by Nichole Van
Was his lengthy correspondence and business venture with LHF some elaborate hoax? To what end . . . he couldn’t fathom. And why did that thought make Colin almost physically ill?
He had spent the previous evening desperate to resolve the issue, studying each of the gentlemen in attendance at Stratton Hall, looking for some small tell that would betray his hiding friend.
Not one of the guests had the initials LHF. But after the encounter with Lord Halbert, Colin had surmised the initials were most likely an alias. He had reviewed what he knew about LHF from their letters over the years. Only once had the man described himself, and that description was decidedly lacking.
Brown hair, brown eyes, average, unremarkable. At the time, the description had struck him as odd, as Lord Halbert (who he had assumed to be LHF) was headed toward gray hair. But now . . .
The description characterized at least half the population of England.
Stratton himself seemed the most likely candidate—brown hair and eyes though well above average in height. Colin could see him in the role of LHF. Though why Stratton would keep the matter secret was an utter mystery.
Frowning, Colin did the only thing he could think to do—he hunted down Stratton in his study, laying the matter before him.
“Pardon?” Stratton frowned, taking a step back. “You think I am your business partner?” His frown deepened. “How can you not know the name of your own business partner?”
Colin resisted the urge to slowly pound his head against the marble mantel. “My thoughts precisely. As I said, I thought I knew, but I was mistaken.”
“And you found a letter from yourself to this LHF on my property?” Placing his hands on his hips, Stratton began to pace before the fireplace.
“Yes. Which is why I ask you again, are you LHF?”
Stratton paused, fixing Colin with a decidedly earnest gaze. “Unfortunately for us both, I am not.” He shook his head and raised his hand, as if swearing an oath. “Upon my honor as a gentleman. I would be quite the wealthy man were I your business partner. Why is the man hiding his identity?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Colin replied. Frustration tasted sour on his tongue.
Stratton pursed his mouth. “It’s possible that Lord Odysseus is your man.”
For some reason, that thought made Colin’s stomach plunge. It was hard to see the brilliant steadiness of LHF in Lord Odysseus. Besides, LHF was a man of seasoned wisdom, not a young buck. And more to the point—
“I was under the impression that Lord Odysseus is hard-pressed for funds,” Colin said.
“So was I,” Stratton replied. “It’s one of the reasons he has been so doggedly pursuing Miss Heartstone. I thought his pockets were to let. But one never knows. The man is quite cagey when actually pressed for details about his varied past.”
Colin had surmised that Lord Odysseus was courting Belle in earnest, but Stratton’s assessment of the man’s motives still amplified Colin’s own sense of dismay.
Belle deserved more than to be feted for her father’s money. How she must doubt and chafe over every man’s profession of adoration.
Colin knew his admiration to be genuine. He had no need of her fortune.
“Could this LHF be a spendthrift? Could that be the reason behind his silence?” Stratton asked. “He squanders the money you make and hides behind his anonymity?”
Colin pondered the idea for a moment, thinking through all the business transactions he’d had with LHF over the years. “It seems . . . unlikely. Our dealings with each other have been lengthy. There have never been any irregularities, nor has LHF ever shown a moment’s hesitation when it comes to funding new ventures. The man is a brilliant statistician and clever when it comes to predicting the ebb and flow of market goods.”
Stratton resumed his pacing. “Interesting. I also wonder how your letter came to be in my woods . . . it’s possible that the person here simply has a connection to LHF but isn’t the man himself. It could even have been stolen from LHF and brought here because you are attending the house party.”
“Yes, that thought had also occurred to me. Or perhaps the letter escaped from a mail pouch and someone intended to bring it to me? My correspondence has been somewhat straggling in nature due to all my travels.”
Stratton frowned. “The Royal Mail is more reliable than that, I would think. It’s most likely that the letter was dropped by someone.”
For the hundredth time, Colin tried to make sense of it all and came up empty-handed. LHF had always been honest with him. He had the financial ledgers to prove it. Everything added up from the beginning. The man’s brutal honesty had won him Colin’s respect and affection time and again.
Why hide?
Stratton paused. The men stared at each other for a heartbeat.
A gleam lit in Stratton’s eye. “Well.” He rubbed his hands together. “We have quite the mystery on our hands. I have to thank you for enlivening our house party. And I had worried that this week would be dull,” he laughed.
“But what is to be done?” Colin asked. “We can hardly slink about spying on your guests or riffle through their mail. That wouldn’t be seemly.”
Stratton winked at him. “I don’t think we’ll need to stoop to that. My servants are the souls of discretion. We start by asking them what they have seen.”
The following days passed in a blur of activity.
Colin gave himself two tasks: understand how his letter had ended up in Stratton’s woods and stake his claim with Belle.
The first task remained a fruitless endeavor. Despite Stratton setting his servants to snooping, they had nothing of import to report. Worse, word had reached them that the mail coach had been delayed for days due to wet weather north of London. No letters of any sort had arrived, so the temptation to spy on the post was moot.
Both Stratton and Colin were at a loss as to what to do. Short of cornering every man and questioning him point blank, there were few other honorable options available to them.
