‘Ain’t no call for that,’ Parker said affably.
‘Not you, you fool.’
‘Well, you already knew that the other toffs wouldn’t exactly welcome Mrs Grantley to their ranks. But they’ll have no choice once she’s your wife. None of them will risk offending a man of your stature.’
‘True, but I didn’t expect them to voice their objections quite so openly.’ He tossed Lady Prescott’s missive aside with an angry growl. ‘Do they really imagine that their objections will do anything other than reinforce my opinion that I’ve made the right choice?’
‘Well, you are letting the side down.’ Parker grinned. ‘Lady Cantrell is having enough trouble and her character, as far as I know, remains unblemished. Mrs Grantley is from the upper middle-classes, a step up from Lady Cantrell’s background. But she has the added burden of murderous suspicion clouding her reputation.’
‘Confound it, why the hell should it matter what a person’s background is?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person,’ Parker replied calmly. ‘I don’t make the rules.’
‘Lady Prescott says my brother would turn in his grave…well, not those words exactly, but close enough, if he was alive to see how I’ve dragged the Torbay name through the mud.’
‘Ha!’
‘Anyway, what is it, Parker?’
‘Another visitor.’ Jake became suspicious when Parker failed to meet his gaze. ‘Not sure whether to turn this one away.’
Jake leaned back in his chair and flexed his fingers. ‘Who is it?’
Parker studied the rug beneath his feet. ‘Lady Southcott,’ he said.
‘Good God!’ Jake sat forward again so abruptly that his elbows hit the edge of his desk with a hefty jolt. He barely felt the pain. Miranda Southcott, or Miranda Bartholomew as she had been then, the lady he’d fancied himself to be in love with when still a raw youth. The lady he had fully intended to marry. He had been thinking about her for the first time in years only the previous day, and now here she was. He had no desire to see her but had to know what it was that she wanted of him. ‘You’d better show her in, Parker,’ he said reluctantly.
***
Charles was impatient to speak with Cedrick Fordham but knew better than to ride out to his family’s house in Hampstead. Fordham would be abed until at least noon, which would leave Charles exposed to the machinations of Mrs Fordham and her three marriageable age daughters. Better to wait until the early afternoon. Fordham was a man of routine and would be found at Brookes, where he always went in search of an early game of cards.
Such proved to be the case and Charles ran his quarry to ground in the library where, to the best of Charles’s knowledge, the leather-bound tomes lining the shelves were seldom opened. Fordham was ensconced in a deep leather chair, sipping at a glass of burgundy and tapping his fingers idly on the chair’s arm.
‘Ho, Hadley,’ he said, looking up when Charles loomed over him. ‘What’s to do?’
‘Thought I’d find you here.’
‘Looking for a game?’ Fordham asked hopefully. ‘Albright seems to have stood me up.’
‘Actually, I’m looking for information.’
‘Ha, you diplomat types always are. Must be exhausting, all that thinking and being clever. Not that I would know. Thick as a pea-souper, so I am, but what’s to be done?’
‘What were you doing in India if you don’t have a head for trade?’
‘You’d be better advised to address that question to the old man. He got into a taking because I had a run of bad luck at the tables. Well, I mean, it’s a rum affair if a man can’t enjoy a little sport now and then, and he can’t always win. Makes people suspicious if a thick-headed swine like me never loses.’
‘I suppose it would,’ Charles agreed, aware that although Fordham didn’t possess the sharpest of minds he had a good head for cards and seldom suffered bad fortune. And he could take the occasional loss. His father was generally known to be well off, his own father having established their family’s presence with the East India Company when he himself had been a young man. ‘Still, I suppose your gov’nor wants you to show some interest in the empire that you will one day inherit.’
‘Plenty of time for that,’ Fordham replied with a negligent wave. ‘The boss is as fit as an ox. All the men in our family live long and far from blameless lives. The grandfather was over seventy when he turned his toes up and the old man is still only forty-something. Still, better showing my face over there in India than being married off here at home.’
