Next, there was the matter of the new Comstock. He’d had no real opinion of Miles Strickland when he’d still been at sea. But now that he was on land, Gregory had developed a genial hatred for him that had only grown with the Dowager’s description of a prince among men. As long as Hope remained Miss Strickland, her cousin was a threat to their future happiness. Something would have to be done.
Gregory’s agent at the dock confirmed that Miles Strickland, travelling alone except for his little dog, had arrived five days ago in Bristol, then, after travelling to London with the Dowager, his luggage had been directed to the Clarendon. It was near to supper and the food there was excellent. In Gregory’s opinion, there could be no better time to investigate the competition for Hope’s attentions.
When he arrived in the hotel’s dining room, there were few empty chairs. He signalled for the assistance of the porter, scanning the diners already seated. In a far corner at a small, poorly lit table, he saw a man with shoulders so sloped that they did not just seem to bear the weight of the world, they looked as if someone had dropped that weight from a great height.
He gave a nod of his head in the direction of the fellow and held a coin where the porter could see it. ‘Is that man an American?’
The servant nodded. ‘Mr Strickland from Philadelphia.’
‘And did he request that unfortunate spot, or did you force it on him?’
‘He said he was not interested in company.’
‘Well, we do not always get what we want, do we? Take me to him.’
As they approached, Gregory called out, ‘Potts! Old fellow, I have not seen you since Cambridge. Lud, but this place is a crush tonight.’ He dropped into the seat opposite the new Earl. ‘You do not mind if we share a table, do you?’
From the front, Strickland looked as miserable as he had from the rear. Perhaps the Dowager had not exaggerated when she’d spoken of her visit to a sick cousin. His skin was sallow, probably the result of poor diet, hard travel and a passage spent cooped up below deck. From the poor fit of his suit, there appeared to have been a sudden loss of weight.
Fortunately for Gregory, Strickland had not yet acquired the aloof nature of a peer, nor did he realise that a man of his importance should never have been interrupted by rude strangers. A word to the staff and the scribbled title ‘Comstock’ on the hotel register would have been all the protection he needed. Instead, he was left blinking in surprise, as if unsure of what to do about the intrusion. Finally, he said in his strange, flattened accent, ‘I am sorry. You are mistaken. I am not the man you are looking for.’
Gregory blinked back at him, feigning surprise. ‘An American? Then you cannot be Potts, though you are the spitting image of him from the back, at least.’ He glanced around the room, shaking his head. ‘But this place is still packed to the rafters and you have one of the few empty seats. Would you mind terribly?’
‘Not at all,’ Strickland replied with a look that said he was not sure whether he minded, but did not see what he could do to stop it.
‘Gregory Drake,’ he said, offering a hand.
‘Miles Strickland,’ the Earl answered, taking it.
‘You are clearly new to England, Mr Strickland. How do you find it?’
Comstock took a deep drink from the glass in front of him. ‘Utterly mad, Mr Drake. I am not surprised that my country wanted no part of it, if it chooses its governors based on their last name rather than their abilities.’
‘I assume this means you will not be staying with us long.’
Now Miles Strickland looked even more miserable and poured the last of the wine from his bottle before draining his glass in a single gulp. ‘If I could find the money for it, I would be on the first boat back to Philadelphia.’
Gregory tried to contain his surprise. ‘How fortunate that we should meet, Mr Strickland. You sound like a man who might be in need of my services.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a card.
The Earl stared at it for a moment, puzzled. ‘You describe yourself as a solver of problems. Is this a common thing in England? I am sure I have never heard of such in Massachusetts.’
‘I am the only one that I know of,’ Gregory said, trying not to brag.
Strickland gave a gloomy shrug. ‘That is very interesting. But the problem that has befallen me is nothing a stranger can solve. Once you hear it, I doubt you will want to help me, even if you are able.’
‘That is what they all say,’ Gregory replied with a smile. Then he raised a hand to signal the porter. ‘Let me buy us another bottle of this excellent wine. After a nice chop and a few more glasses, you shall tell me all about it.’
The meal came, then the bottle. And then things got interesting.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Gregory arrived at the town house as he always did, on the stroke of ten. But he’d arisen earlier than usual to prepare for this visit than he had the others. The creases in his cravat were as sharp as the razor that had shaved him. He wore his best coat and new gloves and had spent more time adjusting the angle of his hat than a sailor spent with a sextant.
He was not a vain man. But if this turned out to be the last time he saw the woman he loved, he wanted her to remember him at his best. And if it was not the last time? Then everything about the day must be perfect.
Hope was waiting for him in the hall of the town house, as she always did. Had she taken care with her appearance as well? It seemed so. Her bonnet was new and matched a green-velvet coat that would be more appropriate on Bond Street than the neighbourhoods he had been taking her to visit. Even the errant curl was under control today, tucked safely under her bonnet.
‘Are you ready to accompany me, Miss Strickland?’ He offered his hand to her.
