Sebastian glanced at Drake. “I shouldn’t think so.” He looked back at Basil. “Especially if we can get some idea of what was behind it.”
“Well”—Basil gestured—“living as he was, a hand-to-mouth existence, borrowing off everyone and never paying it back. Playing fast and loose with money and anything else he could lay his hands on.” Basil snorted. “Could be anyone he’d borrowed from.”
A few paces away, Michael was listening to Lawton’s three brothers-in-law. The consensus there was that Lawton was simply a bad egg—it happened in the best of families. All three agreed that the fact he was—had been—charming had only allowed his borrowing and spending to continue more or less unabated.
“Irresponsible and without shame,” one stated. “That should be engraved on his tombstone.”
“Hawesley did his best,” another opined. “You can’t say he didn’t. He bought Lawton his commission, yet what did Lawton do? Served for barely a year, then sold out and squandered the cash.”
“It was after that,” the third of the trio stated, “that Hawesley cried enough. That was…what?” He glanced at the other two for assistance. “Seven years ago?”
They all agreed it was something like that.
“Since then,” the first man intoned, “we’ve seen increasingly little of him. He occasionally honored us with his presence at a family gathering, but he was always there for only one purpose.”
“To try to touch us, or Hawesley, or his sisters or mother for more money,” the second man supplied.
“Or to try to get us to wager on something,” the third reminded them, “even though he couldn’t possibly have paid up if he’d lost!”
On the longer sofa, Lawton’s three sisters were transparently shocked and saddened. But the eldest, Harriet, next to whom Antonia was sitting, was already recovering. Glancing across at her still-weeping mother, Harriet’s face hardened. “As Mama said, Lawton brought about his own end, ignominious as it was. He never would shape up—he always just laughed…” Her words trailed away.
The next sister in age, Gloria, seated in the middle, shook herself. “We all know he went his own way quite purposefully, and he sneered at any suggestion he should lift a finger in honest effort, and he certainly went through more of Papa’s money than should have been allowed.” She glanced at Harriet. “We might have a duty to mourn and feel sorry for him, but does he deserve it?”
A moot point, it seemed.
Gathered behind the sofa, Hawesley’s daughters-in-law, far from mourning Lawton, had made several cynical and dismissive comments which might be accurately described as them giving voice to their relief that the black sheep of the family and the threat of scandal he had personified were no more. Louisa, listening to everything she could while seated in the corner of the sofa beside Lawton’s youngest sister, Aileen, heard the three daughters-in-law move on to discussing the latest exploits of their offspring.
Deeming the daughters-in-law to be of no further interest, Louisa waited patiently for Aileen to pull herself together. Several years older than Louisa or even Antonia, Aileen was patently sincerely upset. As Louisa watched, Aileen calmed enough to draw in a deeper breath, then turned to her sisters. “I know he was a bad egg. But he was always kind. You have to admit that.”
Harriet pulled a face, but didn’t disagree.
Gloria gruffly conceded, “True—he was kind, or at least he used to be. But even you have to agree he’d grown harder of late. Gradually, bit by bit, ever since he sold out.”
Aileen nodded glumly and went back to staring at her hands, at her fingers twisting her now-sodden handkerchief.
Across the three sisters, Antonia caught Louisa’s gaze and arched a brow.
Louisa looked again at Aileen. “Had you”—she flicked a glance at the other two to include them—“seen him recently?” When none of the three answered, she went on, “Had he said anything—mentioned anything at all—about the people he was spending time with? Or about any scheme to make money?”
Harriet and Gloria frowned in a puzzled way.
“We have to wonder,” Louisa explained, “given he was so hard-pressed for funds, if he’d gone looking for ways to make money, and perhaps he fell in with the wrong sort of people, and that was, in effect, the reason he was killed.”
After a moment of consulting their memories, Harriet and Gloria shook their heads. Harriet added, “I haven’t seen him, much less met him, for weeks—indeed, months.”
