Gabriel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “May I depend upon your discretion?” he inquired.
“I would hardly have attained the position I have, did I betray my clients’ confidences,” Mr. Bascomb replied. “I hold anything said in this room in the strictest of confidentiality.”
It was difficult to speak of it. He’d spent so long, under the direction of his father, pretending that it had never happened, that nothing at all was amiss. But holding his silence now would avail him nothing. “Several years ago,” he said, “I was involved in an accident. To all appearances, I was thrown from a horse and took a head wound. I spent weeks in a sickbed, hovering between life and death. Although I did recover, there were complications. I had lost several years of my memory, and though occasionally something jogs itself loose, there is much that is missing still.” He pinned Mr. Bascomb with a speaking glance. “I am my father’s heir,” he said. “There are those that would suggest that such an ailment speaks to a certain frailty of mind. We have gone to not-insignificant lengths to ensure that my affliction never became public knowledge.”
“I see,” Mr. Bascomb said. “And this young woman you are seeking—I assume she would be from those missing memories?”
“Yes,” said Gabriel. “And there is every possibility that she is my wife.”
“Your wife,” Mr. Bascomb said speculatively. “No license has turned up?”
Gabriel shook his head. “She arrived at Newsom Manor shortly after my accident, claiming to be my marchioness—that we had been married recently. My father doubted the veracity of her claim at the time and turned her away, and I was certainly in no condition to confirm or deny it—but apparently I said…thingsduring the time that I was ill that led him to believe that perhaps he might have acted in haste.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, finding himself suddenly tired. “You can understand, I’m certain, why it is imperative that this woman be located. I might very well have a wife out there somewhere.”
Mr. Bascomb drew a deep breath and shook his head, as if in utter shock. “Well,” he said, “given the limited information you possess, I’m afraid I can make you no promises. However, I suppose there might be a minor chance, my lord, of finding her through you.”
“Through me?”
“Yes,” Mr. Bascomb said. “You said your accident occurred on horseback? Were you near to Newsom Manor at the time of it?”
“Yes, I—just a mile or so away, I think,” Gabriel said. “That is, I was found on the road, there, and my horse was nearby.”
Mr. Bascomb had collected his pen once again and began to scribble down notes. “Let’s say we assume the young woman was in earnest,” he said. “That your accident occurred while you were on your way to Newsom Manor. You were not traveling by carriage, so I suspect you would have come from somewhere nearby. Can you give me the names of the nearest towns to where you were found?”
Gabriel rattled off a handful of names, which Mr. Bascomb dutifully copied down. This had been a consideration that had not occurred to him.
“I’ll start with these, then,” Mr. Bascomb said. “It would be difficult to find a woman without a name or a description, but I’ll wager thatyouare hardly unknown in those parts, my lord. Perhaps I can find someone in those areas that will remember you from around that time period, and whether or not you were known to be keeping company with a young lady.” He glanced up, taking in Gabriel’s surprised expression. “I shall be discreet,” he said. “Any interviews I conduct will be handled as tactfully and quietly as possible.”
Gabriel believed him. For the first time since his father had revealed to him his uncertain marital state, he found himself possessed of a sliver of hope that perhaps one more shred of his life, of the man he once had been so many years ago, might at last be revealed to him.
Chapter Five
Mrs. Cartwright had been correct—the chefwasa nightmare of a man. Presently he was engaged in a furious argument with one of the kitchen maids over her failure to procure shallots from the market, and Claire found herself marveling that none of the servants had yet attempted to throttle the man.
“Monsieur Bissonet,” Claire said, attempting to wedge herself in between the gesticulating chef and the incensed maid, Sukey. “I’m afraid that if there were no shallots to be found, then there were no shallots to be found, and dinner will simply have to proceed without them.”
Her words had no effect whatsoever, and the pair simply ignored her as if she had not spoken at all. At the small table near the window, Mrs. Cartwright sent her an encouraging glance, but gave no indication that she would join the fray.
It was a test. When Mrs. Cartwright retired, these employees would be Claire’s to manage, and she would need to take them in handnow.
She gritted her teeth together as Monsieur Bissonet shook his finger in Sukey’s face in patronizing disdain. And then she ground them as Sukey responded with several ill-considered words better suited to the gutter than a noble household.
Monsieur Bissonet drew an offended breath—and then snatched his hand backward in preparation to deliver a slap.
Before the blow could fall, Claire snatched up her teacup, which had since cooled to tepid, and dashed the remnants in the man’s face.
“Clean that up, Sukey, we don’t want anyone to slip,” Claire snapped, tossing a rag at the girl, who had gone silent in shock.
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl mumbled.
“Monsieur Bissonet, if you raise your hand to one of my employees, I vow it will be your last day in this household,” Claire said to the chef, who was wiping tea from his face. “Now, you will listen to me—your role in this household is to prepare meals,notto chastise the kitchen staff. If you have a grievance, you will bring it to me, and I will handle it as I see fit. Is that understood?”
The man glowered at her, his chin quivering with rage. “His lordship will—”
“His lordship will do as I recommend,” she countered. “You’re hardly the only French chef in the city, monsieur. You arenotirreplaceable.”
Though it clearly galled him, his eyes swept away from hers. “Very well,madame. I will work without shallots.Somehow.”
“Good.” Claire set her teacup down on the small table and Mrs. Cartwright filled it once again. “I won’t countenance this sort of outburst again,” she said to the kitchen at large. “It disrupts the harmony of the household.”
