“Yes, our childhoods were idyllic.” Eamon nodded sagely. “That is why they shut us away in Hallbridge, the school for troublesome lads no one knew what to do with.”
“Mm.” Wolfe closed his eyes while he continued to lift his leg. He grimaced against the strain. “By the bye, I saw the Viking the other day.”
“Oh?” Eamon asked without much interest. Nothing piqued his curiosity these days except who Clive did business with and how, and how much chance Rudyard had to gain custody of Leo. “Is he still enormous and thick-headed?”
“Even more so.” Wolfe gave a final grunt and set his weighted foot on the floor. “About ten feet tall and bulging with muscle. He hailed me like a long, lost friend and wanted a chat about the old days. Reminiscing on what fun we had together as lads.”
“Strange how fistfights to the near death appear as larks to some, twenty years on,” Eamon mused. “I spied a French veteran and an English one in a pub the other night, reliving the battle at Salamanca as though it had been a sporting country outing. Jolly good fun.” He finished the statement dryly and took a sip of ale.
“You are in a mood.” Wolfe unbuckled the weight and eased it from his leg in relief. “Where is your ever-chirpy and annoying cheerfulness?”
“In the gutter, with my dignity.” Eamon leaned his back against the wall. He knew he could pour out his troubles to Wolfe, who would grumble and growl but listen sympathetically at the same time. However, Eamon was already tired of self-pity. “What do you know about Rudyard Berridge? First cousin to the current Duke of Aylesmore and his sole heir?”
“That little oik?” Wolfe asked in surprise. “What is your interest, besides the connection to your duchess?”
Eamon told him, in a few brief sentences, what Cousin Rudyard was up to. “Can he do it?” Eamon finished.
Wolfe nodded with a scowl. “Possibly he can, unless the young duke’s mother can prove the lad is better off with her.”
“The law will favor the cousin, oik or no,” Eamon said glumly. “I’ve concluded that the best way we can keep Leo at home where he belongs is to make it clear that Rudyard is the worst possible person to care for him.”
Wolfe shot him a glance. “We?”
“I need to borrow your solicitor, if you don’t mind. My father’s could prove day was night if he had to, but he’s oily, and I need a gentleman with an impeccable reputation. A judge might believe your man if he helps us prove that Rudyard is a terrible person.”
“I don’t know why you bother asking me,” Wolfe said. “My man of business already had an inquiry from an art dealer asking if I could be trusted. Kennedy assured him that I could be, but since I’ve not spoken to a dealer since before Waterloo, we both concluded that the gentleman being asked about must have been you.”
“Kind of Kennedy to recommend me,” Eamon said with true gratitude. “I ask you so that your solicitor will answer my questions without turning me coldly away.”
“You are a bloody nuisance, Stone.” Wolfe shook his head. “My first pact with you got my face bashed in.”
“I recall you holding your own quite well.” Eamon shook his head. “I can’t let Leo go to that idiot. It will be the death of the boy.”
“You think Berridge would go that far?”
“I do,” Eamon said grimly. “Cousin Rudyard wants the dukedom and has the look of a man who will do anything to get it.”
“We won’t let him then. My solicitor shall be at your service.”
“Good man.” Eamon relaxed in relief. “I also need to purchase a Rembrandt. A genuine one. Anything you invest in it will be paid back out of its sale.”
Wolfe’s look of sympathy dissolved. “What the devil are you going on about now?”
Eamon explained about Clive, his shop, and the Rembrandt in the back. “He wants five thousand, but I can talk him down to something more reasonable.”
“You’re certain it’s the one from Aylesmore’s collection?”
“Positive. He diddled them out of it somehow. If I can restore the painting to Leo and then arrange for a proper sale, the Duchess of Aylesmore can pay off some of the family’s debts.”
Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “The Duchess of Aylesmore? Not Caro this time?”
“No.” Eamon blew out a breath and drained the rest of the ale. “I am a wretched man, my friend. A wretched, wretched man.”
“You must do it,” Jo insisted. “Mustn’t she, Louise?”
Caro set down her delicately thin porcelain teacup and surveyed her friends. Louise had summoned Caro to her home in Berkeley Square, where Jo had joined them for a repast in Louise’s tastefully elegant drawing room.
All things Louise had a hand in were tastefully elegant. One would never guess what a madcap child she’d been, taking her two followers on reckless adventures through the woods of Hampshire. Her father had been the local magistrate, and Louise had not only known where all the poachers and thieves dwelled, she’d befriended them.
