Philip had barely the time to look around the chamber behind the courtroom, but now he did while stalling. After all, he had no idea what answer he could give as he considered all the things he had, in fact, done toand withMiranda.
“You have many fine books,” he finally said. “Thick ones,” he added lamely. “Not only here, but also at your home, as I recall.”
Sir William’s nostrils flared. “I don’t give a damn about the books. I sawThe Times.”
“I see” Philip said, then hoped to add a jocular note by adding, “You seem more like aMorning Heraldreader.”
The magistrate narrowed his eyes. “Someone sent it to me.”
That raised Philip’s suspicion. “Sent it to you?”
“Just the one page,” Sir William added, picking up the tattered single sheet that had been torn out and folded.
A dozen thoughts flitted through Philip’s mind.Who had sent it? Was it Miss Waltham or perhaps her father? And why?
“You cannot believe anything you read in those columns,” he began.
The magistrate held up his hand. “Who is ‘Lord L’?”
“Lowry,” Philip told him. “He did her no harm, I promise you. And I have made sure he’ll never speak to her again.”
This earned him a raised eyebrow.
“Have you spoken to your daughter about the incident?” Philip asked, wondering how much Miranda would have disclosed.
“I cannot. She has left London.”
The words hit Philip like an unexpected belly-go-firster from one of his boxing partners at Gentleman Jackson’s club.
“Where? When?” he demanded, wanting to jump in his traveling coach that very minute and go after her.
“For someone who has a stake in this matter and who shook my hand over a solemn vow, you are woefully uninformed,” Sir William said, crossing his arms and causingThe Timescolumn to crumple in his grasp.
Philip took a breath. He hadn’t thought she would leave because of the gossip.
“I spoke with Miss Bright when I first sawThe Times. She made no mention of leaving. Will you tell me where she is?”
“My daughter went to Northampton.”
“The home of the cousins she has mentioned before.”
“My deceased wife’s family, yes.” The magistrate pursed his lips. “If you hadn’t mucked up at the Piccadilly ball and let her get entangled with that Lowry fellow, then she would still be here, finding herself a husband. Two suitors called on her yesterday and she wasn’t at home. What am I supposed to do with all those flowers?”
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I fail to see—”
“You will fetch her back,” Sir William ordered, his voice raised. “And she will accept one of these swells. I am not getting any younger, dammit!”
The magistrate, seeming in full good health despite his declaration of aging, was roaring at the top of his lungs before slamming his hand upon the table.
Philip was not used to being spoken to in such a fashion. Not only because he was a baron, but as an officer, even Wellington had not addressed him thusly. In any case, he was unimpressed.
“I am not your errand boy, sir. I take it she left without asking your permission.”
“On the contrary, shetoldme she was leaving,” Sir William said. “She said you no longer wished to escort her.”
“I explained to you weeks ago,” Philip protested. “Miss Bright and I are ill-suited because of my reputation.”
“Couldn’t you put aside your rabid lust for a Season?” the older man demanded. “It wasn’t even an entire one.”
