“This coat is an excellent fit, Captain,” Devon said as he applied the clothes brush to Jack’s shoulders. “Stultz is also Brummel’s tailor, I believe.”
Jack thanked the valet with a generous tip. As he left his rooms, he smiled to himself. Althea had said he looked his best naked.“Except for riding clothes, men with a build such as yours do not wear clothes as well as a slightly built man,”she’d said, running a hand over his chest.“But I’m sure a slight man would much prefer to look like you do naked.”He had kissed a pert, pink nipple and remarked that while she looked beautiful in her gowns, she was breathtaking without them.
Jack had enjoyed dalliances with widows in the past. It was an unspoken but accepted fact that bachelors and widows or even some married ladies enjoyed liaisons. He couldn’t equate Althea with any of that. Her sad past, her limited experience of life, her passionate nature, her intelligence would make it very difficult for him to forget her. She eclipsed any woman who had previously entered his life. Since he considered himself a realist, he had to steel himself against falling in love. Knowing how impossible a future for them was, he still looked forward, far too eagerly, to seeing her again. He pushed away those thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. To solve her father’s murder.
With his tall hat settled on his head, Jack tucked his cane under his arm and pulled on his gloves. His boots buffed to perfection by Devon, he walked along the Mayfair streets to Rosemount House in Curzon Street. Thankfully, the rainstorm had passed, the pavements already drying in the sun.
The butler led him to a chair in the entry hall. “Please wait, sir, while I see if his lordship is receiving.”
Jack declined to sit. He watched the dignified servant climb thesweeping stairway and disappear into the upper echelons of the elegant townhouse. Within minutes, a gentleman descended. Dressed in a black cravat and coat, Lord Caindale came forward to greet him. Tall, with thinning, fair hair brushed back from a high forehead, his eyes, more pewter than blue, looked strained and apprehensive. “Captain Ryder. I heard about your father’s passing. May I offer my sincere condolences? I was privileged to enjoy his company while in the House.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Jack bowed. “I’ve come from Ivywood Hall. Your footman bearing your message arrived before I left. Lady Althea asked me to call to tell you how relieved she is that you are safe and well. She and Lady Butterstone were most concerned.”
“Good of you. Then you have had a long ride. May I offer you a brandy or a glass of wine?”
“A brandy would be appreciated, thank you.”
A footman opened a gilt-and-white door, and Jack followed Lord Caindale into the luxuriously appointed drawing room. He took the blue-and-cream-striped brocade chair offered to him while the other man poured brandy from a decanter on the sideboard.
He handed Jack the crystal tumbler and took the chair opposite. “I’ve received word that you witnessed Lord Butterstone’s death. An awful business. You will know something of what occurred. I’d very much like to hear what happened to my brother-in-law. So far, I have received only a brief, rather garbled account from a frantic servant, as well as a sad missive from my sister, which omitted most of the details.”
While he studied his lordship’s pale countenance, on the alert for a sign the man dissembled, Jack explained he had been staying at the inn when they’d brought Lord Butterstone in, how his lordship had been shot in cold blood and had said little before he’d died, except to ask for Jack’s help.
Baron Caindale clutched the padded arms of his chair. “Did hemention in what capacity he required your help?”
“To look after his wife and daughter and escort them safely home.” Jack wasn’t prepared to reveal how he intended to find the marquess’s killer.
Lord Caindale’s steely gaze met his. “No clue as to who these devils were?”
When Jack shook his head, the other man’s face crumpled.
He rubbed his eyes. “I was not far from Ivywood Hall when I was kidnapped at gunpoint.”
“Dastardly business,” Jack agreed. “How did you manage to escape?”
“I didn’t. The scoundrel forced me at gunpoint to return to London. He shoved me into a cellar. Questioned me at length about my last trip to Paris. And then, in the depths of the night, I was released blindfolded into an alley somewhere in Westminster. Took me a while to get my bearings. I admit to being completely terrified.” He gulped the last of his brandy. “I’ve no idea what lies behind this, but I hope they’ll leave me alone. I have every intention of attending Butterstone’s funeral. I must lend my sister and niece my support.” He stood and held up his glass. “Another?”
Jack accepted, wondering how much Lord Caindale was prepared to tell him. “What did the men look like?”
“The rogue who brought me to London was no gentleman,” the baron said from the sideboard. “But there was nothing unusual about him. He barely spoke. Might have emerged from a rookery in St. Giles, for all I knew. I didn’t see the man who questioned me because they kept me blindfolded in a cellar reeking of stale wine and rats. I felt instinctively that he was a dangerous man. His voice reminded me of hoarfrost.” The glass he offered Jack shook in his hands.
“What did they ask you?”
Caindale sat, stretched his legs out, and sighed. He took a deep sip of his drink. “Whether I’d visited Butterstone in Paris, which I had. Itwas no secret. What we’d talked about. Butterstone had been sent to France to deal with a matter for Castlereagh because our foreign secretary is in Greece, working to maintain the Ottoman Empire and extend British trade in the Levant. Vital that we secure the land and sea routes to India.” He shrugged. “Our conversation centered on the usual parliamentary concerns. I sought Butterstone’s advice about a bill for my constituents I wished to support. We talked about our families. My daughter, Lady Slowe, has recently given birth to a boy.” His face slackened with grief. “Dear God! I can’t believe he has gone.”
Jack nodded sympathetically. Would the marquess have told Lord Caindale about the plot he’d uncovered to assassinate Napoleon? He would have wanted to discuss it with someone. Who better than a trusted relative? Perhaps Lord Caindale did know and was keeping it close to his chest. It might prove wise of him to do so. If he was lying, he was very adept at it. Jack would have to tread lightly in the affair.
He could see there was little more he could learn from the baron. Whether he was culpable or not, the man was clearly shaken. Jack reassured him that the ladies, although greatly upset, were as well as could be expected. Without mentioning Lord Butterstone’s diary, Jack finished his brandy and took his leave.
The rain continued to hold off as he went on foot along South Audley Street to Lord Butterstone’s house in Grosvenor Square. The air rang with the sounds of workers who had taken up their hammers again after the deluge. There appeared to be a number of new houses in various stages of construction, and those seeking work roamed the leafy Mayfair streets: painters, decorators, plasterers, and hawkers selling their wares, while delivery carts trundled along the macadam.
Jack considered how best to deal with Lord Butterstone’s staff. The majordomo would be the man to speak with. The rest of the servants would clam up with a stranger in their midst. Dash it, he should have asked Althea for a letter of introduction. He’d just have to be pleasantly persuasive and hope he’d learn something of interest.
*
By the timeErina and Harry had finished luncheon, the squall had passed, and they were on the road again. Harry seemed more at ease. They laughed when they saw a farmer, who had been guiding his sow along the road with sharp prods of his stick, lose control and go chasing after the escaping animal. Erina said she was on the side of the pig. Then she and Harry got into a heated argument about whether the man’s livelihood was more important than an animal that was bred for the table.
“You have a romantic view of life,” Harry commented.
