He left without further ado.
* * *
That afternoon, Davina remained in the library, alone now, reading. Not that many pages in her book were turned. Her mind kept going back to the duke’s call.
He had almost been friendly at first. Gracious. Charming. He might have been deliberately trying not to frighten her the way Amanda said he did most women. It had been difficult to think of him as an enemy during those first minutes.
And his concern about Mr. Hume—that had not been feigned. It touched her that he had perceived she might be importuned and felt moved to reassure himself that was not happening. Nor had his concern been misplaced. Sir Cornelius had insisted on accompanying her when she let a room with a family in Edinburgh after her father died. Only later did she comprehend that it was not the chamber he wanted to examine.
Of course, the duke’s softness could not last. By the time he left, she had almost been as vexed with him as the last time. They did not have a row, but he had still left her fit to scream.
She forced her mind back to her book, only to be interrupted one page later by Mrs. Moffet.
“Something came for you.” She handed over the sumptuous letter.
It was from the Duchess of Stratton, inviting her to the theater the night after next. Davina peered at the page in amazement. Of course she would go. She dared not decline. Only what could the duchess want with her?
“There is something else.” Mrs. Moffet handed over a card. “He has called. Just now.”
Hewas Mr. Justinian Greenhouse. Davina had been introduced to him at the duchess’s salon forParnassus. She remembered him because he knew Mr. Hume for some reason that escaped her now. As did his face. She vaguely recalled a very thin man, early into his middle years, with sparse dark hair. He also walked like a dancing master. That memory came clearly.
“He’s still at the door,” Mrs. Moffet said.
“Mr. Hume will be angry if you leave one of his friends on the street.”
“He’s not here for Mr. Hume, is he?” Mrs. Moffet pursed her lips. “He is calling on you.”
“I can’t imagine why. I barely know him.” She sat up and smoothed her skirt. “Well, bring him in, I suppose.”
While she waited, Davina realized that just possibly Mr. Greenhouse was responding to her notice in the newspapers. He was from Northumberland, after all. It could be that he realized the notices were hers and had decided to—
“My dear Miss MacCallum.” Mr. Greenhouse advanced on her with long strides and a simpering smile.
Davina took one look at his eyes and knew for a fact that this had nothing to do with her notices. This was a social call. A special kind of social call.
How exceedingly odd.
Chapter Eight
Eric attended the theater alone. He wanted nothing to do with society tonight, but he did want to listen to music, and the first part of the program had a pianist playing Beethoven.
He settled on a chair deep in his box and sent the usher away when he tried to light one of the lamps. There, in the darkness, he waited for the music to start.
As had happened too often lately, his thoughts meandered in the direction of Davina MacCallum. He could hardly ignore her intrusion into his life now. Several rude questions had been put to him in his club last night regarding her claim. The whole world seemed to know his business on the matter.
Worse, some fellow from a newspaper had waylaid him when he left his house this afternoon, wanting to ask questions.You don’t have to talk to me, but its best you do,the brash pup had said while getting in his way.Otherwise I’ll have to make something up. Oh, how he had chuckled at his own joke. Eric had wanted to use his horse crop on the fool.
He might have forgotten the incident if not for the last question, thrown after him while he rode away on his horse.So where is this land?
Inevitable that people would wonder and ask. It was the heart of the story, wasn’t it? Only he did not want anyone—not Davina MacCallum, not Parliament, and certainly not newspaper writers—poking around that property, or asking lots of questions about it.
He forced his thoughts to more productive matters, like the negotiations at work for bringing the bill regarding slavery to the Commons. It had to go there first. Too many lords owned properties in the colonies that made use of slaves. All fine and good for Britain to outlaw its trade, but to do so on those distant estates would be costly in the extreme.
The only solution was to pay them off. Unfortunately, he could not make most of the others agree to that. The notion of compensating slave owners for the loss of their slaves sickened right-thinking men. It sickened him too, but this would never progress, not now and not in fifty years, unless it was done.
While the music started he turned over various strategies in his head. Just when one was forming that held some promise, he was distracted by a broad gesture by a man in a box across from his.
It was Langford, and he was all but hanging over the balustrade, demanding Eric’s attention. His wife gestured too, only more discreetly.