Charles laughed as he accepted the glass of burgundy served to him by a steward with a nod of thanks. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Were they the alternatives offered to you?’
Fordham pulled a doomed face. ‘Think yourself lucky not to be an only son.’
‘Were you required to negotiate new contracts in Bombay?’
‘Lord no. I would make a complete mull of it. I only had to show my face and encourage the troops we have beavering away over there on the family’s behalf. We have an agent, who’s the real power behind the throne. Knows everything and everyone connected to the Company.’
Rather like Megan’s father did, Charles thought. ‘Is that what you were doing in Goa? Checking on the minions?’ he asked.
‘Heard about that, did you? Well, I suppose you would have done. You weren’t there to smell the spices, that’s for sure.’ Fordham raised his empty glass and caught the eye of the steward, who hastened to bring him a refill. ‘The Raja has trading connections with Father. He knew I was in the country and invited me to stay. Couldn’t refuse, and in truth I was glad of the prospect of a little sport.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Damned shame the way it turned out. Cantrell was a decent chap.’
‘Did you see what happened?’ Charles asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
‘Why are you asking?’ Fordham sent him a wary look. ‘This ain’t official, I hope. I hate officialdom. I find it exhausting and I’m not getting involved in your games. Family loyalty comes first. I might not be much use to anyone but even I know better than to break ranks.’
Charles knew that Fordham’s supposed inabilities were grossly exaggerated; a façade he’d perfected to avoid doing actual work and to lull his gaming opponents into overconfidence. Well, two could play at that game.
‘Lady Cantrell and her son have been disowned by Luke’s family,’ Charles said languidly. ‘Seems harsh after what happened to Luke. And Lady C still doesn’t know what actually happened on that hunt.’ He casually flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. ‘The reports she received were very vague.’
‘Not surprised to hear it, on both counts. The dowager Lady Cantrell is a pretentious old windbag. Acknowledging the daughter of a humble agent as a member of her family would be anathema to her, quite beyond her capabilities.’ Fordham chuckled and took a sip of his replenished drink. ‘And her so-called friends would delight in her humiliation if she was compelled to do so.’
‘Her friends are not supportive then?’
Fordham shrugged. ‘You don’t need me to tell you how the tattle-mongers get their thrills.’
‘The accident?’ Charles prompted after Fordham had greeted an acquaintance and agreed to meet him in the card room in a few moments.
‘What about it? Oh, sorry, you want to know what happened.’ Fordham threw back his head and closed his eyes. ‘Sorry, can’t tell you. The hunting party got separated, you see.’
‘Separated?’ Charles sat a little straighter. It was the first he’d heard of it. ‘I thought hunting parties always stayed together with their guides, for safety reasons.’
‘Usually. Not sure why we got split up.’ Fordham yawned behind his hand. ‘All I know was that there were shots, and lots of shouting. We dashed to find out what had happened, thinking the other lot had beaten us to it and bagged the best game.’ Fordham dropped his head. ‘Instead, we found Luke mauled to death, and the boar that had charged him had been shot.’
‘You say you heard shots
and then lots of shouting. What came first, the shots or the shouts?’
Fordham fixed Charles with an astute look that belied the lackadaisical demeanour he worked so hard to project. ‘Now that you come to mention it, the shots,’ he said slowly. ‘But that don’t necessarily mean anything.’
But both men realised it meant a very great deal. ‘When you are hunting, stalking game, stealth is of the essence,’ Charles said, telling Fordham what he must already know. ‘You don’t fire shots and frighten the game into charging.’
‘Unless it’s a female boar charging at you to protect its young.’
Or, Charles thought but did not say, unless you deliberately spooked a boar into charging in the direction you wanted it to take.
‘Was it a female with young? They wouldn’t have been hunting if that was the case, surely?’
‘No, it was a big brute of a male.’
‘Who else was in the breakaway party besides Luke and the guide?’ he asked.