Gloria nodded in agreement.
“I ran into him not long ago.” Her gaze still on the twist of her handkerchief, Aileen cleared her throat and continued, “I was walking in Bond Street about a week—no, two weeks—back. He was sauntering about, looking in the windows. I ribbed him that he couldn’t possibly afford the prices there, and…he winked and tapped the side of his nose, and said…” She frowned. “Something about needing to keep up with what was on offer as he had high hopes of securing an inheritance quite soon.”
“An inheritance?” Harriet straightened. “From whom, pray tell?”
“I asked him, of course,” Aileen went on, “but he just grinned—you know how he did when he refused to share a secret—and said it wasn’t anyone I knew.” She sighed. “And then he just smiled even more devilishly, tipped me a salute, and walked off.” She caught her breath on a sob. “I can still see him…”
Her tears flowed again, and this time, her sisters gathered her in. Louisa rose, and Harriet moved to take her place, sandwiching Aileen between herself and Gloria, and the trio hugged and comforted each other.
Antonia came to join Louisa. They exchanged glances, then turned to Drake.
He’d been waiting, watching from across the room; he met their gazes, nodded, and moved to the bellpull. The Chilburns had disclosed all they were likely to; it was time for them to be allowed to go home.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1850
CHAPTER 18
L ady Herrick and her butler rose to the occasion and, with sympathy and sensitivity, arranged for the family’s various carriages to be summoned to a side door, thus enabling the bereaved to leave without having to weather the full glare of the ton’s curiosity.
As soon as her ladyship ushered the last couple out of the drawing room and down the corridor to the side door, Drake shut the drawing room door and turned to the others. “I didn’t learn anything beyond what we might already have inferred.”
He glanced at Sebastian and Michael, who grimaced and confirmed that they had fared no better, then Drake turned to Cleo.
Still seated in the corner of the sofa, she said, “I don’t think Lady Hawesley knows anything that might help us. I got the impression she’d grown to distrust and censure Lawton to much the same degree as his father. She seemed to see Lawton’s character quite clearly and had been disappointed in him for some time.”
Drake nodded and turned his gaze on Louisa and Antonia, who were plainly all but bursting with news. “Clearly, you two had better luck. What did you hear?”
Swiftly, Louisa related Lawton’s youngest sister’s revelations. She added, “I think it’s significant that she found him looking in the windows—he was already behaving as if, as he said, he was anticipating an inheritance before he knew she was there. It wasn’t something he made up out of the blue to tease her.”
Drake inclined his head. “Good point.” He paused, frowning, then said, “But none of the sisters knew anything about who might be leaving him this inheritance, and he said it wasn’t anyone they knew.”
“I’ll ask Grandmama and Lady Osbaldestone. One of them is sure to know—” Louisa broke off, then grimaced. “Assuming, of course, that it’s a family connection or something similar.”
“An inheritance,” Sebastian said, moving to sit beside Antonia, who had subsided onto the long sofa again, “can be directed from anyone to anyone. It doesn’t have to be via family.”
“Worse,” Drake said, “Lawton might have been working for some merchant or even for some cr
iminal, and ‘an inheritance’ is the phrase he opted to use to describe the payment he believed he would shortly receive.”
Michael had sat beside Cleo; he leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees. “A disguise of sorts to account for a sudden windfall.”
Frowning, Louisa resumed her position on the long sofa. “But in terms of concealment, his family, surely, would know that none of their connections had been Lawton’s benefactor. Wouldn’t that still raise questions, at least with them?”
“It might.” Drake moved to sit on the chaise beside Michael, opposite Louisa. “But as we’ve just seen, Lawton was largely estranged from his family, and labeling such a payment as an inheritance…” Drake leaned back and crossed his legs. “To his family, he could claim it was an inheritance from an old friend whose life he’d once saved. To his acquaintances, he says the money’s from a family connection.”
“Possibly.” Still frowning, Louisa said, “Regardless, just in case he meant it literally, I’ll ask Grandmama.”
