“Yes, yes, and you’ve been through the wars.” Sam nodded wearily. “But fighting on a battlefield’s a different thing from besting cutthroats on the streets. You go back to your cozy boardinghouse and wait. My man will have it there in the morning.”
Eamon raised his brows. “You trust him to bring it to me without running off with it?”
“I trust him to want to keep his balls attached to his body.” Sam shrugged and slurped his whisky. “You’ll get it.”
“All right then.” Eamon saluted Sam with his glass. “Thank you. You’re a good man.”
“No, I ain’t.” Sam took another slurp. “Remember that when ye try to explain to me why you’re late on a payment or short of cash.”
“That will not happen.” Eamon knew it wouldn’t, because he’d planned carefully. “And I’ll invite you to the wedding.”
“You’re jumping way ahead of yourself, lad,” Sam said darkly.
Eamon knew he was, but he couldn’t help it.
He realized that the odds of him ending up with Caro as his wife were much longer than his chances of paying back Sam every penny, even with the man’s exorbitant fees.
But Eamon had to try.
In the morning, as promised, an unsavory-looking gentleman turned up in Oxford Street, ordering Mrs. Temple to rouse Eamon. As Eamon was already up and breakfasting, he hurried outside before Mrs. Temple could shout for a watchman.
The man handed Eamon a paper-wrapped bulk then stamped away in a huff when Eamon offered him a shilling for his trouble.
As Mrs. Temple watched in great curiosity, Eamon carried the package upstairs to his chamber. He shut his door before Mrs. Temple could bustle in after him on pretense of changing his bed linens, and carefully peeled back the parcel’s paper. What he saw inside satisfied him very much.
Eamon counted out what he needed, hid the rest in the cavity behind a fireplace brick, and returned to breakfast. Mrs. Temple gazed at him in hope he’d satisfy her curiosity, but Eamon had to disappoint her.
Once he finished his repast, he donned his coat, took up gloves and hat, and called for a hackney to take him to Cheapside and the shop of Hieronymus Clive.
Chapter 23
At breakfast the next morning, Caro waded through her correspondence, which had increased since she and Louise had discussed what to do about Rudyard.
Jo was proving particularly helpful, as she and her family were acquainted with so many residents of London. Those acquaintances had servants who knew more about the goings-on of the haut ton than anyone, as well as men of business and solicitors with gossipy clerks, chatty footmen, or concierges in St. James’s clubs.
The letters Caro had collected over the past few days allowed her to piece together a picture of Rudyard and his true motivations.
Even so, she strove to keep her hopes in check. Though Rudyard might be revealed as a brutal thug who’d lock Leo in a dungeon, courts tended to favor male petitions over those of ladies. Caro needed a clever man of law on her side as well as a sympathetic judge.
On the other hand, the actions of those in polite society weren’t always dependent on the courts. Opinions of the Upper Ten Thousand held much sway, and if Rudyard’s misdeeds came to light, he might be convinced to withdraw his petition for guardianship. Already he’d garnered much disapproval, if the letters Caro read were any indication.
Singleton entered and made a deferential cough. The dowager, on the opposite side of the table, glanced up from her own correspondence.
“Yes, what is it, Singleton?” the dowager demanded. “Or are you coming down with a cold?”
“Mr. Stone has arrived, Your Grace.” Singleton addressed the dowager then turned to Caro. “He is asking to ascend to this floor. He says he has something to show you.”
“What does he have?” the dowager asked irritably. She hated when people were cryptic.
“I do not know, Your Grace. He has brought a rather large parcel.”
“Send him up, please,” Caro said before the dowager could argue. Caro could see that her mother-in-law was curious, but the woman believed it never did to betray eagerness.
Singleton bowed and glided out.
Caro’s hands went to her hair, self-consciously smoothing it before she gathered her scattered letters and stacked them neatly. The dowager bathed Caro in a stare before returning to her cup of chocolate and the letter in her hand.
Eamon must have already been climbing the stairs, because less than a minute elapsed before Singleton showed him in. Eamon entered in sidesteps, the large square wrapped in brown paper he toted not letting him move any other way.
