“Marigold. You know I hold you, and your intelligence, in high regard.” He hoped she did not hear the pleading in his voice, only the sincerity of his words. He had truly grown to appreciate her intellect.
She studied him for a minute. “All right. Since I am such a very nice person, I will give you my opinion on the book.”
Jonathan held his hand up. “Wait a minute, I don’t want your opinion, I want to know what the book was about.”
Marigold raised her chin and offered him a slight, devilish smile. “It is either my opinion, my lord, or no opinion at all.”
***
Marigold thoroughly enjoyed having Jonathan at her mercy. Not that she was a mean person by nature, but for some inexplicable reason, she loved teasing him. He was so pompous at times, and so arrogant in his know-it-all attitude that she loved watching him squirm.
All right. Perhaps she did have her mean side.
She barely got the information out before Lord Dunkirk called the meeting to order. As per their plan, she and Jonathan went their separate ways and sat on opposite sides of the room. She was impressed more than she wanted to be when he led the meeting on the book. He managed to put out her opinions but made them seem as his own.
Smart man.
Once they were settled in the carriage and on their way to her house, Jonathan pulled a blanket out from under his seat and handed it to her. “It’s grown quite chilly with the rain, you might as well be warm. I asked the driver to go slowly so we can discuss whatever information we have gleaned.”
Of course, Marigold could think of several other ways they could keep warm, but since Jonathan seemed to be all business, and excited to tell her something, she tamped down her disappointment.
“I take it from your demeanor that you are not only pleased at having bamboozled the members of the society on how much you enjoyed the book we just discussed, and never read, but you have information for me on the journal.”
“Yes. And I didn’t bamboozle them.” He winked at her. “I had a very intelligent woman prepare me for the discussion.”
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Well done, Lord Stanley.”
Jonathan leaned forward. “It turns out Dr. Paglia had a partner, cohort, whatever one wishes to call him. They worked together on some of the discoveries that Paglia is credited with. From what I was told this evening by Mr. Wedgewood, who seemed to be quite familiar with the story, Dr. Paglia, and his partner, Dr. Stevenson parted ways about five years ago for unknown reasons.”
Marigold sat back and considered what he’d just said. “That is quite interesting, indeed.”
“What is even more interesting is Dr. Stevenson returned to England from an extensive visit abroad very soon after Dr. Paglia died.”
“Did he travel to the continent after their break?”
“Wedgewood seemed to think so. It was discussed in their circles that their falling out had something to do with their work together, although that was never fully determined. Soon after the break, Dr. Paglia retired to his estate in Cornwall where he spent the last years of his life.”
“Writing in his journal.” Marigold digested all that information, leading her to a question. “Were any other findings attributed to Dr. Paglia after his break with Dr. Stevenson?”
Jonathan looked at her with a new sense of respect. “You are thinking precisely what I was thinking. That perhaps the discoveries credited to Dr. Paglia were actually the work of Stevenson.”
“That did cross my mind. Did you find out if there were?”
Jonathan shrugged. “A few others, but nothing as notable as the ones recorded during the years they shared their partnership.”
Marigold stared out the window of the carriage at the rain sliding down the glass. The inside of the carriage had grown misty with their breaths. They seemed to be cocooned in their own little world. “Yet, if the journal ended with Dr. Paglia’s death, no one knew of its existence until the new Lord St. Clair inherited the estate and put things up for sale.”
“That’s correct. Yet, Dr. Stevenson has been here all this time. More than a year.”
“Does he still delve into anatomy, do you know?”
“Not that I’ve seen. I haven’t heard of him at all in fact. You are as much involved in the study as I am. Have you heard of him before tonight?”
Marigold shook her head.
They sat in silence for a while, then Jonathan shifted to rest his foot on his bent knee. “This is what I propose. I suggest we visit with Dr. Stevenson and engage him in conversation about anatomy, and how excited we were to discover he worked with Dr. Paglia and all this time he was right here in London.”
“You won’t be able to go. If he did, in fact, steal the journal, then he will recognize your name, and won’t be willing to receive us.”
“I have thought of that. Dr. Stevenson does not move about in Society. He is not a peer. There is no way he would recognize me. I will merely give a false name when I send a note around to ask for a meeting.”
Despite asking for a slow ride to Marigold’s house, the carriage soon stopped its forward motion and the driver jumped down. She was disappointed that they didn’t share a kiss. She was certainly becoming wanton!
Jonathan stepped out and turned to assist her down. “I will send a note around to Stevenson’s house tomorrow morning. I have some stationery from Lord Applegate when he visited me a few years ago. That should work fine. As soon as I have an answer as to what time we may call, I will notify you.”
Marigold smiled and took his arm as they ascended the steps. Macon had the door open, which allowed for no private conversation to continue. She turned to him as they stepped into the entrance hall. “Thank you for escorting me, Lord Stanley.”
He bowed over her hand. “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”
“Stanley! Good to see you, young man. I’d like to have you join me for a brandy before you hurry away.” Papa’s joviality had Marigold cringing. Lady Crampton followed behind him, a smirk on her face as she regarded Marigold.
