase of the town house. Sloane received him in the drawing room, sending for some port.
He poured them each a glass. ‘Your grandfather will not like you visiting me.’
David took a sip. ‘Grandfather will most probably not ask, but, if he does, I shall admit to calling upon you.’
Foolish boy. It would be wiser to lie.
Sloane peered in his glass. ‘You’d do better to cut me.’
David regarded him with a very serious expression. ‘I know the circumstances of your birth, Uncle, but I cannot see why you have been made to suffer for it.’
David knew? This made the young man’s friendliness even more remarkable.
But Sloane had no intention of discussing his place in the family—or lack of it. Instead, he asked David about his life. The boy’s course had been similar to his own. Sent to Eton at age nine, then on to Oxford. David continued at Oxford, reading law, whereas Sloane had escaped at eighteen, using his meagre inheritance from his mother to lose himself on the Continent. The similarities ended there.
After another glass of port, David said, ‘I thought it would be polite to call upon Miss Hart while I am in the neighbourhood, or at least leave my card if she is not receiving.’
Brilliant idea. Why had Sloane not thought of it?
Actually he had thought of it, but concluded it would cause talk if anyone saw him enter her house alone. With David it would not be remarked upon, however.
‘Perhaps I will join you,’ Sloane said.
‘Look what Mary found, Miss Hart.’ Rose handed her a small book. ‘She wanted to put it away again, but I said you would want to see it.’
Morgana opened the book to the title page. The Whoremonger’s Guide to London. ‘What is this?’ She turned the pages.
‘It has names and their direction as well.’ Mary pointed on the page. ‘I thought you might find your tutor in there.’
This was exciting indeed. Morgana glanced at the date of publication. 1803, the year she had been sent to school and her father had come to London. This must have been his book.
The idea that her father might have used this information gave Morgana a rather sick feeling. She firmly set aside that thought and made herself consider what use the book might be in her present endeavours. She quickly leafed through to see if Harriette Wilson was listed.
She was not.
‘Thank you, Rose,’ Morgana said.
Morgana had had the pianoforte moved to the library, and Rose sat down at it, playing softly. Mary sat with Katy, showing her a book, and Miss Moore put Lucy through an elocution exercise. Morgana’s grandmother sat in a rocking chair where she could see everyone. She smiled and rocked and said everything was lovely to anyone who asked.
Cripps knocked on the door. ‘Two gentlemen to see you, Miss Hart.’ Morgana strained to see if there was any change in his manner towards her since the ‘nieces’ had arrived. She was unable to tell. ‘Mr Cyprian Sloane and Mr David Sloane.’
Mr Sloane? Even though she had convinced herself he could never care for her, her heart leapt. ‘Did you put them in the drawing room?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her glance darted around the room. ‘I suppose we should serve tea. Will you see to it, Mr Cripps.’
He bowed and left the room.
Morgana told herself she could see Sloane without him discovering her other guests. She walked over to her grandmother’s chair. ‘Grandmama, would you like to receive callers with me?’
Her grandmother smiled. ‘That would be lovely, my dear.’
Morgana shoved The Whoremonger’s Guide into the pocket of her dress and helped the frail old lady to her feet. They made their laborious way to the drawing room.
The two gentlemen turned at their entrance and waited to be presented. Morgana’s eyes flew naturally to Sloane’s.
‘Grandmama, you recall our neighbour, Mr Cyprian Sloane?’ Morgana said.
‘Oh, yes,’ said her grandmother agreeably. ‘So lovely to see you, my dear.’
Morgana tried to ignore the knowing look in his eye as he took her grandmother’s bony hand in his large one and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. ‘It is my pleasure, Lady Hart.’
She presented David Sloane, and her grandmother responded to him in the same vague manner. He did not seem to notice anything amiss. Morgana prayed her grandmother would not say anything to reveal her infirmity of mind.
‘Please sit, gentlemen,’ Morgana said. ‘Cripps is bringing tea.’
She felt Sloane’s gaze boring into her