‘As far as I recall, just our family’s agent.’
‘He was there with you? You didn’t mention the fact.’
The rest of Fordham’s card-playing associates had assembled in the card room and were awaiting his pleasure. One of them called to him to hurry up. Charles half expected him to make his excuses and get to the game but he showed no immediate intention of so doing, appearing to be more interested in their conversation.
‘It didn’t seem important,’ he said.
But Charles thought it very important indeed. ‘What’s the man’s name?’ he asked. ‘Have I met him?’
‘Doubt it. But he’s well established within Company circles.’
‘In pursuit of your family’s interests.’
‘Not just us, dear boy. He represents a number of people. Your Lady Cantrell would know him.’
‘Would she? I can’t think why?’
‘You really haven’t done your homework, old chap, which is not at all like you.’ Fordham drained the contents of his glass. ‘He didn’t just represent us, although we were one of his principal clients. You have to bear in mind that negotiations in that part of the world are very complex. You’re dealing with different castes, different traditions and different mind-sets. If you don’t understand them, you’re dead in the water. The locals are just waking up to the fact that they hold all the aces, so to speak, and are determined to get fairer deals than they’ve enjoyed thus far.’
‘Go on,’ Charles encouraged when Fordham sent longing glances towards the card room.
‘So someone with white skin who was raised in the area and understands the culture makes an excellent go-between and an excellent living as the middle man.’
Charles suddenly realised what he was being told. ‘Your agent and Lady Cantrell’s father worked in tandem?’
‘Got it in one.’
Charles knew he had discovered something of significance, even if he was unsure quite what it was. ‘Is the man still in India?’ he asked.
‘Not sure. He comes and goes. I can ask, if you like.’
‘Please.’ Fordham stood. ‘Now you must excuse me,’ he said, glancing again at his impatient friends. ‘I have sheep to fleece.’
‘Just one more question,’ Charles said, catching Fordham’s arm. ‘What’s the name of your agent?’
‘Oh, did I not say? It’s Warburton.’
Chapter Eight
Jake had wondered with decreasing regularity as the years passed how he would feel when this moment arrived. That his path would cross with wild, beautiful and impetuous Miranda’s at some point in the future had seemed inevitable. The higher echelons of English society was a close-knit community and although Jake had little time for social obligations, he could not entirely ignore them, either. He had been relieved when Miranda moved to Paris with her husband immediately after her marriage and he was able to gradually stop thinking about her perfidious ways at all.
Eighteen eventful years had passed since he’d last seen Miranda…half of his lifetime. Could it be coincidence that she had arrived on the doorstep of the eve of his nuptials? His unease increased as the wait for her appearance seemed to drag on far longer than the relatively short amount of space she would need to traverse in order to reach his library warranted. It seemed that Miranda had lost none of her skill at making entrances.
Jake resumed his seat and studied the papers that awaited his attention, determined not to be sucked into Miranda’s petty attempts at one-upmanship. He was actually smiling at a letter which seemed sincere in its congratulations when a tap at the door preceded its opening and Parker announced her. Jake deliberately finished reading the paragraph that had caught his attention, even if he couldn’t have recalled a word he’d read afterwards, before looking up.
‘Miranda,’ he said in an urbane tone, standing. She was dressed as tastefully and flamboyantly as had always been her way. The passage of time had been kind to her. Her form was still pleasingly svelte and her beauty had blossomed. Miranda always knew what a striking figure she cut and how to use it to her advantage. Evidently she still did and he noticed amusement in her eye as she watched him assess her.
‘Jake,’ she replied in the sultry voice that had invaded his dreams for months after they had parted ways. ‘It has been too long.’
Not long enough.
‘Thank you, Parker,’ Jake said.
They both watched Parker withdraw and close the doors quietly behind him. If Miranda noticed Jake’s incivility in not offering her refreshments while Parker was still in the room to make the arrangements she made no comment upon the omission.
