The Archaeologist's Daughter (Regency Rendezvous Book 3)

by Summer Hanford

  “Thank you for your work with the poor of London, Mrs. Smith. Send for me if you need me.”

  The old man shuffled away. Lanora stepped into the space he’d vacated behind the table. The morning passed slowly as she tried to hand out food with a pleasant demeanor, and not think of Lord William.

  Distracted as she was, it was still a notable surprise when one of the street urchins she usually fed outside appeared before her table. “You’ve come in for bread.” Lanora smiled a real smile, pleased she’d finally gained the trust of at least one of the boys.

  “Lord Lefthook said you wasn’t trying to cart me off and I should come in and make sure I got bread for me and my mates, so I’ll be needing five loaves, Missus.”

  He looked about nine, as ragged and ill-kempt as all the urchins. She wondered if he’d really spoken to Lord Lefthook about her. “You know I can only give you one. It’s the rule, with no exceptions.”

  “His lordship said you would say that, too, but can’t I have just a few, Missus, for my mates?”

  “You and Lord Lefthook are close, then?”

  The boy’s eyes brightened. He leaned over the table. “We’re mates,” he whispered, his gaze darting about, seeking eavesdroppers. “He saved me life last night. He took a bullet right in the side. For me.” The boy made a dramatic gesture across his left side, along with a suitable, visceral grating, tearing sound.

  “Did he?” Lanora was impressed, despite her inclination not to believe such silliness. “Well, that was grand of him, wasn’t it? Then you two discussed me?”

  The boy nodded. He puffed out his chest. “Was a long walk back to where he had to go, me helping him. We had a right cheery conversation. Bout all sorts of things. Me and him, like mates.”

  “Where he had to go? Where was that?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say, and you can’t say to no one that I told you any of that, or they’ll try to beat it from me.” He looked suddenly scared. “Can I have my bread, Missus? You won’t say what I said to no one, will you? Lord Lefthook said you’re a good sort.”

  Lanora composed her face into a solemn expression, though at least half of what the boy said was obviously flattery to get more bread. He’d likely sell it to his so-called mates. “I will not tell a soul.” She held out two loaves. “If you can hide one of these right quick, so people see you walk out with only one, you may have both.”

  He snatched them up with a grin, one disappearing under his loose, ragged shirt, reinforcing her fear she’d been had. “Thank you, Missus. His lordship was right about you.”

  Lanora shook her head, but she couldn’t be angry with the boy. Surely, he needed the extra coin the bread would bring him.

  Peering out the door told her the line was almost gone, which was good because her supplies nearly were as well. The last person through the door was Mrs. Banke. Her eyes darted about in a way similar to the boy’s as Lanora handed her a plump purse. She peered inside, a smile making her thin face almost pretty.

  “Thank you, Missus.” Mrs. Banke hugged the coins to her chest. “This is more than I’d hoped to get. It’s a great help to me and my girl.”

  “Then I am glad.” Lanora gathered up the few remaining loaves.

  “You didn’t tell no one, did you?”

  She shook her head. These poor people, living in a world where getting the least bit ahead meant you had to fear every passerby. “I didn’t breathe a word.”

  “Thank you, Missus.”

  Lanora held out a loaf. Mrs. Banke took it, clutching it nearly as tightly as the coins. Ducking her head, she scuttled away.

  Lanora went outside, unsurprised to see the band of urchins lurking near the church, watching. What was striking was that many held small bits of bread, gnawing on them while they waited. The boy who’d come in was with them, hands empty. He grinned at her.

  Bemused, Lanora set the six extra loaves of the day on the church steps. The boys didn’t even wait for her to turn away before starting to inch forward. Wanting to reassure them, she left.

  Heading toward the few rickety hired hackneys waiting in front of the church, Lanora pressed her lips together. Despite Mrs. Banke and the boy with his trust and his tale about Lord Lefthook, her mind would not give up dwelling on Lord William. She should go home, read, and never think of him again.

