“Poor? Your father is very careful with his money, but he is far plumper in the pocket than he makes out, Hetty.”
Startled, Hetty remembered the dowry. “I had no idea. We live comfortably but simply in Digswell.”
“That is your father’s preference. But he might be called a nabob. He made a good deal of money with the East India Company while in India.”
“Father a nabob? I can’t believe it!”
“Nevertheless, it is true. The Cavendish family is a very old and important family even if we do not hail from its upper echelons. You are quite sure your baron is wealthy?”
“His father lost properties during the Revolution and Guy’s estate, Rosecroft Hall, is sorely in need of renovation. But he appears to have the money to repair it.”
Aunt Emily scooped up the gray cat at her feet and followed Hetty up the stairs. “It doesn’t matter, my dear. I’m quite sure he loves you.”
Hetty didn’t care if Guy was as poor as a church mouse. “I am looking forward to seeing the house tomorrow.”
Her aunt paused, a hand on the banister. “It’s regrettable that I cannot see it, too. We plan to discuss Coleridge’s poemKubla Khan.He wrote it in ’97, but he reserved it for private readings until this year when Lord Byron persuaded him to publish it. Such a pity you’ll miss it.” She paused for breath at the top of the stairs. “I trust you to act with decorum tomorrow, Hetty. I expect there will be someone there to show you around the house.”
“I daresay, Aunt.” Hetty hoped there wasn’t. She needed time alone with Guy. Almost losing him had frightened her, and she sensed there was something else he wasn’t telling her.
*
Despite the joyof an emotional reunion with his sister, Guy felt drained when he walked through the door of his temporary home in Berkley Square. He and Genevieve had reminisced about their childhood memories. Genevieve was appalled at what Vincent had done but was still sad that she’d been unable to attend his burial. She expressed her approval of Guy’s choice of bride. “You could not do better than Hetty,Gee,” she said.
Guy agreed. He hoped he would live to enjoy what promised to be a wonderful life.
Strathairn’s butler approached him at the door. “My lord, a parcel arrived for you today.”
Mystified, Guy tore off the paper. Inside were his evening coat, hat, and cane. A letter written in Lord Taylor’s bold strokes explained that Guy’s coat and hat had been left in a cupboard and overlooked by the maids until recently. He and Lady Taylor hoped all was well with him and that next time he visited them he would come to say goodbye before departing into the night and worrying all those who cared for him.
Guy shook his head and went to join John in the library.
His friend spun the bronze tiepin in his fingers. “It would be smart for you to wear this eagle pin when you meet with Count Forney.”
Guy looked at it with distaste.
“We have reason to believe the secret code they use might be Longwood,” John said. “The house on Saint Helena where Napoleon has been incarcerated.”
Guy raised his brows. “So, I’m to visit him and use that word?”
“Yes and declare yourself to be one of them. Once you are drawn into his group, we will make our move.”
“I may not be admitted a second time.”
“I doubt you’ll be turned away. But if he refuses, send the tie pin to him.”
Something tugged at Guy’s memory.
The door opened, and Georgina entered. “You wished to see me, John?”
Guy stood, ready to excuse himself.
“No, stay, Guy,” John said. “We shall need to speak further.” He beckoned Georgina into the room. She came to stand in front of him, unusually meek with her hands clasped together. She glanced at Guy. “What became of you at the ball, Guy?”
“Never mind quizzing Lord Fortescue, Georgina. His activities do not concern you. As you are no doubt aware, I have received a morning visit from Julian, His Grace, the Duke of Broadstairs, who has requested your hand in marriage.”
Georgina gave a confident smile. “And what did you tell him?”
“That at seventeen, you are too young.”
