“Understandably so,” he responded. “As you so sagely point out to the public, change is frightening, and you are facing a number of changes in your life. But never fear. As I’ve said before, we shall deal with whatever worries arise.”
He looked around. “However, this evening we have more pressing concerns. Come, let us make our way to the King’s Drawing Room. Kit and Lady Cordelia are among the invited guests and they may have found some important information for me to pass on to Griffin.” As they moved through the gallery, he quickly explained about his meeting with Sheffield.
“You’ve been far busier than I have in gathering clues,” she said. “Some of my contacts around the dockyards may also know . . .” She fell silent as one of the scholars in a group by the refreshment table detached himself from the others and approached her.
“Ciao, bellaCharlotta!” He bowed in greeting and looked up with a mischievous grin. “Ah, and this must be Mr. Wrexford.”
“LordWrexford,” corrected Sheffield, who entered the drawing room just in time to overhear the exchange.
By his expression, noted Wrexford, his friend was also of the opinion that the man’s manners left a good deal to be desired.
“Alord?” The man widened his eyes and then flashed a wink at Charlotte. “Santi numi—Anthony enjoyed calling you milady. To think that you will soon be arealone.”
Wrexford took an instant dislike to the fellow. Clenching his teeth, he fought to keep his temper in check.
She gave a tight smile. “Marco, allow me to introduce my fiancé, the Earl of Wrexford. And our friend, Mr. Christopher Sheffield.” To the two of them, she added, “This is Marco Moretti, an old friend from my time in Rome.”
Wrexford gave a gruff nod, not trusting himself to speak.
Sheffield, however, showed no such restraint. “Actually, Lady Charlotte has always been a lady, in every sense of the word, Signore Moretti,” he said in a low voice. “It would be wise for you to have a care with what you say here in London, lest you give people the wrong impression about her past.”
It seemed to Wrexford that a speculative gleam lit for just an instant in Moretti’s eyes.
“Ah, yes, yes,” murmured Charlotte’s friend with a knowing nod. “Gossip is the same in any country. Innocent comments can be turned into nasty rumors, which can damage a reputation, no matter how spotless. Of course you wish to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“Kit, Lady Charlotte looks in need of some champagne,” said Wrexford. “Would you kindly escort her to the refreshment table. Signore Moretti and I will join you in a moment.”
The Italian smiled as Charlotte followed Sheffield’s lead—stirring further temptation to knock several of those pearly teeth down his gullet.
Wrexford took a step closer. “Allow me to correct your misconception. Gossip would be a nuisance for a short while, and then it would give way to some new rumor and be quickly forgotten. You see, not only do I have influence and connections within the highest circles of Society, but it seems I’ve also earned an unpleasant reputation as a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. So people go out of their way not to make an enemy of me.”
Moretti’s expression had turned a little tentative.
“Here in London, an acquaintance reunited with an old friend refrains from acting overly familiar in public. I’m sure you don’t wish to cause offense, so I expect you’ll keep all further exchanges with my future wife respectful, as is befitting of a gentleman and a scholar. As for any mention of her personal life in Rome, that would be out of place, I think. Especially at a gathering such as this.”
The earl bared his own teeth in what only an idiot would take for a smile. “I trust I’ve made myself clear?”
To his credit, Moretti stiffened to attention and raised his chin. “I comprehend English quite well, sir. So you may be sure there is no misunderstanding between us.”
“Excellent.”
“I am sorry if my exuberance offended you,” continued the Italian. “Charl—that is, Lady Charlotte is a good friend, and I wouldn’t ever knowingly do anything that might hurt her.”
Perhaps he had misjudged Moretti. Still, there was something he didn’t like about the fellow, though Wrexford couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.
“Well, then, I’ve no need to keep you any longer from your colleagues.” It was a rude dismissal, and Charlotte’s friend was well aware of the snub.
He colored slightly, but matched the earl’s polite nod and made a dignified retreat.
“Good heavens, what did you say to poor Marco?” murmured Charlotte, once the earl had rejoined her and Sheffield in a secluded spot in the far corner of the room. “He looks as though you just threatened to carve out his liver with a dull penknife.”
“Wrex was right to chase him away. There is an air of oiliness to his effusive show of friendship,” muttered Sheffield. “He strikes me as a slippery fellow.”
“That’s unfair.” She made a little huff of exasperation. “And unreasonable to form such an instant dislike. Italians are more . . . expressive than we English.” Her chin rose a notch. “He was a good and loyal friend to me and Anthony, so I hope you will reserve judgment until you are better acquainted with him.”
“Fair enough,” growled Wrexford. “But let us put aside Moretti for the moment and hear if Kit has uncovered anything useful about our primary concern.”
“I’ve learned a few things, though I’m unsure of how helpful they will prove,” replied Sheffield. “One of my friends in the shipping business, whose trade is based in the West Indies, has heard rumors that Quincy has recently purchased controlling interest in a small Spanish trading company that runs routes between New Granada and Guyana in Spanish America and the French island of Martinique.”
