“Because Miss Judith Donovan, one of the agents—or at least I think she could be considered an agent even though she spends her days painting instead of doing investigation work—had a very interesting reaction to the flyer of Eugenia I showed her. She claimed her look of astonishment was a result of being artistically inspired by Eugenia’s face, but I think she’s seen Eugenia before. Unfortunately, before I could press her on the matter, a client stumbled into the room, mistook me for an agent, and demanded I get her sister, who’d been unjustly committed to Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum, released.”
Lloyd exchanged a smile with Chase. “I feel the distinct urge to visit this inquiry agency simply for the drama that happens there.”
“Indeed,” Chase agreed. “It would have been amusing to see Arthur’s reaction to being mistaken for an inquiry agent.” Chase turned one of his bright smiles on Arthur. “You do make a most intimidating impression on most people, and I bet if you were to visit the asylum, they’d release that woman to you with few questions asked.”
“I’m not traveling to Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum to seek the release of some woman’s sister.”
“It might have Eunice Holbrooke keener to take on your case if you take the burden of this case off of them.”
“From what little I know of Eunice Holbrooke, my interference would more than likely have me facing the end of her pistol again.”
Lloyd laughed and thumped his cane on the floor as he stood. “I’m going to have to meet this woman.” He settled an amused expression on Arthur. “Speaking of ladies, though, I’d keep that idea about marrying Eugenia Howland quiet for now. Your mother is hopeful you’ll agree to stay in the city for the Season. She’s been whispering in the ears of fellow society matrons that it’s past time you found a bride.”
Arthur rose to his feet. “Which is exactly why I should tell her I’m determined to marry Eugenia before society gets in a dither over learning another eligible gentleman may be on the marriage mart soon, even if that gentleman happens to be a second son.”
Lloyd exchanged a glance with Chase. “Sounds like your brother is still holding a grudge over what happened with Mitzi years ago.”
“I just broached the subject of Mitzi breaking his twenty-year-old heart when she turned down his proposal of marriage, but he deftly avoided the subject.” Chase shook his head. “That means he’s still harboring sensitive feelings about that matter.”
“I’m not a man prone to sensitive feelings, and Mitzi didn’t break my heart, just wounded it,” Arthur argued. “She did, however, do serious injury to my pride when she told me she found me lacking because I was a second son with only reasonable prospects. Since she then announced to society the very next day that she was marrying Mr. Thomas Gibson, a firstborn son and heir to the Gibson millions, I was placed in the unenviable role of rejected suitor, since I’d been foolish enough to let many of my friends know that Mitzi and I would one day be married.” He caught Chase’s eye. “And that right there is why I wouldn’t have expected to find love if I were still intending to pursue an incomparable. Ladies who earn that particular title, quite like Mitzi, are not searching for marriages of love, but marriages of advantage.”
“A rather harsh conclusion for all the ladies in society,” Chase returned. “You’ve gotten incredibly cynical over the years.”
“He has at that,” Lloyd said. “But since we’re hardly likely toget him to change his attitude, I’d like to return to the subject of Eugenia Howland.” He caught Arthur’s eye. “I highly doubt she’ll agree to marry you, but I think she needs to be found so you can apprise her of the situation in Montana. If anything will convince her to return to claim her inheritance, it’ll be learning her relatives want her declared dead.” He frowned. “Do you have a clear idea of when they were going to have that happen?”
“I believe they were intending on making it official on Eugenia’s twenty-eighth birthday, which is only a few weeks from now.”
Lloyd rubbed his chin. “That really doesn’t leave much time, which is why I suppose I’m going to have to offer you my assistance in the matter of the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency.”
“What kind of assistance?”
“I’ll use the same charm that has charmed more than one society widow, which may convince them to hear you out instead of shooting you when you arrive on their doorstep again.” Lloyd smiled. “I guarantee that five minutes after making the acquaintances of the ladies of the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency, they will offer to take on your case, if only to show their appreciation of my charming nature.”
CHAPTER
Ten
“It’s a good thing you didn’t place a bet on charming the ladies of the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency within five minutes, Grandfather,” Arthur said, pulling out his pocket watch. “We’ve now been sitting in the receiving room for thirty-seven minutes. Add in the notion that Miss Elsy Evans barely took our names before she disappeared down the hallway, and I’m afraid there’s little chance your charm is going to have any effect on these particular ladies, given that they don’t seem interested in speaking with us.”
Lloyd waved that aside. “I’m sure all the agents are merely busy with other cases. You mark my words, as soon as we’re ushered into an office, we’ll be in business.”
“Or an agent is going to appear, pistol in hand, if they’ve been told Arthur is persona non grata,” Chase muttered before he turned back to the painting Judith Donovan had claimed was the inspiration behind her decision to paint abstract portraits. “Is it just me, or does this painting resemble a very unusual goat to either of you?”
“It’s a self-portrait of the woman who painted it,” Arthur said, stowing his pocket watch away. “The artist goes by the name of Etta, although I have no idea who that is because Judith Donovan got distracted with my cheekbones and stopped talking to me.”He stepped up next to Chase and took a moment to peruse the portrait. The longer he looked at it, though, the more certain he was that he’d seen the artist’s work before, but before he could figure out where he’d seen an Etta painting, the sound of the front door opening and footsteps tapping across the wooden floor distracted him.
Miss Judith Donovan, who had a smear of yellow paint on her cheek with a green smear traversing the length of the apron she was wearing, skidded to a stop the moment her gaze settled on Arthur. “Mr. Livingston, what rotten timing—or rather, ah, pleasant surprise to see you here.”
Arthur’s brow quirked. “Rotten timing?”
Judith winced. “Pardon me?”
“I thought I heard you say rotten timing.”
Judith gave a wave of a paint-spattered hand. “I’m sure I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but since I apparently did, it’s, ah, rotten timing because I wasn’t expecting to find potential clients in the waiting room. I’m only here to fetch my sketchbook and then dash back to the boardinghouse because I left my paints out. That means, if you’ll excuse me, I have to dash.” Without allowing him a chance to respond, Judith spun on her heel and raced out of the room.
“That went well,” Chase said as he took a seat. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a lady flee from you before.”
“I suppose it’s not very grandfatherly of me to admit that I found that amusing, but that was very amusing indeed,” Lloyd said, his eyes twinkling. “I had a feeling with you back in the city that life would turn more exciting than the teas I normally attend.” His eyes turned wistful. “I was hoping to at least enjoy a nice canter in Central Park today. But since you left Wyatt in Montana for some unknown reason, and your mother doesn’t seem to believe my leg has healed enough for me to ride a horse yet, I’ll have to content myself with this trip to a very unusual agency to appease the longing I’ve been feeling for an honest-to-goodness adventure.”
