Daring Deception Part 23

Frederica gave her counsellor a quick hug. "Everything may yet turn out right, Milly, so do not fret. You must trust that your teachings have taken hold and that I shall be as you would wish: prudent, purposeful--and organized."

GAVIN DIDN'T KNOW whether to be frustrated or relieved. After nearly a week of skilful prying and subtle innuendo, in places ranging from respectable coffee-houses to wretched gaming halls, he was no closer to discovering the late Carol's political leanings than he had been at the out~t.

He couldn't understand it. From the moment Miss Cherrystone had asked her tentative question, he had been almost certain that his uncle's losses could be traced to the French. The pattern was so exactly what he had seen during his service, when he had investigated just such cases for the War Office.

But now, after applying every tactic he had used then, exploring every connection who remained in London, he was beginning to doubt that surmise.

"Thank you, Francois," he said to the short, dark-haired man who had been his last hope. He had met his erstwhile informant by previous arrangement at an out-of-the-way club well known in certain circles for its political intrigues.

"Here is what I promised you." He pa.s.sed a guinea wrapped in a pound note across the table.

"If you hear anything, you know how to contact me."

"Oui, m'sieu," the man answered.

"But I cannot think where I should.

If your esteemed oncle was a contributor to the Corsican, he was the wiliest one in England. Me, I think you will not need to cover up anything at all. "

Gavin had told Francois that he desired to hide any trail his uncle had left in view of his impending marriage. Francois would never have understood that he might actually wish to expose his uncle's treason, or to make reparation for it, as far as he was able. And now it appeared that he would not be able to do so after all. Gavin was confident that if anyone could have ferreted out evidence of Uncle Edmund's French sympathies, it was Francois.

"Perhaps you are right," he said.

"My source may well have been mistaken."

"Rumours are everywhere, Misieu, but only one in ten is well founded."

Francois nodded sagely, the ends of his greasy black moustache bobbing.

"If I can be of service again, you need only call." He tucked the guinea into his pocket with a c.o.c.ky smile.

Dressed as he was in a brown furze coat and trousers, Gavin ran little risk from the rougher element as he walked the half mile to where he had left his carriage.

Though Francois knew his true ident.i.ty, no one else was likely to realize that a member of the peerage was frequenting this un savoury section of Town.

Glancing quickly about him, he stepped into his carriage, an older one without a crest.

DARING DI~C~PTION.

On the way to his solicitor's office, Gavin shrugged out of his ill-fitting and poorly made clothes and donned a more respectable ensemble. He waited to tie his cravat until the carriage had stopped, a.s.suring himself in the small interior mirror that he looked much as he always did.

A five-month suspension of practice at such quick changes had not caused his skills to completely deteriorate, he was pleased to discover. Still, there were times when a talent for ferreting out rum ours could be decidedly uncomfortable, he thought. In the course of his search for information about his uncle, certain other gossip had come to his ears that he would far rather not have heard.

As he had feared, Coorobes had wasted no time in spreading about Town word of Lord Sea brooke's supposed by-blow. His more disreputable connections had not scrupled to rail him about it, thinking it great fun. That would not have been so bad, as he was prepared to claim Christabel as his own, but there was more. It seemed that Coombes had also sought revenge on Miss Cherrystone by linking her name with his. Some versions of the rumour had Cherry as his live-in mistress, with Christabel their natural child.

The fury Gavin had experienced on first hearing that tale had nearly rivalled what he had felt at Coombes's original accusations. For a moment he wished that he had called the man out at the time, which would have prevented the present a.s.sault on Cherry's name. Then the absurdity of his thoughts struck him. What would the world say of an earl who duelled with one of his servants to protect the reputation of another? The problem was, he could not seem to think of Miss Cherrystone as a servant at all. To be sure, she dressed like one, and was properly deferential when she spoke to him, but there was an intelligence and an unconscious dignity about her that bespoke someone of equal rather than inferior status. He couldn't seem to keep the proper barriers in place between them, at least not in his thoughts.

