“By the by, Lynchmere, who’s the filly Maskery brought to the Latimer do?”
Startled back to the present, Raoul regarded Guineaford through narrowed eyes. How the devil had he slipped from the activities of the lately crowned Emperor of the French to this objectionable subject? “You saw him with her?”
“In the hall, yes. I was late myself.” Guineaford gave him a shrewd look. “Surprised me to see you make that bid, I’ll admit.”
Raoul curled his lip. “I dare say you are not the only one.”
“Because you never indulge in follies of the kind? No, no, my dear boy, that’s not it. Your cousin no doubt persuaded you.”
Which was true enough. Were Angelica’s machinations common knowledge, then? Or was it Guineaford’s peculiar ability to read between the lines? Just what had he specifically noticed to make him bring it up?
“What are you getting at, sir?”
Guineaford pursed his lips and picked up his glass. “It’s none of my affair, of course, my dear boy, and I confess I was in two minds about speaking out.”
“Cut line, Guineaford. We are well enough acquainted, and I know you don’t indulge in futile gossip.”
The man sipped and inclined his head in acknowledgement. He sat up and set his elbows on the table, leaning in and lowering his voice. “The word is Maskery is all to pieces.”
Raoul threw up his eyes. “Tell me something new.”
“I’ve a riddle for you instead. Why would a fellow who hasn’t a feather to fly with show up at a fashionable event with a strange girl and his own doxy?”
It hit with some force. The Sprake woman was Maskery’s mistress? And he’d used her as a duenna for his ward. Lord above, was there no end to the fellow’s effrontery?
“Do you know this for a fact?”
Guineaford nodded, wafting away a stray drift of smoke from one of the nearby pipes. “Most certainly. I’ve seen him with her before, and not where you’d take a lady.”
Small wonder she’d made herself scarce as soon as she could. The insult to Miss Temple rankled, but was superseded by the immediate danger if this got out.
“Is it generally known?”
“I doubt it. Maskery is lax, but he has some scruples.”
“Not many.” The bitter note slipped out and he caught Guineaford’s faintly raised brow. “Don’t ask.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I see I have already spoken out of turn.”
Raoul hesitated. But Guineaford’s discretion was to be relied upon. Miss Temple’s reputation must be protected. “I am more deeply enmeshed in this business than it appears, Guineaford. Not, I hasten to add, by my desire. I must beg you will refrain from mentioning what you have told me to anyone else.”
Guineaford raised his glass in silent acknowledgement and Raoul was satisfied. But he reckoned without Nalderwood, who ended a laughing conversation with another and turned at that moment.
“Been meaning to ask you, Lynchmere. Where in the world did the Latimers dig up the little redhead?”
Aware of the ironic twist of Guineaford’s smile, Raoul took refuge in Angelica’s version of events. “Miss Temple? She’s an acquaintance of my cousin’s.”
“Ah, that explains it. I wondered what maggot got into your head to be making that bid.” For once Raoul was glad of Angelica’s propensity for running other people’s lives. It proved insufficient to cover everything, however. “Who is she? Does Mrs Summerhayes realise she caused something of a stir?”
“It is my cousin’s habit, as I am sure you know,” said Raoul, sacrificing Angie without a moment’s hesitation. “Nothing delights her more than to spring a surprise.”
Nalderwood laughed. “Ha! She gave you the office, I dare say.”
“To bid on Miss Temple? To some purpose.”
Come, this was better than he could have hoped for. As long as Nalderwood kept to banter.
“Does Mrs Summerhayes mean to satisfy everyone’s curiosity?”