  Instead, she hired one of the hackneys to take her to the address her footman had supplied. Lord William’s mistress’s home. Lanora wasn’t sure what she would find there, but she felt almost driven to set eyes on the place. Maybe she would see this woman who so closely held Lord William’s attention. Or, as it was still early for a gentleman, perhaps he would come stumbling out at some point, and she could confront him.

  Recalling what her footman said about someone else watching Lord William, Lanora had the driver stop short of her destination. That seemed to suit him. He looked nervous to be in so nice an area, or maybe it was dropping a woman off on the street dubbed Mistress’s Row.

  She approached the intersection carefully, peering around the corner. The structure she sought was a perfectly lovely, if nondescript, townhouse. Curtains obstructed any view through the windows. Though that was normal, Lanora couldn’t contain her suspicion. She glared at the building. Inside was a woman Lord William would rather spend time with than her.

  Lanora pried her eyes away. She looked up and down the street. Across from the townhouse, a man lounged against a lamppost. He yawned. His garb was unremarkable, but his presence suspicious. It was obvious he had nothing to do but watch.

  She settled against the corner and watched as well. At first, she worried the man would see her. It would be terribly embarrassing to be reported watching Lord William’s mistress’s home, but he never turned.

  After about an hour, the day grew warm as the morning fog burned away to reveal a cloudless blue sky. Lanora was bored beyond endurance, and growing tired. After two hours, she was resolved. If the man watched, Lord William remained inside. Lanora would see him exit with her own eyes and try to catch a glimpse of the woman within. Surely, she would bid him farewell at the door. It seemed he was quite passionate about her, after all.

  After around three hours, another plainly dressed man approached the first. They spoke a few words. The new one stayed. The other walked away.

  Lanora looked back and forth between the two. She squared her shoulders. Neither had seen her. Other people walked the street. Mrs. Smith was not one to garner notice. She set off after the first man. If she wasn’t going to learn anything by standing there, or see William, she would discover where this man went. Who else was having Lord William Greydrake followed? Knowing would tell her much.

  The man didn’t go to a residential district, as expected. Instead, he walked several blocks to an area of business. Frustration filled her. He was about his own tasks now. It would be hours before he returned to the person who’d sent him to spy.

  He crossed the street and entered a building. She would have given up then, but she realized she knew the place. Or of it. It was the office of the attorney, Mr. Lethbridge. Mr. Darington’s attorney. The one her father hadn’t wanted. Intrigued, she hurried across the street. Was Mr. Darington having his onetime ward followed? Did that speak of disapproval for William’s ways?

  She entered in time to see the man turn at the top of the steps. She stopped, not sure what awaited her should she follow. Was her Mrs. Smith disguise enough to fool an attorney? She didn’t believe she’d ever met Lethbridge. It seemed unlikely.

  Squaring her shoulders, Lanora made her way up. She stepped boldly into the office. The smallish room, well-appointed but gloomy, was empty of people, the clerk’s desk vacant. Voices sounded in the room beyond. She crept over and flattened herself against the wall beside the door behind the desk.

  “…much longer,” a cultured voice said. “Besides, I pay you well.”

  “Not that well. Watching that blighter is driving me mad.” The man’s voice was rough with a lower London accen
t. “Goes from one pleasure to the next. Don’t know where the man finds the stamina. Slept in today, though, he did. Hasn’t stirred from her house since yesterday evening. Chit must have worn him out last night.”

  “No doubt she learned he’s courting Lady Lanora and wished to fortify her place in his regard.”

  Lanora nearly jumped at the sound of her name. She frowned. Courting her, was he? Not any longer.

  “No doubt, indeed.” The rough man chuckled.

  “Have you seen her yet?”

  “The mistress?” The man grunted. “Not hide nor hair. We’re only there when he’s there, and she don’t go out when he’s there. What’d be the point?”

  “Still, it’s odd. She can’t know when he’ll call round.”

  “Maybe he’s got a standing appointment, like, or keeps his woman on a short leash. You want me to find someone to watch her, too? Cost you extra.”