Drake inclined his head. “By all means, check. At this stage, we can’t afford to ignore any possible clues.” He glanced at the others, then at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Yesterday’s gone. Today…we have Cleo and Michael asking at the Southwark breweries to see if any are missing men.”
“First”—Cleo glanced at Michael—“we’ll check with Ollie March.” To the others, she said, “He’s the old Hendon Shipping Company gunnery officer I mentioned. I don’t know where he lives, but it’s likely to be somewhere not too far away, and the address will be in the office. If we go to the office first thing in the morning, we can visit Ollie, just in case he can suggest some way of disguising gunpowder, and then we can check at the breweries.”
Michael nodded.
Drake did, too. “So that’s you two.” He shifted his gaze to Sebastian and Antonia.
Antonia promptly stated, “We have a full day of events.” She glanced at Sebastian, who winced.
“Regardless,” Drake said, “while you’re rubbing shoulders with the most gregarious of the ton, monitor the gossip—which will doubtless be circulating by then—about Lawton’s death. Someone who isn’t family might know something or have seen Lawton with someone suspicious… We’re casting in the dark here and need to seize every opportunity.”
Sebastian and Antonia nodded, and Drake finally turned his gaze to Louisa.
Mildly, he suggested, “We were intending to check at Chartist headquarters again, in case their search through their membership has turned up any other missing men, but I can do that myself, and in light of your findings this evening, perhaps following up with your Grandmama and her visitor might be a wiser use of your time.”
He could hope.
He didn’t hope for long.
Louisa’s distracting eyes widened as if she remained in complete and utter ignorance of his tactics. “I can’t see how that will work. You might not have noticed, but Grandmama and Lady Osbaldestone were here tonight. And if they’ve been out in the evening, they do not—absolutely will not, no matter who asks—receive before luncheon, and that’s generally rather late. I’ll get more help from them in the afternoon.” She smiled, as eager and innocent as a happy puppy. “So I’ll be free to accompany you to the Working Men’s Association.” Her brows faintly rose in challenge. “And you must admit, the men have been more forthcoming with me there.”
Drake wished, very much, that he could deny that, but… His features tightening, he forced himself to nod. “Very well. I’ll call for you at eight-thirty.”
As one, all six of them looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. The hands declared the time was nearly one o’clock.
Michael blew out a breath and looked at Cleo. “I believe we’ll call it a night.”
Cleo nodded and picked up her reticule. Sebastian and Antonia voiced their intention of heading home as well, and all six rose and strolled to the door.
In the front hall, at the base of the stairs, Sebastian, Antonia, Michael, and Cleo collected Antonia’s and Cleo’s cloaks and bade farewell to Louisa and Drake.
When the other four had vanished into the night and the footmen had closed the doors, and Louisa still stood, apparently lost in thought, Drake inwardly sighed and asked, “What are your plans?”
She glanced at him—almost as if she’d forgotten he was there; in her eyes, he saw calculation, but not of the dangerous kind. “I was thinking… The news of Lawton’s death will have started to circulate upstairs by now. People will have been curious as to why the Hawesleys and all their family were summoned like that, then left without returning to the ballroom. No matter how discreet Lady Herrick and her staff have been, someone will have seen something, someone will have overheard something.” Raising her head, she stated, “If we truly are pursuing every avenue, then I really should spend another hour or two in the ballroom—you never know what I might hear, or what someone will think to tell me.”
One of his least favorite places was a crowded, inevitably noisy ballroom. He imagined the peaceful ambiance of his apartment in Wolverstone House with genuine longing.
Apparently reading his face—something few others were able to do— Louisa widened her eyes at him. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t need an escort, and I have my carriage.”
She was right; she didn’t require an escort. She warranted a keeper.
He heard himself somewhat gratingly state, “If you learn anything, I’ll need to know. And I’ll need to question whoever you learn it from, so…” He turned and waved her up the stairs.