Gavin had done his best to squelch the gossip, particularly as it related to Cherry, but he knew that he could not stop it altogether. More than ever, he hoped that her theory about Amity's marriage to Peter Browning was sound and could be proved. If he could publicly proclaim Christabel his niece, it would effectively silence both rum ours at once.

His man of business was able to inform Gavin that Mr. Trent, the steward he had recently hired to oversee the Sea brooke estate (or what remained of it), would be arriving with the account books that day or the next to go over them with the earl. He had not much hope of gleaning anything useful from them, but it was a place to start, he supposed, as his other lines of investigation had proved fruitless. He would ask Cherry to go over the books with the steward when he arrived; she seemed quite knowledgeable about such things.

On leaving his solicitor's office, Gavin decided to stop by White's for an early dinner be.

fore returning home. A respite in such thoroughly respectable surroundings would do him good after the past few days. Never before had he felt so sullied by dealings with London's underworld.

Idly, he wondered if it had anything to do with the occasional notion he'd had of what Miss Cherrystone would think if she could see him. The thought made him smile.

Walking into the club, he stopped to take a deep breath, absorbing the almost palpable air of decorum and good breeding that permeated the place. Ignoring the half-dozen dandies at the bow window, whom he might have joined in another mood, he went to sit at a table in a quiet corner. He had not even removed his gloves when he was accosted jovially from behind.

"Sea brooke! Devilish good fortune that I should find you here." Sir Thomas Chesterton clapped him familiarly on the shoulder and seated himself in the other chair.

"I've just come from the newspaper offices and wanted to give you fair warning before you were besieged with felicitations."

The earl favoured his future brother-in-law with a slightly forced smile.

"It is good to see you again, Sir Thomas. Do I take it that you have procured your sister's acquiescence to the match?" Suddenly he felt as if the walls of a prison were closing about him.

"More or less," said Sir Thomas, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"The news took her by surprise, of course, but she's a remarkably levelheaded girl. She can't deny the advantages, and had no reason to expect a better offer." Gavin's worst fears were confirmed. The girl was doubtless an antidote, and either brainless or ambitious into the bargain--for what lady of delicacy and intelligence would not revolt at being betrothed sight unseen?

"And when am I to meet my future bride?" he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his midsection. He no longer had any appet.i.te.

"Not sure just yet. I had hoped to have her in Town by the end of the Little Season." Thomas had still to receive a letter from Frederica, and he was beginning to wonder whether he would. He had taken the step of putting the announcement in the papers in hopes of persuading her further that the wedding must take place as planned.

Looking at the man across from him, he was somewhat rea.s.sured.

Sea brooke appeared as solid and dependable as ever; surely Freddie would not be able to find anything to his discredit.

"I say, Sea brooke," called out a gentleman entering the club at that moment, whom Thomas was able to identify after a moment as Lord Garvey.

"Haven't seen you in ages."

Lord Sea brooke rose to shake his hand.

"How is wedded bliss treating you, Barry?" he asked.

"Are you in Town for long?"

Garvey shook his head.

"Only for a few weeks. Elizabeth wants our first child to be born in the country." He was grinning with pride. "My heir is due to make his appearance before Christmas. Speaking of offspring, that reminds me. I heard a most unlikely on-dit this very day,"

he said, sobering somewhat.

"Don't put much stock in little-tattle," said Lord Sea brooke hastily.

"I have it on good authority that only one rumour in ten is well founded.

Tell me, have you met Sir Thomas Chesterton?"

Garvey had, but he allowed the previous subject to drop while he renewed his acquaintance with the young man. After a few minutes of general conversation, Lord Garvey was called away to answer someone's enquiries about the Duke of Ravenham, whose estate neighboured his own. When he had gone, Sea brooke turned back to his young companion.