“I shall take that as ayes,’” she replied, and poured two glasses, handing one to him. “Please sit, my lord.”
Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he settled into the chair by her desk, and took a sip of his drink. “So, what is this urgent matter?”
“How is the cognac, my lord?”
He muttered a curse under his breath. “Just get to the bloody point, woman.”
Under different circumstances, Bessie would have had the fellow thrown out of the Lyon’s Den for his rudeness. But Ambrose Michael Crossley, the normally gentle and well-mannered fifth Earl of Pendlewood, was obviously a man in pain.
Bessie cast a surreptitious glance at the clock and got straight to the point. “I want to know what happened, my lord.”
“With regards to what?”
“Your relationship with Miss Page.”
His subsequent laughter held not a scrap of humor. He downed the drink in one go, slammed the glass on the desk, and got to his feet. “The cognac was excellent, madam. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was enjoying a game of—”
“You broke her heart, my lord.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that. And even if I did, I’m certain she’ll soon get over it.” He shrugged and turned toward the door. “Probably already has.”
“Despite all my best efforts, I have yet to figure out why a man would break the heart of the woman he loves. What prompted it, my lord?”
“None of your damn business.” Pendlewood’s hand paused on the door handle. “And I donotlove—”
“I only ask because Miss Page is leaving the country today, her luggage less of a burden, I suspect, than that of her broken heart. And no, Lord Pendlewood, she is not about to ‘get over it.’ Your callous withdrawal from the relationship made a mockery of everything she believed to be true.”
Still facing the door, a few moments of silence followed. Then, “Miss Page is leaving the country?” he asked, without turning.
“Today, my lord,” Bessie replied. “Her ship leaves on the morning tide.”
His body stiffened visibly. “Where is she going?”
“Saint John, New Brunswick.”
“New Brunswick?” He spun round, his face reddening as he spoke. “Why the hell is she going to New Brunswick?”
At last, Bessie had him on the hook. She only had to reel him in.Steady, she told herself.Stay calm. “Because that is where her friend lives, my lord. Bertram Truscott is his name. A nice gentleman. Owns a shipping line. He landed in London a few weeks ago, here to do some business primarily, but has also spent some time visiting with Miss Page.”
Pendlewood scoffed. “Herfriend?’
Bessie nodded. “They’ve known each other since childhood, apparently, but lost contact for a while. I believe Miss Page intended to introduce you to him, but never got the chance, regrettably.”
Lord Pendlewood fell silent for a moment, chest rising and falling as he appeared to ponder what Bessie had said. Then his mouth twisted in a sneer. “He must be more than a friend if Miss Page is willing to cross an ocean with him.”
Bessie closed her eyes briefly and offered up a silent, desperate prayer that the ship might be delayed. For she knew, in that moment, that she had discovered the reason for Lord Pendlewood’s agony. How it had all come about, however, she had yet to learn.
“Miss Page and Mr. Truscott do share a deep affection for each other, my lord,” Bessie replied, “but she is reluctant to sell any of her properties at this time, nor has she let all her staff go, which tells me she is not fully committed to this rather desperateventure. In my opinion, if Miss Page is willing to cross an ocean, it is not because of any special feelings for Mr. Truscott. It is because she hopes it might cure what ails her. She is mistaken, I fear.”
Pendlewood’s eyes narrowed. “What ails her?”
“I already told you, my lord. A broken heart.”
Frowning, Pendlewood glanced wildly around the room as if trying to make sense of what he’d just been told. “So, she and this Truscott fellow are not lovers?”
“No, my lord, they are not,” she replied, emphatically, “nor have they ever been.”
He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Are you sure about this?”