‘Parker remains loyal,’ Miranda remarked.
Unlike some.
Jake indicated the chairs in front of the fire. He waited for Miranda to seat herself in one of them and then took its twin.
‘I assume you are here on a family visit,’ Jake said. ‘Is your husband with you?’
‘Have you not heard?’ She looked genuinely surprised and for a fleeting moment he saw a glimpse of the calculating temptress he had fallen so passionately in love with when he’d been too young to see her for what she actually was. ‘He passed away almost a year ago.’
‘You have my commiserations.’ He had not heard and, if it was true, wondered why Miranda was not in mourning. More to the point, he wondered why Parker had not enlightened him at the time of Southcott’s passing. Jake would wager that he’d known all about it.
‘My brother didn’t tell you?’
‘I didn’t see him on my last visit to Torbay.’ Jake didn’t add that he had made it his business to avoid the pompous ass whenever he could.
‘It was a happy release. Southcott had been unwell and in considerable pain for some time. He was, after all, a lot older than I.’
‘Even so.’
At least she wasn’t a hypocrite, Jake thought, and didn’t pretend sorrow where none existed. Southcott had been one of the richest widowers in England which, of course, was why Miranda sank her claws into him with almost indecent haste. She would now be very comfortably situated and free to act as she saw fit. Unless her character had undergone a marked alteration, Jake suspected that marriage would not have held her back in that regard, but at least now she need not put up a pretence. He allowed the silence to stretch between them, waiting for Miranda to get to the reason for her call.
‘I saw the announcement in this morning’s newspaper,’ she said, fiddling with the stocking purse she held in her lap.
‘And felt the need to call and congratulate me in person, I assume.’
‘Actually I came to ask you if you are sure you know what you are doing.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Jake said mildly.
‘I have been living in Paris for almost two decades but word of Mrs Grantley’s questionable reputation still reached my ears in that city, which is saying something.’ Miranda flapped a hand. ‘Oh, I understand she is very beautiful, but I dare say you’ve had your share of beauties falling at your feet, especially since assu
ming your brother’s title and….’ She waved her other hand in a vague circle. ‘And all of this.’ That she could talk of such matters so calmly seemed crass and insensitive, even by Miranda’s standards, but Jake showed no reaction, suspecting that Miranda hoped to shock him into offering her one. ‘Besides, she is not one of us.’
‘Good lord, Miranda.’ Amusement rather than offence imbued Jake’s languid tone. ‘If I didn’t know better, I might think you were jealous.’
‘I am concerned for your reputation, your standing as a belted earl. Society will lose its respect for you if you disregard its rules too blatantly.’
Jake quirked a brow. ‘Speaking from experience?’
She had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I probably deserved that.’
No probably about it. ‘Society can go hang for all I care,’ Jake said with determination. ‘I did not ask for the position I find myself in. And as to Olivia, she was entirely innocent of any involvement in her husband’s death.’ Jake wondered why he was bothering to defend Olivia when he didn’t care what Miranda made of his decision to marry a woman with ten times her conscience. ‘In fact, we recently uncovered the identity of the real culprit.’
‘Oh.’ She looked momentarily deflated. ‘May I ask who?’
‘The authorities are aware but for reasons I cannot share with you, Olivia has decided not to make it public knowledge.’
‘Which will do nothing to prevent society from forming its own opinions and turning its collective back on her.’
‘I thought I already made it clear that I don’t give a damn about society’s opinion. And nor does she.’
Miranda shook her head, causing the blonde ringlets that hung beneath the brim of her bonnet to dance around her face. It was a deliberate ploy, Jake was sure, because he had once spent hours writing ridiculous verse praising, amongst other things about her, her golden curls. ‘You have not changed, Jake. You always were a contrary devil.’
Jake’s patience was almost exhausted and he deliberately changed the subject. ‘What are your plans? Shall you return to Paris? I would assume that city suits your personality and that you must now feel more at home there than you do in England.’
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