“In time.” A wry smile edged his lips. “I suspect you are rather more accustomed to accepting fault than assigning it to others.”
“Perhaps.”
Sensing her wariness, Griffin did not underscore the point. “Will you finish your tea, Olivia?” He leaned forward, touched the side of her cup. “It has not yet grown cold.”
Olivia dragged her eyes away from his and glanced at the tea service and uneaten toast points. For once, the rumble in her stomach was pleasant, not ominous. A bit self-consciously, she pressed one hand to it, then returned to her chair.
“What did you mean about Mr. Gardner?” she asked.
The abrupt shift in subject tugged at Griffin’s mental balance. “Pardon?”
“Earlier you said that asking Mr. Gardner for information about me would put you in his debt for all eternity. I wondered what you meant.”
“Oh.” He felt as if he were once again righted, though it was a narrow thing. “Gardner has a faculty for discovery, I suppose you’d call it. One can apply to him to set all manner of things right again.”
“Such as finding Lady Breckenridge.”
“Yes. That is one example.”
“Why did you not ask for his help at the outset?”
“Because I have only recently learned of his peculiar talent. He does not seek out his clientele; indeed, he does not assist everyone who applies to him. Word of mouth brings people to his door, then he decides what he will do.”
“And he agreed to help you.”
“Yes.”
“Now you are in his debt.”
“Yes, and he trades in favors, not currency, so I have no idea when or how I might be asked to return it.” Griffin did not miss Olivia’s flash of disappointment. “There is something you would like to ask of him?”
“I’m not…that is, no…no, I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “In any event, what favor could he possibly gain from an association with me?”
“That is for him to decide.” When she said nothing, he prompted gently. “Why don’t you ask it of me? Perhaps it is something that does not require Gardner’s extraordinary skills. Is it outside all possibility that I might be of service?”
His rather obvious cajolery raised her smile. “I cannot decide if you mean to be modest about your own talents or wounded that I did not apply to you first.”
“Which approach will have the greater chance of disarming you? Tell me, and I shall refine it.”
Olivia was not proof against his honesty. Her smile deepened as she shook her head. “I am disarmed. Completely. I do not thank you for it, nor for making me admit it.”
It was only fair, Griffin thought. He should not be the only one without weapons at the ready. Suspecting that she would not believe him, he held his tongue and waited for her to name the service he might do for her.
“Do you recall the four gentlemen who came here together awhile back, all of them so deep in their cups that you were forced to show them the door?”
He did not require further clarification. “I do, indeed. There was one that—” He stopped, rubbed his chin with his knuckles. “Whiskey. Gin. Two pints of ale. Am I right?”
“I think so. It’s been some years.”
“And the one who spoke to you? Tried to place your face? Which one was he?”
“The whiskey. Or I believe he might have been.”
“You could have told me then.”
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t have. I denied the truth to myself.”
Griffin understood well enough how that was done. “What is it you want?”