  Short leash? What a thoroughly offensive term. Well, Lanora wouldn’t be one of those women. Not ever. No. That’s not needed. She’s nothing.”

  “Suit yourself. So long as you pay me, and I don’t go mad watching the blighter, it’s all the same to me.”

  “Never fear. I can assure you this will all be resolved soon. Then you may return to your usual work, whatever that is.”

  The man’s chuckle carried a nasty edge this time. “You don’t want to know, Mr. Attorney.”

  “No, I do not. Now get out. I have another appointment coming.”

  Get out? Lanora’s gaze darted around, landed on the clerk’s desk.

  “You’re not closed up? Clerk’s gone.”

  “I sent him home. My next appointment is private. Meaning you are to go. Now.”

  Lanora dove under the desk, pulling her skirt close. The chairs on either side, though difficult to dodge around, provided additional shelter.

  “All right, I know where I’m not wanted.”

  Footsteps left the office and crossed the room. It wasn’t until the man exited that she realized her error. If she’d simply taken a few steps across the room, she could have stood as if waiting for the clerk. It may have been suspicious, but not unduly so. She would simply have invented a legal matter and been sent packing, as Mrs. Smith obviously couldn’t afford a man in this part of town.

  Now, she was under a desk. Climbing out would take several seconds. If she was seen doing so, there would be no explaining how she got under there. At least the clerk had been sent home for the day. Hopefully, she could still sneak out, no one the wiser.

  She tried to breath quietly, listening. In the office, papers moved. The attorney, Mr. Lethbridge, muttered to himself. Lanora started to ease out one of the chairs. Footsteps clattered on the steps. She eased the chair back closer. A heavy tread entered.

  “Lethbridge?” It was another man with a lowborn accent. Did Mr. Lethbridge specialize in spying for the wealthy?

  “In here. Close the outer door.”

  Lanora heard the door click shut. She winced. The heavy footsteps entered Mr. Lethbridge’s office. She rested her chin on her knees. If Grace could see her, she’d be horrified, but she’d also laugh. It was like Lanora to get into such an intractable situation.

  “How is the building business, Finch?”

  Finch? That was the name of the foreman directing the building of the home for displaced women. Lanora was suddenly glad of her place under the desk.

  “You mean the not-building business?” Finch said, his voice recognizable now that she’d heard his name.

  “Exactly.”

  “People been asking questions. You ever going to give me the funds? That Darington fellow wrote me direct, you know. I’m pretending I can’t read, but he’ll figure it’s you, eventually. You aren’t paying me enough to hang for you.”

  “I told you, the money is tied up. I made some rather…questionable investments. I have a fortune coming to me soon, though.”

  Mr. Lethbridge had used Darington’s funds?

  “If you say so, Lethbridge,” Finch said. “I can’t see no one handing you a fortune, though.”

  “No one needs to hand it to me. I’m going to take it, in the form of an heiress soon to come under my control. If you have any notion how impressionable sixteen-year-old girls are, you know she’ll be mine soon enough, and a marquess’s fortune with her.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, I can’t see no pretty young thing agreeing to wed you either, impressionable or no.”

  “She will. It will be me or no man. I’ll see she’s unfit for anyone else, if it comes to it.”

  Lanora’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly shut it. Was Mr. Lethbridge talking about compromising some poor young woman about to become his ward, forcing her to marry him and using her money to pay off his debts? The fiend. She had to discover who the unfortunate girl was and put a stop to his despicable plan.

  “You do what you have to, Lethbridge,” Finch said. “Just wanted you to know people been asking questions. I’ll need that money before long.”

  “Use some of what I paid you to stop building to start back up. I’ll replace it.”

  “I don’t think so. Get me the funds before Darington sends the watch after me, or I’ll talk and you’ll swing.”

  “Yes, fine, you have made your point. Was that all?”

  “All I have to say.”

  “Then get out, and try not to come here. It’s suspicious. People will see you.”

  Finch grunted. Footsteps crossed the room again. The door opened. Lanora stayed as still as she could, her mind reeling.

