“That is Mr. Isaac King.”
“Ah...” Lady Fitzhoward nodded. “Yes, now I remember. The moneylender.”
She said it in a matter-of-fact tone without rancor, but the maître d’hôtel shifted uneasily.
“I ... hope this will not inconvenience or distress your ladyship?”
“Heavens, no. I don’t owe the man a farthing. Nor does his presence surprise me unduly. From what I hear, Ike King is acquainted with the highest ranks of society, called upon by many aristocrats who find themselves in pecuniary difficulties. I would be the last to raise any objection.”
“Very good, your ladyship. You are most gracious.”
The man bowed and backed away, returning to his duties with an expression of obvious relief.
Rebecca waited until he was out of earshot, then leaned near and asked in teasing tones, “And how, pray, are you acquainted with such a man?” She made little effort to quell her curiosity, nor the grin quivering on her lips.
“Cheeky girl!” her employer chastised mildly, but her rebuke held no bite. “My husband considered doing business with him once when he needed capital to expand. But Mr. King’s business practices were too mercenary for his tastes, as were his interest rates. I saw the man briefly as he left Donald’s office. He bowed and wished me a good evening, as polite as could be.”
Rebecca asked, “Was he not disappointed to be rejected by your husband?”
The older woman shrugged. “Did not appear to be. He hasno shortage of clients, from what I understand. Thetonis riddled with unbridled gamblers.”
“I see.”
Lady Fitzhoward dipped her chin, regarding Rebecca with a sardonic gleam in her eye. “Disappointed I had no seamier tale to tell?” She leaned back and spread her hands. “Feel free to make up your own.”
“Not disappointed. Impressed, actually. You were quite affable about the man.”
She waved off Rebecca’s praise. “I have no interest in ostracizing anyone.”
Rebecca nodded her agreement. “You remind me of my father. He believed there were good and bad eggs in every basket, and was kind to all.”
Lady Fitzhoward eyed her thoughtfully. “I think I would have liked your father.”
“I think so too.”
“And your mother?” she asked.
“Oh. I loved her dearly. But I am fairly certain you would have thought her a ‘silly creature,’ as Rose would say.”
“Rose...” Lady Fitzhoward echoed. “Your brother’s housekeeper—is that right?”
“Right. And our friend. We have known her most of our lives.”
———
Frederick sat alone, waiting for Thomas to join him. Late, again.
His gaze kept sliding over to Miss Lane, who sat with Lady Fitzhoward at their usual table.
Catching his eye, the older woman nodded to him. He still wondered why she seemed familiar.
Miss Newport, seated alone once more, smiled in his direction. He smiled back but did not ask her to join him.
Again at a quarter past seven, Mr. Oliver entered, this time with two companions. The man with military bearing remained near the door, while a second man with curly hair and spectacles joined him at the table. This was the man he had seen Miss Lane talking with earlier—the publisher who had disappointed her.
While Frederick awaited his brother’s arrival, he could not help but overhear the publisher’s conversation with Mr. Oliver.
“Any progress?” the bespectacled man asked.