Colin was starting to doubt that the man was actually in attendance. There were just no good candidates besides Stratton himself. The Gold Miners were too young to be LHF. The few older gentlemen seemed unlikely—one hadn’t been in the country long enough, having just returned from years in the West Indies; another was clearly too scatter-brained.
He refused to see LHF in Lord Odysseus’ dramatic persona.
Perhaps the letter had landed in Stratton’s woods through some other means. Theft or accident?
Colin had sent off several letters of his own. He had written Mr. Sloan and asked the man to pass along his wishes for a meeting to LHF. It was possible that Mr. Sloan himself was the mysterious benefactor. Why he insisted on silence, Colin couldn’t fathom, but it was still a possibility.
Colin had also written several factory managers who he knew had interacted with LHF over the years. Though if the postal situation elsewhere was like that of London at present, it would be weeks before Colin received any sort of answer.
As for his second task—stake a claim to Belle Heartstone—the Desperate Debutantes and Lord Odysseus proved a determined obstacle. They interrupted Colin constantly. Anytime he found a chance to speak with Belle, one or the other abruptly appeared.
For example, one afternoon the entire party traipsed down to a large lake situated south of the house. The Desperate Debutantes had been pleading for the gentlemen to row them across to a small island in the middle for a picnic. Colin wasn’t sure he wanted to attend, but Belle was going and Lord Odysseus was going, and Colin refused to cede the field to his rival.
Not until Belle had officially given him his marching papers.
So he went.
They all set out together from the front steps of Stratton Hall, Lady Stratton leading the way, laughing merrily on Stratton’s arm. Belle looked particularly fetching in a sky-blue spencer and matching bonnet.
But, of course, the Desperate Debutantes intercepted him before he could make it to Belle’s sid
e. A pair of the Miss Button-Joneses chattered incessantly about India and tigers and could he describe the different types of monkeys just one more time?
By the time Colin extracted himself and turned his head around, Lord Odysseus had already been awarded Belle’s hand around his elbow. Worse, the smug look Lord Odysseus shot him over Belle’s stylish bonnet said it all—
He and Lord Odysseus were at war, and Lord Odysseus had triumphed in this skirmish.
Colin felt his blood rise. The competitive streak that had won him a fortune in India reared up.
Colin would win this battle.
Turning back around, Colin caught Stratton’s eye. His friend raised an eyebrow before shooting a glance at Belle.
Colin gave a subtle nod.
Stratton smiled, slow and wicked, before raising his chin slightly.
Leave this to me, his actions said.
Colin answered with a tight grin.
As they walked down to the water, Lord Odysseus managed to pull Belle ahead, her arm still linked with his. Colin watched the swish of Belle’s skirts and the bob of her bonnet as she leaned into whatever Lord Odysseus was saying to her.
He did not like the image of them together, cozy and nearly domestic in appearance. It caused an almost unbearable urge to put his fist through a wall. Would Stratton be able to separate the two?
Mrs. Jones-Button and her two daughters chattered by Colin’s side.
“Do you return to London after the party, my lord?” one girl asked breathlessly, curls bouncing.
Yes. “Perhaps. I have not yet decided how to spend my next few weeks.”
“Well, you must come for a visit, Lord Blake,” Mrs. Jones-Button said.
“Oh, please!” That was the other daughter, clasping her hands in delight, skipping at his side. So young. Was she even eighteen? He hated to ask.
Colin fingered LHF’s letter in his pocket, continuing to stare at Belle ahead as Mrs. Jones-Button rambled on and on about the “fine hunting” on their estate in Somerset.
He suppressed a snort. He was currently hunting a lost friend—and Belle Heartstone if she were amenable to the idea—not pheasants.
The group reached the boathouse, people bickering and laughing over who would go in which boat.
Before Colin could say a word, Stratton took charge, clapping his hands loudly.
“Allow me to make boat assignments,” he boomed. “I want to ensure each boat has a strong rower in it. Lord Odysseus”—Stratton turned to the man—“you seem a strapping sort. Given all your adventures, I am confident you can take charge of the largest boat over here.”
Stratton motioned to long rowboat pulled alongside the dock. In rapid-fire succession, Stratton assigned everyone else to a place.
It was a brilliantly-done, straight-forward piece of management.
Naturally, Belle and Colin were placed in the smallest skiff—one with only enough room for two people.
Hah! He owed Stratton now.
He and Belle waited patiently as the others loaded into their boats, the ladies chattering and tittering, the Gold Miners laughing loudly.
Lord Odysseus spared Colin a murderous look as he rowed out, three giggling misses and their mothers with him.
Stratton saluted him from the skiff he piloted with Lady Stratton.
Finally, Colin and Belle were alone on the dock. He was quite sure he sported a stupid, silly grin on his face.
Colin stepped into the rowboat before turning around to steady Belle as she followed him into the boat.
Her gaze flitted to his as their gloved hands met. The connection shouldn’t have sent a thrumming charge up his arm, but Colin felt the jolt regardless.
And given the slight flare of Belle’s eyes, she was clearly not immune. He continued to stare into her eyes as he helped her sit down on the small bench, only releasing her hand to take his own seat.