“Yes, of course, my lord. I would love to join you in a brandy.” Jonathan ran his finger along the inside of his cravat and followed Papa down the corridor to the library.
Chapter Eleven
Jonathan followed Lord Pomeroy down the corridor to the library. He did not feel as nervous as he thought he should. He knew what Marigold’s father wanted to speak about. Most fathers would want to have a word with a man who had been escorting his daughter out on rides in Hyde Park and to evening meetings.
His only concern was what he planned to say to Lord Pomeroy if he flat out asked what his intentions were. He didn’t know the man very well, since his lordship did attend some ton events, but generally was known to head directly to the card room.
“Here, take a seat, young man. I assume you’re a brandy drinker?” Pomeroy motioned toward a chair in front of the fireplace. At least he hadn’t been directed to the chair across from his desk which would have seemed more like an interview.
“Yes, brandy is fine. Thank you.”
Once they were settled with their drinks, Pomeroy wasted no time. “I’ve seen you a couple of times lately. Rides in the park, and what not. Lady Crampton tells me you appear to be dancing attendance on my lovely daughter.”
“I find Lady Marigold very intelligent, witty, and of a pleasant demeanor.” That should satisfy any father. Especially since he’d left out desirable, sensuous, and bloody damn tempting. No need to share that bit of information.
“Yes, she is a lovely girl. My youngest. Always held a special place in my heart. As did all three of my daughters. True blessings from their dear, departed mother.” He made the sign of the cross. Funny, Jonathan hadn’t known they were Catholic.
“Am I to assume you are interested in courting my daughter?”
Well, then. Let us cut right to the chase.
The question he needed to tread carefully with. Was he courting Marigold? It had not started that way.
In fact, when they’d both played tug of war with the journal at the St. Clair estate sale, he could barely tolerate the chit. That was before he learned there was so much more to Lady Marigold than fluff and nonsense.
On the other hand, courting generally led to marriage proposals. Frankly, he was not thinking along those lines. Well, perhaps the thought had popped up a time or two, but he still had strong reservations about Marigold’s suitability as his wife. And he had no idea how she would react to a proposal from him. She’d made it quite clear that she’d found the men who had courted her in the past wanting. He decided honesty was the best policy.
“I admire your daughter quite a bit, and we enjoy spending time together. We are both members of the literary society, you know.” There, that might push him toward another track.
Like a damn bloodhound, though, Pomeroy took a sip of his drink and viewed him over the rim of the glass. “Ah, the literary society. Her elder sister, the lovely Lady St. George was a member of the organization.”
Jonathan held his breath because the shrewd man across from him was not finished, he was sure.
“And, at the time I was quite anxious to marry her off. A bluestocking. Confirmed spinster. Wanted to spend the rest of her life managing me.” He shook his head. “I told my girls they had to marry in birth order, you know. I would never have gotten rid of Elise any other way.”
Perhaps realizing how that sounded, the man quickly added, “Not that I didn’t want my cherished daughters with me forever. It was simply time for them to have their own household. Manage husbands’ lives. Set up their nurseries, that sort of thing. Wonderful creatures, daughters. Once they’re off your payroll, they provide you with charming grandchildren.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I just wanted you to know I am in no hurry to lose my last treasured daughter.”
Well, that was a turnaround. Most fathers were anxious to marry off their daughters what with all the expenses of a Season year after year. And given how many Seasons Marigold had passed, he found Pomeroy’s words puzzling.
“I am glad to hear that, my lord.”
As soon as the words passed his lips, he wished them back. He certainly didn’t want it to appear he was trifling with the girl. Pomeroy, the clever man, smiled. “So, you’ve no wish to marry?”
Blast it all. How does one answer that question when one is semi-courting the man’s daughter? “I wish to assure you my intentions are honorable, my lord. I would never do anything to jeopardize Lady Marigold’s good name.”
“Ah, well said. But that didn’t answer my question.”
He swallowed and glanced longingly at his empty brandy glass. “Of course, I will marry one day. I need an heir, after all. But I am in no hurry.” Lord, he was getting himself in deeper and deeper. It appeared he didn’t need a shovel to bury himself, just his mouth. “I know you might wonder why I am passing time with Lady Marigold.”
Pomeroy nodded.
Now what was he to say? We were fighting over the same journal when I wrangled it away from her, but it was stolen, and then we went to the morgue in the middle of the night and looked at a dead body? Oh, and I’ve kissed her a couple of times and imagine her naked when I fall asleep at night?
Unless he came up with something brilliant he may never be welcome into this house again. “What I am having a difficult time saying, my lord, is I am fond of Lady Marigold. I enjoy her company and wish to spend time with her. If that leads to more than a mere companionship, I will certainly seek you out before I speak to her about anything permanent.”
Jonathan heaved a sigh of relief when Pomeroy smiled and held up his glass. “I find that acceptable, young man. How about another brandy?”
Yes, indeed. He could certainly use one.
***
Marigold tamped down the nervous quivers in her stomach as she and Jonathan approached Dr. Stevenson’s house. He lived in a quiet section of London. Not upper class, but solidly middle class. Merchants and such who didn’t have enough money yet to buy their way into the aristocratic neighborhoods owned quite a few of the well-kept homes here.
