“Even if they are enemies to my family, I would prefer not to believe that part. However, it might explain those duels in France. Still, let us not assume your aunt was correct until we have similar information from others.”
Althea stood and picked up the wrapped proof. “I should go now if I am to give this to the printer this afternoon. We need to plan how we will distribute the finished journal to the bookshops. Should I write to our ladies and arrange a meeting on that?”
“If you would. Monday would be a good time. I have a few family matters to address before then.” Clara walked Althea to the door. “As for what you told me today, we must keep this to ourselves.”
“Do you no longer want to learn all of it and publish an article?”
“If we do learn all of it, we will publish. Until then, however, this must be between the two of us alone. I do not want to do unintended harm by stirring up old tales.”
Althea placed a little kiss on her cheek. “You have a good heart, Clara. You are being most sympathetic. Perhaps that old war no longer has the meaning it once did.”
What a silly thing to say. Of course it did. She was not being sympathetic either. She was being responsible. Let the broadsides and gossip sheets smear a person’s name with no evidence. Her journal was better than that.
* * *
Two days later, Adam and Brentworth spent the afternoon boxing. Their efforts completed, they washed and dressed. Adam was tying his cravat when Langford entered the chamber so the three of them could partake of some ale in a tavern before riding home.
“Did you tell him?” Langford asked while he lounged against a wall, watching.
Adam ignored him.
“Tell me what?” Brentworth asked.
“He has already fixed his sights on a woman. He bought her jewels.”
Brentworth turned his head to look at Adam. One of his eyebrows shot up. “The Season is still young. I doubt you have yet seen all the possibilities.”
“This one is not at the balls and parties,” Langford said. “This one is not among the young possibilities you speak of.”
“Now you intrigue me,” Brentworth said. “Who is it, Stratton?”
Adam donned his waistcoat and pulled on his frock coat.
“If you will not tell him, I will,” Langford said. “For reasons only hell knows, he has decided to court Lady Clara Cheswick.”
“Marwood’s sister? Or, to be precise, Marwood’soldersister? Did your brain take a blow while you were in France, Stratton? The younger one I hear is exquisite, but Lady Clara, even in her prime, had little to recommend her besides spirit.”
“Too much spirit,” Langford said.
“I like spirit,” Adam said. “Men who fear it in women are sheep.”
“Well, I suppose she is also pretty enough too,” Brentworth conceded.
“Whatever that means,” Langford said.
“And I hear she did inherit a nice fortune from her father,” Brentworth added offhandedly.
“Stratton is the last man to need a fortune, nice or otherwise,” Langford said. “Furthermore, don’t you find his interest in a woman of that family, even one who is pretty enough and who possesses spirit and a nice fortune, highly suspicious?”
“I do indeed. What are you up to, Stratton?”
Finished with his coats, Adam faced them. “What do you think I am up to?”
“We are going to play that game, are we? Langford and I will put our minds to that question on the way to the tavern. I daresay we will know all within five minutes of making the effort.”
Ten minutes later, seated in the tavern, Brentworth spoke again. “I have concluded there are three possible reasons for this peculiar courtship.”
“As many as three? You do think fast.”
