“Identifying them might put them in jeopardy!”
Charlotte made a rude sound of disbelief.
Ever the diplomat, Honoria stepped between them. “Charlotte, Miranda, please. Drake told me Mr. Grey has also stated he overheard Davies bragging about a lucrative investment.”
Not one to be left out, Anne voiced her idea. “Does your source know Mr. Grey, Miranda?”
Miranda’s cheeks darkened. Odd. Why would she find that question embarrassing? “Yes, I believe they’re acquainted.”
Bea’s spectacles slid down her nose, and she pushed them up again. “Are we agreed then that we cannot rule out Edgerton? Charlotte?”
“As long as he’s not the only one. Have we managed any more information on Lord Middlebury?”
“And what about Lydia?” Anne asked.
Juliana strolled into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late. Did I hear Lydia’s name mentioned?”
“Anne is still convinced Lydia is responsible forThe Muckraker,” Charlotte said, her tone conveying her disbelief.
“She’s as likely a candidate as Middlebury,” Anne shot back, tiring of Charlotte’s confrontational attitude.
“Victor doesn’t believe it’s Lydia.” At least Juliana delivered her disagreement in a much kinder voice.
Bea intervened. “As I see it, the problem is that the change inThe Muckrakerhas made it all the more difficult to narrow down the suspects. However, I firmly believe our most likely culprit is either Edgerton or Lord Felix Davies.”
Not one to give up without a fight, Charlotte said, “But what stake did either of them have in your scandal, Bea? Wasn’t it one of our criteria that the particularly vicious attacks were made against people with whom they had a personal vendetta?”
Bea brushed it off as if it were nothing. “Simple enough. Middlebury wished to seek revenge on me and Laurence, and considering he has Edgerton’s ear...well, perhaps Edgerton felt he owed Middlebury a favor.”
“My brother doesn’t give anyone favors, least of all his toady Middlebury.”
Ugh! Anne opened her mouth to protest. Why wouldn’t they listen to her about Lydia?
“Well, we’re certainly not going to solve anything by arguing,” Honoria said, effectively silencing them all. “Besides, it’s almost time for supper.”
And although Anne’s stomach rumbled a little at the mention of food, part of her dreaded going into the dining room.
Where Lord Grumpy-Trousers waited.
When Colin’svalet finished dressing him for supper, he headed to Burwood’s study, where a footman told him the men had gathered.
Masculine laughter and the clink of crystaldrifted from the room as Colin entered. Apparently, Simon Beckham, Burwood’s man of business, had just finished one of his tall tales.
Colin recognized most of the men in the room. Burwood, of course, Beckham, the Duke of Ashton, Victor Pratt, and Lord Montgomery. A man Colin presumed was the Elfin Menace’s brother sat next to Ashton, and a giant of a fellow stood on Ashton’s other side, almost dwarfing the tall duke.
“Colin, come have a drink with us,” his brother-in-law said. “I don’t believe you’ve met Andrew Weatherby. Andrew, my brother-in-law, Viscount Manning.”
Ah, so he was correct in his presumption. Weatherby rose and extended his hand. “Lord Manning.”
“Mr. Weatherby. I met your charming daughters earlier. And your sister.”
As Colin grasped Weatherby’s hand in a firm grip, the man seemed to assess him as if he were purchasing a new horse. “And you’re still here. That’s promising.”
“And this,”—Burwood motioned toward the tower of a man—“is my cousin, Mr. Miles Grey.”
Unbidden, Colin found his gaze traveling upward to meet the man’s amber eyes.
Grey gave a bow, and his mouth twitched. “Before you ask, I’m six-foot-seven. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Burwood speaks highly of you.”