The situation with LHF might be a mess. But enjoying Belle Heartstone’s company? That was utterly delightful.
She arranged her skirts around her and fluffed open a parasol to keep the sun off her head. Light tangled along the edge of her fashionable bonnet, catching the spark in her eyes as their gazes met again.
Colin’s breath came in shorter bursts. Heavens but she was truly lovely.
Colin tugged off his gloves, folding them into the pocket of his coat, before shrugging out of his coat. The garment didn’t allow enough movement to row a boat, which explained why all the gentlemen were currently in waistcoats and shirtsleeves.
“Allow me, my lord.” Belle extended a hand, indicating she would hold his coat for him, preventing it from falling to the floor of the boat.
He willingly handed over the garment, their fingers brushing and sending another wave of awareness through him.
Steady, man.
He fit the oars into the oarlocks and pulled back, propelling the boat onto the water. Colin was in no hurry to join the others on the island, so he kept his strokes slow.
If Belle noticed, she didn’t seem to care. Instead, she turned her face into the glimmering sun, sighing.
Was it a good sigh? A contented sigh?
Or was she preparing to deliver her vaunted speech, finishing what she had begun the other day?
How could he make his case?
“I trust you are well, Miss Heartstone,” he began.
“Yes, thank you. Very well.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “Are we to discuss the weather next?”
Colin chuckled. “Only if you feel the topic has not utterly exhausted itself.”
“My lord, you clearly have not spent enough time in England. The weather is wholly incapable of exhausting itself as a topic.” Her laughter carried across the water.
They chatted about inanities—the Strattons, the ball on the following evening, their plans for the remainder of the London Season.
Fortunately, unlike their conversation along the forest path, Belle appeared delighted in his attention, returning it. Colin found himself hard-pressed to keep from staring at her. Her eyes sparked with life as she spoke, emotions came and went across her pretty face.
Every now and again, he caught an intensity in her look. As if he were a feast and she a starving peasant who had hungered for too long—
Colin shook his head in bemusement.
That was simply wishful thinking on his part, surely.
A lull appeared in their conversation. He stroked with the oars. Water lapped the side of the boat.
For nearly the hundredth time, Colin wondered why she hadn’t chosen to marry. Clearly he wasn’t the first man of consequence to court her over the years. Was she suddenly taken with him? Or was she always like this with men?
Which, he supposed, could explain why so many men offered for her. Colin felt somewhat burned sitting in the glow of her gaze.
Which meant that her next words caught him decidedly off-guard.
“My lord—” Belle cleared her throat. “—there is something I wish to speak with you about,” she began.
What?
No! Not the speech!
Not yet!
He had just begun making progress.
Panic gripped him.
“I wonder why you are not yet married, Miss Heartstone?” He practically shouted the question, the topic dragged from immediate thoughts.
Belle’s brow puckered, her shoulders stiffening.
“Pardon?”
Right. If he wished to woo her, he should probably not ask such a question. It practically invited her to continue with her practiced speech.
“Am I too impertinent?” He laughed, trying to cover his gaff. “You may tell me so. Years of living in Calcutta have rendered my manners somewhat rusty, I am afraid.”
He declined to add that his upbringing had not educated him to interact with the upper echelons of the ton.
“Heavens, you are anything but impertinent, my lord. I was simply somewhat surprised by the question. You do not strike me as the type to care if a woman c
hooses to remain unmarried.”
He nodded his head.
First, hallelujah he had distracted her again.
Second, her observation was tellingly accurate. He added perceptive to the list of things he admired about her.
“I did not mean to imply any criticism, madam,” he hastened to clarify. “It is simply curiosity on my part. A charming woman such as yourself surely has had her pick of suitors over the years, and yet you have declined them all.”
“By charming, I think you mean wealthy, my lord.” Belle smiled, but it was not a delighted smile that lit her eyes. It was more of a sad, worn thing.
Something hot and searing washed through Colin, not quite anger or outrage or indignation, but some combination of all three.
How could it be? This remarkable woman doubted her own inherent attractions. Was that the motivation behind all her rejections? Send potential suitors packing before she had a chance to be hurt?
But, as he contemplated, he supposed he understood it.
A loud laugh had him shifting a glance toward the boat where Lord Odysseus sat, entertaining several young ladies with success, judging by the giggles that drifted across the water.
Lord Odysseus was likely the tail-end of a long line of bachelors who needed her money to bolster their coffers.
And that knowledge left Belle adrift.
“You do yourself a disservice, madam, by discounting your own personal charms,” he said, turning back to her.
“You are too kind, my lord. I was not angling for a compliment.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I brought up the point merely to illustrate why I have not chosen to marry as of yet. My financial reserves are not . . . insignificant and, as such, it can be difficult to trust that a gentleman’s interest is for myself alone.”
“So there is no tragedy in your past? No long-lost love?”
Was it his imagination, or did she wince? But as she laughed in reply to his question, he figured it must have simply been the sun on the water playing tricks with his perception.
“Well, I have considered finding a dastardly Italian count to hold me hostage in a castle tower until my true love can rescue me—”
Colin let out a bark of laughter. “Unfortunately, Italian counts are hardly as dastardly in the real world.”