He folded the first message up and opened the other. “Ah, this one is from Will Masterson. He’s another Westerfield old boy, but the well-behaved sort, not like me. He’s the man who figured out how to get us out of that cellar alive.” He skimmed the note and his brows rose. “Interesting.”
“Interesting good or interesting bad?” Callie asked.
“Interesting good. He spent years as an officer fighting the French in Portugal and Spain, but after the emperor abdicated, he sold out and acquired a wife on his way home to England. He may be in London now, in fact. I shall have to see if I can find him. Kirkland will know. Kirkland always knows.”
“I look forward to meeting the omniscient Kirkland,” Callie murmured.
Gordon grinned. “Think of him as a sinister spymaster, but charming. And musical.” He folded Masterson’s letter and put it back in the file. “Even though it’s a little cool, would you like to stop at Gunter’s for one of their famous ices?”
“Oh, yes! It’s one of those things that I intended to do when I had a London Season.” She made a face. “Which I never got, of course.”
“This will be better than a Season,” he promised. “Since you’re stuck with me, you don’t have to worry about looking for an acceptable husband among the dreary hordes of nervous young men in search of a wife.” He gave a mock leer. “And the sleeping arrangements are so much better than if you were on the Marriage Mart.”
She laughed and tucked her hand around his arm. “That last is certainly true!”
A Hatchards employee carried two sizable boxes of books out to their curricle and stored them behind the seat under the interested eye of Skip, the boy who had come with the curricle. Gordon helped Callie into the carriage and took the reins for the drive to Berkeley Square, location of Gunter’s, the most famous confectioner’s shop in the city.
When they reached the shop, he ordered three dishes of the day’s special, bitter orange, including one for Skip, the carriage boy, who was wide eyed with pleasure at the unexpected treat. As was the custom, Gordon ate his while standing next to the carriage, where Callie was attacking her ice with ladylike gluttony.
“This isheaven!” she exclaimed. “I sometimes made ices in Washington, but these are in a whole different class! Imagine how wonderful such good ices would taste in the blaze of a Chesapeake summer.”
“We would have wanted to drown ourselves in a barrel of this in order to escape the heat.” He took another small bite, enjoying the delicious bittersweet taste as the ice melted, filling his mouth with flavor. “Maybe you should suggest to Sarah that she sell ices in her bake shop.”
“That’s a very good idea. I’ll come back another day to talk to the Gunter’s owner to find out how he makes his ices so superb, if he’s willing to tell me.”
“Bribe him,” Gordon suggested. “Sarah is far enough away so as not to be competition for Gunter’s.”
“That’s a rather good idea. We can discuss a bribery budget later.” With regret, she finished her ice and Gordon returned the three empty dishes to a waiter. Skip had apparently licked his dish. If Gordon had been younger, he might have done the same.
As he returned to the carriage and climbed inside, he said, “Kirkland House, where the musicale is tonight, is just over there on the other side of Berkeley Square. Perhaps there will be ices among the refreshments.”
“An incentive to attend even if I didn’t like music,” Callie said with a smile.
They had left Berkeley Square and were heading home toward Mount Row when Callie caught hold of his arm. “That’s South Street!”
“Yes?” he asked, wondering at the significance.
“Stanfield House is on South Street. Number twenty-two. Let’s stop and see if any of my family is there.” She drew a deep breath. “I should probably get this first meeting over with. If none of the Brookes are in residence, even better. I can say that I tried and forget them for a while longer.”
Understanding the impulse to get it over with, he turned into South Street. Number twenty-two was about halfway down on the right. The knocker was up, so some of the family were in residence.
Callie gazed up at the house. It was large, anonymous, and expensive looking. “Though I stayed here as a child, I don’t remember it at all.”
Richard climbed from the carriage and gave the reins to Skip, then helped Callie down and took her arm as they walked to the house. “If I recall correctly, you got on reasonably well with your sisters and brother when you lived at home. Whom in your family are you most reluctant to meet again?”
His question steadied her by making her analyze her anxiety. “Jane,” she said. “The next oldest after me. She was always such a prig. She’d lecture me on my wild behavior and tattle to my parents. I’m sure she was the one who told my father we were running away. I don’t think I can ever forgive her for that because of the ghastly consequences. You came so close to being killed that night!”
“But I wasn’t.” His voice was calm as they climbed the steps. “She couldn’t have known how disastrous it would be, and she was very young. Fifteen or so? Perhaps she’s learned some tolerance with the years.”
And perhaps Callie would scratch her sister’s eyes out. She slammed the knocker hard into the door. She didn’t think she’d actually do any eye scratching, but she was less charitable about Jane’s youthful betrayal than Richard was.
The door was opened by an impeccable butler who made her think of a stuffed owl. She’d met three butlers in two days, and she liked Richard’s the best, but she smiled at this one pleasantly. “Good day. Are any of the family in residence?”
The butler frowned. “And who would you be?”
“A long lost relative. I hope to surprise my family.”
He didn’t stop frowning, but there was a general resemblance among the Brookes, and apparently she passed the appearance test. “Sir Andrew and Lady Harding are currently staying here since their own residence is being remodeled, but Sir Andrew is out. Lady Harding is taking tea in the morning room. I’ll see if she’s receiving guests.”
