"Only because Prinny and his set are so spendthrift. They set a standard that others rush to follow," interjected Lady Meriton, her voice thick with disgust.
"Like lemmings rushing to the sea, they seek their destruction," quipped Cecilia.
"Precisely. I only hope I have adequately educated Franklin to avoid the excesses of his peers."
Cecilia laughed and reached over to pat her aunt's hand. "I should not worry unduly. Franklin is an intelligent lad. If he wasn't, I'm certain Meriton would pack him off to one of England's colonies or even to the United States."
Lady Meriton smiled. "Yes. He would call itseasoning.Much more educational than a Grand Tour. That reminds me, my dear—and do not let me forget again—Franklin has written that he's again in need of new clothes. I swear I used to worry he would never grow. Now I worry he shall never stop! Oh, forgive me, Mr. Thornbridge, prattling on like this on personal matters. So ill-conceived."
Mr. Thornbridge nodded understanding, then frowned in thought. "Excuse me, Mrs. Waddley. I fear I am confused. Didn't Mr. Haukstrom come into a sizable allowancebeforeMr. Waddley's death?"
"Yes. From my grandfather, the Duke of Houghton, and my uncle, the Marquis of Nye. My uncle had twin sons, Trenton and Sheridan. Sheridan was killed in Spain during the peninsular wars. Trenton died in 1814. He is now heir to all the unentailed properties."
"After engaging in that silly duel with Lord Welville," Lady Meriton added, her lips pursed in sour disapproval. "Everyone knows Lady Welville is no better than she should be. Trenton was not the only gentleman with whom she played fast and loose."
"But he was the only one Lord Welville challenged to a duel—to their mutual misfortune."
"I've always contended that it was unfortunate he was born first. Sheridan was worth ten Trentons."
"Jessamine, we are rambling again. Mr. Thornbridge has no interest in the skeletons rattling about in our family closet." Cecilia's head tilted, a thoughtful expression narrowing her blue eyes to slits. She tapped a fingernail against her chin. "Though I must admit, thinking of those skeletons does affirm my fears that Randolph may be involved with my husband's death. The family tree is not filled with the most upright and honest of relations, despite our so-called aristocratic blood."
"Yes, and when one considers that father was once a highwayman—"
Mr. Thornbridge choked and sputtered on a sip of tea. "A highwayman? The Duke of Houghton?"
Laughter burbled from Cecilia. "And a smuggler. Jessamine, I believe we have shocked poor Mr. Thornbridge! Do not worry, sir. Grandmother claims the stories are more dramatic than the actuality. She refers to that time in the duke's life as a minor indiscretion. Now he is the model of straitlaced propriety. If anyone challenges him on the contradiction of his life, he calls it the luxury of old age. But my point is, Mr. Thornbridge, that it would not be singular for my brother to be involved in illegal activities. Itisin his blood." She leaned forward to pick up her cup. She sipped the tepid brew as she watched conflicting emotions chase across Mr. Thornbridge's face.
"I admit, Mrs. Waddley, to astonishment at your revelations. Nonetheless, if Mr. Haukstrom did begin receiving a healthy allowance as the next heir to the Marquis of Nye and the Duke of Houghton before Mr. Waddley's death, why would he continue engaging in nefarious activities?"
"That I can’t answer. I can suppose that some sort of adventure was attached to his activities, or perhaps the depths of his involvement prevented his extrication. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. We have no proof, only surmises. What I would like you to do, Mr. Thornbridge, is investigate my brother's financial situation. How does he spend his money? Does he owe anyone? Is he involved in any unusual investments or business ventures? What about his cronies? What are their financial states?"
"I understand, Mrs. Waddley."
"But, Mr. Thornbridge, please be careful. I suspect additional involvement by someone within Waddley Spice and Tea, though I have no idea who that person could be."
"If you are speaking of involvement among the managers, that is only a handful of men—myself included."
"And we satisfied ourselves in regards to you weeks ago. It is a moot concern. But tell me, do you have any trouble among the other managers at Waddley's with visiting me?"
"No, quite the reverse. As the manager possessing the least seniority, I handle the dirtiest jobs. Calling upon you—orpandering to the bereaved widow,as it is known in the company—is considered one of those jobs," he drawled, the sparkle of shared secrets in his eyes.
Lady Meriton pursed her lips and ducked her head to hide a smile. Spotting her lap desk on the floor, she reached down to pick it up.
Cecilia was temporarily nonplussed. Then she smiled ruefully and nodded. "The idea that you are forced to dance attendance upon a silly ninnyhammer gives you the freedom to come and go as you please. Excellent."
"Particularly a ninnyhammer who is forever relating to anyone unfortunate enough to be at hand the sad state of her health.
"It would drive most men to distraction," offered Lady Meriton as she rummaged through her lap desk.
"Yes, I believe I have become quite imaginative in that regard."
A sharp knock on the drawing-room door drew the startled attention of its occupants. Quickly Cecilia reclined back on the sofa, adopting a languid posture. Lady Meriton called out her permission to enter.
At the sight of the thinning pate of Loudon, her aunt's sad-eyed butler, Cecilia relaxed. He was one of the few servants aware of her dissembling.
"Excuse me, my lady, but there is a gentleman below who begs a visit with Mrs. Waddley."
Cecilia sat up straight, her features animated again. "A gentleman? Who is it, Loudon?"
