“Yes,” Tristan intoned.
Rutland cleared his throat. “Now, I am well and truly concerned. I cannot imagine where Adam has got to. It’s unlike him to disappear without a word.”
“Agreed, though your information has been helpful. At least, I now know that Ledger has vanished in truth. If you do happen to hear from him, please pass along my apologies and ask him to call upon—”
A knock sounded on the door.
“The water!” Fitzsimmons beamed. “Come!”
A sweating clerk entered, carrying a steaming kettle.
Fitzsimmons clapped his hands with a crack. “Let us have tea, gentlemen.”
It took Tristan a solid thirty minutes to extract himself from Mr. Fitzsimmons’s exuberance and—here, he had to admit the truth—an excellent cup of black tea. The shortbread was also quite lovely. Predictably, Fitzsimmons pressed three pieces into Tristan’s handkerchief to “share with Her Grace.” The man had beamed so proudly, and waxed so poetic about his own wife’s cooking, Tristan hadn’t the heart to refuse him.
Mr. Rutland, in parting, promised to let Tristan know immediately if Ledger surfaced again.
And that was that.
Stepping out into the bustle of London traffic, shortbread in hand, Tristan frowned.
Damn and blast!
That had not gone as he had hoped.
The bank visit had merely solidified Tristan’s worry over Ledger.
Where the devil had his secretary gone?
Tristan climbed into his waiting carriage and directed the coachman to take him to the office of theLondon Times. It was time to employ more direct tactics to find Adam Ledger.
The notice he penned was short and to the point:
If any party has information as to the location of Mr. Adam Ledger, former secretary to the Duke of Kendall, please send word to Gilbert House, Grosvenor Square. Intelligence that results in locating Mr. Ledger will be handsomely rewarded.
He handed the notice to the print boy and set off for home, where he planned to corner Isolde, share the excellent shortbread in his pocket, and recount all events related to Augustus Fitzsimmons.
14
Lady Lavinia was either a rabble-rouser or a madwoman fit for Bedlam.
Isolde formed this theory over the following days in an attempt to explain the woman’s vindictive behavior. Or perhaps Lady Lavinia truly was part ferret and reveled in chaos.
Regardless, Isolde couldn’t find a single logical reason for Lady Lavinia’s continued unprovoked attacks. What did the woman hope to gain?
Isolde was already married to Tristan. No amount of outside torment or chicanery could change that fact. Furthermore, Isolde had already been branded as eccentric and scandalous by theton. What further damage did Lady Lavinia hope to accomplish? Or was it as Isolde suspected—Lady Lavinia simply relished cruelty?
Evidence of the lady’s malice grew daily.
For example, Isolde’s beloved, dog-eared copy of Jane Austen’sPersuasionwas found waterlogged on the terrace in the back garden.
The pin of her favorite brooch was bent in half where it lay on her dressing table.
Her calling card case was emptied of its contents, resulting in Isolde appearing an idiot when she went to leave a card for Lady Grosvenor and had to stammer a reason as to why she had no card to give.
An itching powder found its way into Isolde’s favorite pair of gloves. But when Tristan asked Isolde why her hands had become red and swollen with hives, she told him a half-truth about spilling the powder herself.
What was she to do? Isolde was at war with a hostile force. She knew she could easily call in Tristan’s heavy artillery to win the battle for her. But if Isolde was to be a successful duchess, she needed to fight her own battles.