“I believe I will take the lead in the conversation,” Jonathan said as they mounted the steps to the doctor’s home.
Ordinarily she would argue the point at his highhandedness, but she was far too anxious to dwell on that. They were about to speak to a man who could very well have killed Lord St. Clair and stolen the journal from Jonathan’s house. It was hard to accept a man such as Dr. Stevenson, who worked so closely with the revered Dr. Paglia would do such a thing, but right now he was their only suspect.
The door was opened by a young maid, with slicked-back red hair and a face full of freckles. Her bright smile revealed a chipped tooth as she gave a slight dip. “Good morning, my lord, my lady, Dr. Stevenson is expecting you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you.” Since she was the only person in the front entrance hall, they handed over their hats, cane, and outerwear to her, which she deposited on a red and blue striped velvet chair and led them up the stairs to the drawing room.
Marigold’s first impression of the man was that he could never have done such devious things. He was, as expected, an older man. On the short side, rotund, with flushed cheeks and a long mane of white hair. Clean shaven, he’d elected to sport white bushy sideburns.
He looked like someone’s doting grandpapa.
“Good afternoon, Lord Applegate, Lady Marigold. Won’t you have a seat?” He waved to a settee in front of a small table where tea service had been set up.
“Thank you, doctor.” Once they were settled, Jonathan began. “We greatly appreciate you seeing us. It is truly a pleasure to meet you.”
He dipped his head. “It is quite seldom I receive visitors at all. You mentioned in your note that you and the lady are both members of the Gentlemen and Ladies Literary Society of London, is that correct?”
“Yes, we are.” Jonathan adjusted his jacket as he settled into his seat.
“Lady Marigold, will you pour, please?” Dr. Stevenson gestured toward the tea set.
“Yes. Of course.” She took the teapot with shaky hands and willed herself to bring her body under control. Even if the man had committed murder, Jonathan was prepared with a dagger strapped to his calf and a pistol in his pocket. She had to admit she was more nervous about him accidentally shooting himself or her than any criminal. However, he had scoffed when she mentioned that and assured her he was well trained, and a crack shot.
She poured the tea, fixing each man’s cup as they wished, then passed around the delightful looking sweets. Finally, once they were all settled, Dr. Stevenson took a sip of tea and then leaned back in his chair. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I assume it has something to do with the Society, since your note stated you are both members? I am not a member, never have been. Always wanted to join, don’t you know?”
Marigold took a deep breath and tried hard not to fidget with her gown as Jonathan leaned forward. “Lady Marigold and myself are quite interested in the study of the human body.”
The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes slid toward Marigold. She gave him a slight smile. “I know that is not a proper course of study for a woman, doctor, but I have never been prone toward the typical.”
“Obviously.” He grinned, his face resembling more with each moment a grandpapa who always had small candies hidden somewhere on his person for the little ones to tease out of him.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “It just came to our attention recently that you were in a partnership of sorts with the late Dr. Vincenzio Paglia.”
Gone was the jovial, sociable man. In his place was a completely different person than the one from only a few seconds past. He drew back, his bushy brows drawn tightly over his forehead. He placed his tea cup on the table and crossing his arms over his massive belly, glared at them. Even his eyes had changed from sparkling and happy and was now dark and cautious. The change was remarkable. “I do not speak o
f Dr. Paglia.”
Jonathan looked flummoxed. “Oh, I see. Did your partnership end unhappily?”
“I do not speak of Dr. Paglia.” Instead of his voice rising, his tone grew deeper, and perhaps even a bit sinister.
Marigold looked over at Jonathan who returned her puzzled expression.
“Have you been doing your own work on anatomy, then, Dr. Stevenson?”
The man abruptly stood, knocking over his tea cup that had been sitting on the edge of the table. “If you will excuse me, I have matters to which I must attend. My maid will see you out.”
Before they could say anything else, the man turned on his heels, and for an older, bulky man made a quick exit from the room.
After a few stunned moments, Marigold whispered. “Well, then.”
“Indeed,” Jonathan returned.
Just then the maid appeared at the doorway, out of breath, leading them to believe she had been racing up the stairs. Most likely at her employer’s behest. “I will show you out, my lord, my lady.”
Nothing else to do, they both stood and followed her down the stairs. She handed them their belongings, and before they even were able to put them on, she opened the door and waved in a manner that suggested they should do whatever it was they felt they needed to do on the other side of the door.
The latch snapped shut and they both stood on the steps, holding various garments in a bundle and stared at each other. “That went well, don’t you think?” Jonathan said.
Chapter Twelve
They were both silent on the return ride to Marigold’s house. Jonathan continued to be confused by Dr. Stevenson, and his behavior, going over in his mind their very brief meeting.
“What now?” Her soft voice broke into Jonathan’s thoughts.
He regarded her, not sure if he should tell her his next move, because she would want to be involved, and he did not want her involved. “I will break into Stevenson’s house and search for the journal.”
A huge smile covered her face. “We will?”
For the Love of the Baron (The Noble Hearts Series Book 3) Page 7