The damned woman smiled understandingly—she understood far too much—then gathered her full skirts and started up the long flight.
He kept pace beside her, up the stairs and back into the milling throng still filling the ballroom.
It was soon borne in on them both, even more than before, that appearing as a couple was escalating speculation to a near frenzy. She was the only daughter of the ducal house of St. Ives, while he was the heir to a wealthy dukedom who, socially speaking, had played least in sight for nearly a decade.
Even worse than the gossipmongers, the grandes dames themselves were leveling narrow-eyed, measuring glances at them.
Louisa wasn’t all that perturbed; she was a social adept and had no difficulty deflecting any impertinent inquiry. As for suggestive comments, she allowed those to fly past, responding as if the words had been intended literally, a tactic that confounded and frustrated the overly inquisitive.
What she wasn’t quite so happy about was the impact of Drake’s looming presence at her shoulder on the loquacity of those she could normally count on to whisper the latest on-dit or scandalous tidbit in her ear. With him there, broodingly menacing, her customarily reliable sources wouldn’t even risk leaning close!
When Sir Timothy Gavel, an exceedingly well-connected and garrulous gentleman she could usually rely on to have an inside line on the most recent gossip, became so transfixed by Drake’s presence that he turned all but incoherent—literally gabbled!—then made the most ridiculous excuse and fled, she had had enough.
Maintaining a relaxed expression, she sank her fingertips into Drake’s sleeve, ignored the fluttery sensation in her stomach at the feel of steely muscles shifting beneath the fabric, and all but towed him into an alcove partially screened by two huge potted palms. Then she released him and swung to face him. “You”—she jabbed a finger at his chest—“are unnerving people. You’re frightening them off!”
He looked at her with haughty arrogance. “I’ve neither said nor done anything to interfere with your rather peculiar methods of interrogation.”
“With my usually successful methods—and you interfere just by being there!”
“Nonsense! If they had anything of substance to say—”
“The last person they would air it in front of is you! No one here knows how to take you. You’ve avoided society for so long, no one feels they have your measure. Most know you by name and
title, but almost all will have heard whispers enough to make them uneasy. The ladies would like to engage, but aren’t sure if it’s safe, while the gentlemen are wary because they’ve heard one too many rumors.” She glared at his expression of unperturbed superiority and delivered the most damning indictment of which she could conceive. “When it comes to collecting information among the ton, you are a liability, my lord.”
That struck home. His lips tightened; a muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. After several seconds during which she held to her glare, he spoke—so evenly she knew she’d flicked his temper. “So what would you have me do?”
With full dramatic fervor, she raised her hands and gripped her hips. “Literally everyone in sight of us is watching. They’ll imagine, correctly, that we’re having an argument. That gives you the perfect opportunity to retreat to the cardroom.” She took half a step back and waved her hands at him—literally shooing him away. “So go!”
Drake wanted to do something quite different. For several seconds, he stared back at her, his gaze locked unrelentingly with hers as the demands of his mission clashed with a set of far more fundamental needs. Far more visceral wants.
But the mission had to come first. Drawing in a long, slow breath, he carefully enunciated, “Very well. Come and find me when you’re finished.”
Hardening his resolve—battling his own deep-seated resistance—he hauled his gaze from hers, turned, ducked out from behind the palms, and stalked toward the archway that gave onto the cardroom.
Even he noticed that, after one glance at his face, people quickly got out of his way.
From her position behind the palms, Louisa watched him go; until his verbal capitulation, she hadn’t known if he would. He’d been considering—quite definitely weighing up—doing something else. Exactly what, she couldn’t guess, but his inner debate had been etched clearly enough in the beaten gold of his eyes.
Viewing his broad back as he retreated through the crowd, she slowly arched her brows. Then she glanced around. He’d given her the clear field she’d demanded; now it was up to her to make good on her boast and learn something worth the angst.
The Greatest Challenge of Them All Page 13