ma’am. No trouble at all. Would you like me to escort you?’
‘Oh, no, thank you, Mr Todd. I’m most grateful to you, but I have not far to go and Isabelle will carry me.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll hold her while you climb aboard. There now. Good night to you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Ginny,’ she said, realising at once that her voice was not in accord with her appearance. ‘Ginny Hodge. Good night to you, Mr Todd.’ She fumbled for the reins and kicked Isabelle into action, swaying and tipping over the puddles as her body, already aching with bruises, tried to stay upright. Once or twice she felt compelled to turn and look over her shoulder into the solid blackness and driving rain, though mostly her troubled thoughts were for the woman she had let down who would now believe the worst of her sort of people, as others apparently did. Perhaps she should have been a little less bountiful with her promises, a little more suspicious of people’s need to be helped. She had learned to be more philosophical over the last few years, but the disappointments of the day were felt more keenly than her bruises during the uncomfortable journey home and well into the small hours. It was at such times that she missed Josiah’s fatherly counselling most of all.
Sheen Court, Richmond, Home of the Marquess of Sheen
A guarded tap on the door of the study was answered by a gruff monosyllable and the lowering of a pen on to the leather-covered desk. A single candle guttered in the draught as the door opened and closed.
‘Any luck?’ was the quiet greeting.
The visitor allowed himself a half-smile. ‘Yes, my lord. I believe we may have something.’ He held up a wet embroidered reticule, the drawstrings of which had been pulled wide open. ‘It was not so fortunate for the woman, a certain Ginny Hodge, mind you. She got herself mugged by a thieving old dowd at the workhouse gates and lost the contents of this.’ He laid the bag on the desk before his lordship and watched as the long fingers drew out the remaining objects one by one: a blue glass perfume bottle with a silver stopper, a damp laceedged handkerchief of very superior quality, and a tortoiseshell and silver filigree card-case, which opened to reveal one single card.
This was removed and studied in silence for what seemed to the visitor like an extraordinarily long time before his lordship shook his head with a grunt of disbelief in his throat. ‘Well…well!’ he whispered. ‘Was this…Ginny Hodge…hurt by the mugging?’
‘I think not too seriously, sir. I followed her home to Paradise Road. One of the big newish houses. She went in by the back way, but she didn’t sound like a servant to me, sir.’
Raising himself from his chair, his lordship went over to the side table, poured a glass of whisky and handed it to his informant. ‘Drink that,’ he said, ‘and get into something dry. You’ve done well.’
‘Thank you, my lord. Shall you need the coach in the morning?’
‘No, the crane-neck phaeton. Good night, Todd.’
‘Good night, my lord. Thank you.’ The empty glass was exchanged for a silver coin, and the door was closed as quietly as it had been opened. But it was much later when the candle was at last extinguished and Lord Nicholas Elyot, swinging the reticule like a trophy, ascended the staircase at Sheen Court.
Chapter Two
By breakfast, Lord Elyot’s surprise had mellowed and a plan of action had already begun to form in his mind about how best to proceed, given that his father’s instructions would require some readjustment. To the genteel rattle of newspapers and the clatter of cutlery on plates, he had consulted his brother about the day ahead, though his suggestion had not been received as favourably as he’d hoped.
‘Nick,’ said Lord Rayne, laying down his knife, ‘if I’d known you’d hauled me back to Richmond to be wet-nurse to a green chit, I’d have stayed in London. You know I’d do anything for you, but this is a fudge if ever I saw one.’ He laid down his crisp white napkin with rather more force than was necessary and sat back, still chewing. ‘She’s only just out of the schoolroom, dammit!’
‘It’s not a fudge,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I mean it. And I’m not asking you to marry the child, only that you keep her happy while I—’
‘While you keep Lady Chester happy. Thank you, but I have a better idea. You take the frilly one and I’ll take the diamond. How’s that?’
Lord Elyot reached for the marmalade-pot and heaped a spoonful of it on to his toast. ‘Two good reasons. One is that you’re not her type. Second is that you don’t have the time. You’ll be a member of His Majesty’s fighting force soon, don’t forget.’
‘Not her type? And you are, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’ The bite into the toast was decisive.
Reluctantly, Lord Rayne was obliged to admit that his elder brother would succeed with Lady Chester if any man could, for it would take a cold woman to be unaffected by his darkly brooding good looks and the singular manner of his total concentration upon what she had to say. Which was not the usual way of things. As to the time he would need, Nick was right about that, too. The lady’s response to him had been polite, but far from enthusiastic, and he would need both time and help to gain a more lasting interest. ‘What’s it worth to you?’ he said.
Lord Elyot’s pained expression was partly for his brother’s mercenary train of thought and partly for the messy nature of toast and marmalade. ‘I’m doing you a favour, sapskull,’ he snapped. ‘The child’s a pert little thing, not a dimwit. Pretty eyes, rough round the edges, but you could have the pleasure of working on that. She’d not resent it. She’ll be a little cracker by the end of the season and then you can leave her to somebody else. A built-in escape route. What more d’ye want, lad?’
‘Cattle. I shall need three or four good mounts to take with me.’
‘What happened to your allowance?’
‘You know what happened to it or I’d not be on a repairing-lease in the country, would I?’
‘All right. Four good mounts it is. For your help, Seton.’
‘For my full…unstinting…liberal and generous help. When can we go and look at them?’
‘We’ll look at the women today. This morning. We’ll take my new crane-neck phaeton out. You can drive.’ Lord Elyot leaned back, satisfied.
‘Just one detail, Nick. How d’ye know there isn’t a husband there somewhere?’
‘I made enquiries.’
‘You don’t waste much time, do you? And what about this urgent business for Father? Where does that come in?’
‘That’s in hand, too,’ he said, ‘but I want you to keep that very much to yourself, Seton, if you will. A word about that in the wrong ear can send them up like pheasants.’
The particular pheasant Lord Elyot had in mind was already flying at a steady pace along the edge of Richmond Park in a coffee-and-cream phaeton. The driver of this neat little turn-out had evasion in mind, but her passenger was on the lookout for the merest
