“You know, I hadn’t really thought about it,” mused Alex, “but in all our travels, Papa never once mentioned that we were near where he grew up.” A frown flitted across her face. “And during the course of our travels, we went nearlyeverywherein Britain”
“Except East Anglia,” pointed out Justin. “He hated the Fens—he said the area chilled him to the bone.”
Branford looked questioningly at Alex. “But I thought you said that was where he had his fatal accident?”
“Yes—ironic, isn’t it,” she replied. “It was his first trip there. I suppose that he knew he had to visit it at some time if he wished to finish his natural history of England. After all, he couldn’t very well leave such a well-known place out.”
It was a rational explanation, acknowledged Branford. But something—he wasn’t sure what—troubled him about it
“Does any of this help?” asked Alex.
“I’m not sure,” answered the earl frankly. “I shall have to think on it.”
But he had little time to mull over it at the present. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour, causing him to put aside his cup and rise from the comfortable but worn wing chair.
“I fear I have lost track of the time. As I am engaged for the evening, I regret that I must take my leave.” He bowed to Lady Beckworth, taking her frail hand and pressing it lightly to his lips.
She smiled warmly. “I hope you will visit again, Lord Branford.”
“You may count on it.”
“And don’t forget to bring that volume of Aristophanes you mentioned.”
“Ah,” he gave a mock grimace. “And here I thought it was my scintillating conversation which had garnered the invitation.”
As Lady Beckworth let out a laugh, he nodded to Alex and Justin and took his leave.
A companionable silence reigned in the small drawing room as they each sat engaged with their own thoughts. Then suddenly Lady Beckworth pursed her lips and made a rude sound. “Fools,” she announced. “Utter fools.”
Alex and Justin exchanged puzzled looks.
“Who?” ventured Alex.
“Polite Society! How such cruel and stupid rumors start is beyond me.” She made a facet. “Why, to listen to the beau monde, one would think Lord Branford was Lucifer incarnate. Now, I may be in my dotage, but I find him delightful—witty, charming, intelligent, and possessing a sly a sense of humor as well.” She expelled a sigh. “If I were fifty years younger, I would set my cap for him.”
Alex nearly dropped one of the cups she was stacking on the teapot. She quickly recovered, and ignoring her brother’s quizzical look, picked up the tray and hurried off to the kitchen.
Branford glancedin the large gilt looking glass that hung in the entrance hall of his townhouse and straightened the cravat of his evening dress. Picking up his hat and walking stick from the side table, he gave a brief nod to the footman who quietly materialized from the shadows to open the front door.
His carriage was already waiting at the bottom of the steps, but instead of climbing in, he walked around to the mews. Inside the area housing the stalls, a short, stocky groom was putting away a newly cleaned harness. His movements were so deft that few people would have noticed that his left shirtsleeve was sewn shut to cover a stump that ended at the wrist.
“Good evening, Simms.”
Simms acknowledged the greeting with a nod. “Cap’n.”
“I have a special job for you.”
The fellow’s eyes lit up with interest.
Branford handed him some folded sheets of paper. “This explains what I want you to do. Be ready to leave for East Anglia first thing in the morning. Haddan will arrange a horse.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” The ex-soldier still had not lost the habit of addressing his former officer in military terms.
“I needn’t remind you that this is a matter of utmost discretion.”
In reply, Simms spit into the hay.
Branford allowed a ghost of a smile. “No, I thought not.” He placed a heavy leather purse on top of the stall railing. “Expense is no object. Keep me informed of anything you discover.”
