think that Lord Stonehaven will be suspicious of your motives, no matter how he meets you? I mean, your being Selby’s sister.”
Julia smiled in a way that Phoebe found a little blood-chilling and said, “Ah, but, you see, I am not going to be me.”
Julia found her cousin alone in his apartments later that afternoon. She had wisely waited until after three to give him time to awaken, eat and get properly dressed for the day, all three occupations that required a great deal of time. When his man ushered Julia into the drawing room, bowing and intoning her name, Cousin Geoffrey looked up at her with a startled stare that reminded her forcibly of a doe spotting a hunter.
“Cousin Julia!” he exclaimed, rising politely and casting a quick, nervous glance around. “What are you doing here?”
“No way to escape, Cuz,” Julia responded cheerfully, coming forward to offer her hand. “Please, sit down. Surely we needn’t stand on ceremony.”
“No. No, of course not. Escape, indeed!” He offered a faint laugh. “As if I did not enjoy your visits to the utmost.”
Julia chuckled. “Don’t lie to me, Cousin. I remember quite well when you told me that you found my visits wearing in the extreme.”
Her cousin smiled languidly. He was a nice-looking man—a trifle plumpish around the waist, but he hid it well with waistcoats, and he boasted a nice turn of leg. Being related to them on their mother’s side, he had escaped the red hair that plagued the Armigers. Selby had often despaired of his bright carrottop hair and easily burned white skin, but Geoffrey’s hair was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a most charming smile. He dressed in the height of fashion, but never to the extremes, for he said that he found keeping up with the latest fads much too taxing. His taste was elegant, as Phoebe had said. His furnishings, like his clothes, were exquisite; his wines were always the best; and if there was a cook better than his, he would not rest until he had hunted him down—in his own lazy fashion, of course—and lured him away from his present employer. Being endowed with enough money to satisfy his expensive tastes and to ensure that he would never have to exert himself, he was a content man.
“My dearest Julia, you know that I am quite fond of you….”
“In your own way,” she interjected, smiling.
“Yes, of course. While it is true that I am a little—shall we say, wary?—of these odd paroxysms of energy that seize you at times, in general you are one of my preferred relatives.”
“Given the way you feel about most of your relatives, I am not sure how much of a compliment that is.”
“I was taken aback, though, to find you visiting me here. For one thing, it isn’t exactly done, you know, calling on a man in his bachelor quarters.”
“What else should I do?” Julia replied pragmatically. “I wanted to see you.”
“A little note dropped by to let me know you were in the city—that’s the ticket. I was quite unaware of your presence, or I would have called.”
Julia dismissed the niceties of proper behavior with a shrug. “Phoebe and I came up a few weeks ago.”
“Ah, the fair Phoebe.” Another smile creased his face. “How is that lovely creature?”
“As kind and sweet and motherly as ever. Not as sad, however. Time tempers all grief, I suppose.”
“Yes. It is only kind, you know. Otherwise, I am sure that we would not be able to live.”
“But neither she nor I have forgotten Selby.”
“Of course not. It’s not to be expected.” He was watching her more warily now, sensing that they were arriving at the meat of Julia’s quest.
“Nor have we forgiven those who drove him to his grave.”
“My dear, you sound positively Greek. Whatever are you talking about?”
“I am talking about clearing my brother’s name. I need your help to do it.”
If she had not been so intent on her mission, Julia would have laughed at the horrified widening of Geoffrey’s brown eyes.
“But, my dear cousin, you know I am not much good at this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing? You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask.”
“I mean revenge and all that. Ferreting out clues, finding the guilty party.”
“You won’t have to do much,” Julia assured him. “I just need you to get me inside one of the nicer gaming establishments. Madame Beauclaire’s, to be exact.”
Geoffrey’s eyes now looked as if they might pop right out of his head. “Have you gone mad! A lady at a gambling hell!”
“I wouldn’t call it a hell, would you? I know Selby used to go there, and he said it was quite a genteel establishment. He said that there were even ladies who attended.”
“There are females there,” Geoffrey admitted. “There are even sometimes a woman or two of the ton—but never one who is young and unmarried. Most of the women you would find there are, well, uh…”
“Loose?” Julia suggested.
“Really, Julia, you must stop these frank ways of yours if you are ever to get anywhere in Society.”
“And that, dear cousin, is something we both know will never occur. Not after what happened to Selby.”
He sighed. “I know. It’s a terrible thing. I wish there were something I could do about it….” He shrugged eloquently.
“There is. You can escort me to Madame Beauclaire’s. One cannot get in without an invitation, I’ve heard. I am sure that you would always have an invitation.”
“Of course.” He looked slightly offended that there could be any doubt about the matter. “However, I rarely go. Gambling is so taxing, I find. All that tension—the fear of losing, the excitement of winning. Just watching some of those poor devils is enough to tire me.” When Julia said nothing, merely continued to watch him, he sighed and continued, “What good will it do, anyway? How can your going to Madame Beauclaire’s clear Selby’s name?”
“Lord Stonehaven goes there—so I have heard.” Julia refrained from mentioning that she had observed him entering the small, elegant house on three different occasions—twice with a beautiful woman on his arm. “I need to speak with him.”
Geoffrey groaned. “You’re not going to confront Stonehaven in the middle of Madame Beauclaire’s, are you? It wouldn’t be at all the thing, you know.”
“I’m not that dead to propriety, Geoffrey. I don’t intend to confront the man at all. I simply want to talk to him.”
“If you hope to persuade him that Selby didn’t do it, I must warn you that I think it’s a lost cause. The evidence was overwhelming—those letters Selby wrote, his using that name….”
The trust that Selby had been accused of stealing from had been set up for Thomas St. Leger,
