Mrs. Temple waved this away. “You’re charming enough to convince any lady to be your helpmeet. That’s the best sort of marriage, you know—true partners in life who can sort out anything thrown your way. Mr. Temple and I were such a pair.” She paused, her eyes growing misty. “Rest his sweet soul. Now, off you go to read your letters. One from a friend of the Prince of Osagard, just fancy. I wager that between whoever that friend is and Lord Dominic, you can find a lady who has a few coins to rub together.”
Eamon raised his brows. “I thought I was to marry a true and equal friend. Partners against the world.”
“Yes, but a bit of blunt doesn’t hurt, my boy. You read the letter franked by the prince first. It is likely the most important of all.”
Eamon did not recognize the handwriting on the direction, and he had to admit he was as curious as Mrs. Temple. He did not intend to open it and read it in front of her, however, as she obviously wished.
Eamon thanked her again, bade her goodnight, and started up the stairs. Mrs. Temple didn’t hide her disappointment, though she returned his farewell cordially enough.
Mrs. Temple remained in the hall, watching Eamon climb the wooden staircase all the way to the third floor. He waved at her when he reached his landing, and only then did she finally turn away.
Eamon entered his rooms, which were well fitted for a man of modest means. He had a sitting room and a bedchamber, both paneled in soft golden wood, their furniture comfortable if aging. He had a desk large enough for his work in the front room and a warm bed in the rear one.
Mrs. Temple was generous with fuel and candles—as long as one paid one’s rent in a timely fashion—so the rooms were warm and light.
Others at Cheswell’s congratulated Eamon for stumbling onto such pleasant lodgings, but Eamon hadn’t found this house by luck. He’d learned from his father how to discover the most agreeable places to live for the least possible expenditure.
Eamon opened the franked letter first, his inquisitiveness as healthy as Mrs. Temple’s.
The letter wasn’t from a friend of the Prince of Osagard, as Mrs. Temple had speculated, but from the Prince himself.
Mr. Stone,
I am extending an invitation for you to attend my wife’s supper ball at our home in Portman Square, Wednesday the twenty-second of May, at ten o’clock in the evening. We will expect you punctually.
Yours in friendship,
Rupert Vollen HRH
Osagard
Chapter 10
Eamon read the invitation several times over, but the information remained the same.
The Prince of Osagard, for some reason, wished Eamon to attend a gathering in his home tomorrow night.
Eamon sank to the chair at his desk, mystified.
Did the prince want to consult Eamon about art? Had he heard that Eamon was looking through Aylesmore’s collection and decided that Eamon would do? But, in that case, why not write to Cheswell’s and request his services?
A more sinister thought occurred to him. This might be a ploy of annoying Cousin Rudyard in his adamance to gain control over Leo. Perhaps he’d decided to entice Eamon to a society ball and corner him there. To do what? Threaten him with violence, or more likely, legal action?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Eamon found a clean scrap of paper, dipped his pen into ink, and wrote out his acceptance to the supper ball.
When Eamon entered Cheswell’s auction rooms in Regent Street the next morning, Cheswell himself intercepted him.
“You must hie to Bedford Square, my boy,” the man said in his breathy voice. “Immediately. A gentleman at number 7 has a Guido Reni he wishes to sell. He’s waffling between using Cheswell’s or Christie’s, and we must win him over. The commission on a rare Reni is nothing to sneeze at.”
If the request had come a few weeks ago, Eamon would have rushed to Bedford Square without question. Today, he couldn’t be less interested. The anticipation of seeing Caro every morning made him wake with excitement in his heart and stride through London with lightness in his step.
He wanted to tell Caro about his invitation from the Prince of Osagard and speculate with her about what it might mean. He’d stand close to her while he did so and perhaps entice another kiss from her while Singleton was occupied elsewhere.
“The duchess will be expecting me,” Eamon said, striving keep his voice calm.
“I will send word to the duchess.” Cheswell bodily turned Eamon around. “This gent in Bedford Square is a stubborn one, and you are the only man who can convince him. Ingratiate yourself and get us that Reni. Make haste, dear boy, make haste.” He all but shoved Eamon out the door.
