‘The very one, sir. I know you were informed earlier today of her sudden move to the orphanage in Islington. A rather odd place for a lady of quality to live.’
Edward grimaced. He should have informed Philippa immediately of Lady Ivy’s move to the All Souls Orphanage, but there hadn’t been time between reading reports, meeting with the constables from various boroughs, and establishing the crimes most worthy of the Prime Minister’s private investigators. He planned on sending a note to the Duchess of Dorsett the next morning. After all, how much difference could one day make?
A whole bloody lot of difference if something has happened to Lady Ivy.
‘Spare me the commentary, Reading, and get to the point.’
Reading tugged on a crimson ear and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in the waves. ‘Right. Yes. Well, the nightwatchman reported a young lad came tearing out of the orphanage not more than an hour hence. Claims they’ve had an intruder.’
An electric current of alarm thrummed through Edward. He sat straight in his chair, the report in front of him forgotten. ‘Intruder? What bloody intruder?’
Philippa is going to eviscerate me. I can’t fail her. Not again.
Yes. That’s why his heart beat an erratic tattoo against his ribs. Not because he was worried about Ivy Cavendale.
Why would I care about her fate? I hardly know her.
His concern simply stemmed from the ill-advised promise he’d made to the duchess months ago. It was right after the masque ball held by Lord William Renquist. The first night he met Lady Ivy Cavendale, and one he wouldn’t soon forget.
She’d kept to the shadows that night. Hiding. Not realising her efforts to evade notice only drew Edward’s sharpened focus more tightly in her direction. Seeking hidden truths buried in the darkest of lies was the one talent Edward possessed. And something about Lady Ivy Cavendale piqued his interest like a hound scenting the fox.
He’d hardly had time to think about his awareness of her that night as he was more concerned with capturing Lord Gartling, an esteemed member of the House of Lords from one of the oldest lines of bluest blood. A man also known to his sick brotherhood as the Snake. One of the three leaders in the Devil’s Sons. The dead one. Philippa ensured the man faced immediate justice with a well-placed bullet to his chest after he attempted to murder Lord William Renquist’s maid, Penny. She was now Lord William Renquist’s wife in a scandalous wedding between a maid and her marquess that the beau monde still tittered over.
When the dust settled on that night three months ago, Philippa had surprised Edward with a visit to his home the next day at the unseemly hour of eight in the morning. His butler almost swallowed his tongue when called upon to host someone of such esteem with no notice. Thankfully, Edward was dressed, breakfasted, and on his way out of the door. He delayed his departure because no one rescheduled with the duchess.
‘I need you to do me a favour.’ She refused to sit in the rather dusty parlour Edward never used. She stood with her spine ramrod straight next to his leather couch, rubbing her index finger against her thumb in a clear sign of agitation only her closest confidantes would recognise. Sunlight illuminated her morning gown of wine red so dark it was almost black. Her lips had been stained a colour to match. Shocking when the Queen dictated a natural face to be the comeliest option. But Philippa defied even Queen Victoria. She was stunning with her raven-black hair twisted into an intricate mass of curls and braids, the strands of silver only highlighting her beauty. Her sharp eyes, bluer than a fathomless sea, could cut through any man sharper than a blade. High cheekbones, skin that seemed to defy the years Edward knew were matching his own at nine and thirty, and a figure many young misses would cinch themselves breathless to achieve all combined to create more than just a woman. Philippa was a force of nature. It was no wonder she had captured his heart so long ago, when they were still children.
But she had never been enamoured of him. A fact his youthful pride couldn’t accept. And so, the brash fool that he’d been made an irreversible mistake. One causing them both immeasurable harm.
Don’t think of it. Not here. Not now.
His feelings for Philippa no longer smouldered with the passion of romantic love. Those flames died long ago and, in their place, grew respect of the highest order and an unpayable debt. So how could he possibly refuse her favour? Even one that ran so counter to his own desires.
‘It came to my attention at the masque that Ivy has developed a friendship with someone I don’t trust.’
Even now, months later, Edward remembered his reaction to Philippa’s announcement. Alarm threaded through his nervous system with a healthy dose of denial. ‘What on earth does Lady Ivy Cavendale’s friendships have to do with me? I neither know the woman nor care to know her.’
Balderdash!
Even after only one meeting, it was impossible to deny his interest in the mysterious woman.
Philippa strode closer to him, close enough for him to note the fine lines fanning from her cobalt eyes. ‘She is an innocent who has suffered much. More than you could possibly guess.’ Which only increased Edward’s growing curiosity. Something he was positive Philippa intended.
Damn her ability to play me so easily. Just as she did when we were children.
‘Protect her, Edward. You owe me this after failing to protect—’ But Philippa couldn’t say her name. And Edward understood. It was a blade between them, cutting away their shields and exposing raw wounds neither wished to admit. Philippa continued as if she’d never stumbled. ‘I don’t trust Lady Olivia Smithwick. Her newly developed friendship with Ivy is highly suspicious. What could a woman like that want with someone as socially irrelevant as Ivy?’
‘I doubt Lady Cavendale would appreciate your assessment of her.’
‘I am not assessing Ivy’s worth. It is immeasurable. I am simply stating her position in the beau monde. A station based neither on her merit, intelligence, or abilities. Society is a poor judge of character. Which is my point, if you would only pay attention. Lady Olivia Smithwick has captured the beau monde’s regard and is basking in that power. So why would she waste her time considering Ivy as a viable friend? Her motives are corrupt.’
Shrugging, Edward refused to lend credence to Philippa’s claims. ‘Perhaps she appreciates the same qualities in Lady Cavendale which drew you to her.’
She snorted, a decidedly unduchesslike sound that reminded Edward painfully of the Philippa he knew from his youth. ‘Doubtful. Ivy thinks Lady Smithwick is just a harmless, wealthy member of the beau monde, devoted to charitable causes. But she’s wrong. I’ve been around enough liars to recognise the shape and scent of one, even across a crowded ballroom. Lady Olivia Smithwick is deceiving the beau monde, her husband, and Ivy. But she isn’t fooling me.’
Edward had noted Philippa’s reaction to Lady Olivia Smithwick at Lord Renquist’s ball. While Edward had limited dealings with Lady Olivia’s husband, the Marquess of Brightmore, he was a respected member of the House of Lords. Lady Olivia had only newly returned from the Continent, where it was rumoured her husband banished her at least ten years prior for cuckolding him. Unfaithfulness might earn a woman like Olivia Smithwick a certain tarnished notoriety, but she hardly posed a threat to Lady Ivy Cavendale’s already ruined reputation. Still, Edward long ago learned the imprudence of doubting Philippa Winterbourne.
If Lady Olivia Smithwick had caught Philippa’s interest, it did not bode well for the newly reinstated marchioness. More often than not, members of the peerage who gained Philippa’s notice met an early, unfortunate, and well-deserved end. Which made Lady Olivia’s friendship with Lady Ivy Cavendale most concerning. And a confounding puzzle. The two women couldn’t be more opposite. Lady Ivy Cavendale dissolved into a crowd like mist while Lady Olivia Smithwick drew people’s eyes as surely as a sparkling firework in the midnight sky. And yet, it was quiet, pale, private Lady Ivy Cavendale who plucked at Edward’s curiosity like a violin string sending vibrations through his bones. And this was the exact reason he should stay away from the woman.