  What sort of man took his client’s money, slated to build a home for women, and lost it, then plotted to seduce some innocent girl given into his care? And none of it explained why Mr. Lethbridge was having Lord William followed. Lanora finally understood the lack of progress on the women’s home, but so many new questions had sprung up to replace that conundrum.

  She realized the sounds of muttering and paper shuffling had increased. Mr. Lethbridge came out of his office, closed the door, and crossed the room. Her heart thudded. The outer door shut and a key turned in the lock. After a shocked moment of silence, she slipped from beneath the desk. She ran to the door, but it wouldn’t open. She was trapped.

  Chapter Thirteen

  William strode up to the door of Lethbridge’s building, relying on the dark to obscure him from casual observation. He cast a look up and down the street, finding it empty. He would have preferred gaining entry via the window, clad as Lefthook, but when it came to the wealthier parts of town, future marquess was a better disguise than vigilante of the poor. If it came down to it, he could pretend inebriation to explain his presence where he didn’t belong. His title would take care of the rest.

  Not that he was in any shape for climbing in windows, which had impeded evading the marquess’s surveillance. He’d done well enough for a man who’d hardly been able to climb the servants’ stairs the night before. In truth, the most difficult task of his day thus far had been convincing Cecilia he was fit enough to go out. If she had her way, he would have remained in bed

  William would have given in to his stepmother’s coddling, but he needed to find out what was going on with the home for women. He knew, in view of his reputation, Lanora would think the worst about his absence at the theater. He wanted something to show for it before he saw her again, to make it up to her.

  Assured the street was empty, William dug out a set of lock picks and let himself in. The door to Lethbridge’s office was a similarly surmountable barrier. He closed it softly behind him.

  Once inside, William used memory to reach the fireplace, and stirred up the coals for light. He went from the reception room into Lethbridge’s office, finding that door open. Oddly, so was the narrow door at the back of the room, the one protecting Lethbridge’s records. In all his visits to the attorney’s office, he had never seen that door open. Intrigued, he checked that the curtains were closed and coaxed a larger flame from the grate. Assured the room was secu
re from escaping light, he pulled out several candle stubs and lit them.

  Something slid softly across the floor in the reception room. There was a rustle of fabric. Quiet footsteps sounded. They seemed to be moving away from him, but it was hard to tell from the faint sounds. Hand on his pistol, William whirled.

  “Lady Lanora?” he blurted, stunned.

  She turned, appearing equally shocked. Her hair, showing lingering evidence of powder, was half down. Now that William thought to look for them, he noted several bent hairpins on the desk. She held a single page clutched in her hand. Her expression made a rapid switch from shock to cold anger.

  “Lord William.” She strode toward him, shoulders back and chin up. “Perhaps you can explain this.” She slapped the page down on Lethbridge’s desk.

  What in God’s name was Lady Lanora Hadler, dressed in her lowly widow’s costume and looking thoroughly disheveled, doing in Lethbridge’s office? Hot rage shot through William as he took in the details of her wrinkled gown and disarrayed tresses. He recalled her mention of hairpins.

  “What are you doing here? What is the meaning of these?” He pointed to the hairpins.

  She spared them a glance. “I was attempting to release the catch and let myself out.”

  Let herself out? “Nothing more dire or…scandalous?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She sounded as angry as he was. “Now you tell me, what is this?” She tapped the page.

  William dropped his gaze, trying to rein in his emotions. Shouting was unlikely the best course. She certainly appeared unharmed. She still tapped the page she’d slapped down on the desk. He focused on it. The marquess’s list of potential wives for William. With his signature at the bottom. She had the damn list.

  Composing himself, he strove for something resembling his easy, usual manner. He leaned a hip against the desk, suppressing a wince of pain. The stitched-up hole in his side gave a bloody good impression of a knife stab. “That’s an interesting ensemble, my lady.”

  “How I choose to dress is none of your concern, my lord. Nor will it ever be.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. It was a shame to abuse them so, denying their lushness. “Now explain yourself.”