“If you ask me, Mama persuaded him in hopes we might secure husbands.” Silvestre sighed. “It seems silly to say so, Miss — I mean, Felicity — but in a way I envy you. At least you are not obliged to dispose of yourself in matrimony.”
Disregarding this, Felicity fastened upon the salient point. “You appear to be informed of the situation now. How did you find it out?”
Henrietta’s pretty features fell. “By the veriest accident. I overheard Mama talking to Aunt Angelica — Mrs Summerhayes, you know.”
“And she told me and I taxed Papa with it the first chance I got. He didn’t want to reveal the truth, but I insisted and at last he told me.”
Curiosity overtook Felicity. “Forgive me, but what is the truth? Don’t feel obliged to tell me, if you had rather not.”
Henrietta reached out to press her hand. “Oh, why not? Your situation is worse than ours, and I can’t think you would betray us.”
“Certainly not.”
“Besides, Mrs Summerhayes is bound to tell you,” said Silvestre in a practical spirit. “You see, Papa was heir to our great-uncle Silvester —”
“Yes, and Silve was even named after him because of it.”
“— only the wretched man has gone and married again, and his wife bore him a son at the end of last year.” Her tone took on exasperation. “He is called Horatio, of course.”
“After our fallen hero. I think it is perfectly charming to have named the baby for Admiral Nelson, Silve.”
“I dare say, but that does not alter the fact that this little Horatio has cut Papa out of the succession.”
Henrietta’s eyes swam and her voice became husky. “It wouldn’t matter so much, only that great-uncle cut off his allowance as well.”
“Yes, and I expect he would have taken back the little estate he made over to Papa if he could, but Papa says he can’t for the lawyer told him the contract is binding.”
“At least we have somewhere to live,” said Henrietta, sniffing into a pocket handkerchief dug out of her sleeve, “but this must be our last season. Papa cannot afford another.”
“That is why Aunt Angelica — she is our godmother, you must know — came up with the idea for the auction.”
“Was it to raise funds?” asked Felicity, thankful for the diversion from her own miseries.
“Oh, no.” Henrietta looked at her sister. “At least, was it? Aunt Angelica only told me she hoped it would bring us into better notice.”
“I suspect she thinks it may cover some of the expenses of the party,” her sister said. “It is not as if the bids were huge. It was only a game, after all.”
The subject served to keep the twins engaged while they readied themselves for bed. But they did not neglect their guest, Henrietta insisting on sending down for a glass of hot milk and enquiring every so often if Felicity were comfortable.
The truckle bed was comfortable enough, if a trifle narrow, but the incessant chatter made her head ache and she longed for the freedom to become lost in her own dark thoughts. However, by the time the girls were tucked up and the candles snuffed, exhaustion took over and Felicity fell asleep to the muffled whispers coming from behind the curtained four-poster.
The door to Lord Lynchmere’s Berkeley Square mansion was opened by the porter at the footman’s knock. Raoul dismissed the servant and his coachman drove off towards the mews. He entered the marbled hall, his thoughts still maddeningly centred on the peculiar happenings of the evening, and handed his hat and coat to the porter.
“Thank you, Bullman. That will be all. Lock up and go to bed.”
The fellow coughed. “Yes, my lord, but there is something, my lord.”
What now? The tone was hesitant. In the light afforded by the two candelabra placed on tables either side of the hall, he was able to note an apologetic mien in the porter’s face.
“Out with it. What has occurred?” Before Bullman could answer, the book room door opened and his secretary came out. “Are you still up, Jerram? What the deuce has been happening here?”
The porter fell back as the fresh-faced young man approached, obviously relieved not to be obliged to relate whatever ill news awaited. “It is nothing very serious, my lord, but I thought you would wish to be informed. An odd circumstance merely.”
Impatience rose up. “Well, don’t be so mysterious, man. I’ve had a night of it already, I thank you.”
“Your pardon, my lord. Perhaps I had best show it to you.” He indicated the open doorway to the book room.
Frowning now, Raoul strode purposefully in, Jerram close behind. The candles in the wall-sconces had been left alight, as well as those in the small candelabrum the secretary kept for his desk. Raoul’s eye went directly to the alien object standing on the desk: a bulging valise.
