“Are you certain of this?” Caro regarded Lady Carmichael with a mixture of hope and revulsion. If what Lady Carmichael said was true, Rudyard was the most heinous of men.
“Of course I’m certain,” Lady Carmichael returned in indignation. “I wouldn’t have said so, otherwise.”
The two sat in Lady Carmichael’s large and luxurious drawing room in South Audley Street, where Caro had been summoned to take tea. Caro had expected a formal gathering, but Lady Carmichael’s maid, who’d helped restore Caro’s coiffure at the ball, had ushered her into an elegant room on an upper floor where Lady Carmichael waited alone.
Another maid carried in a tray with tea things and an array of small cakes and left them to it.
Lady Carmichael took a sip of tea and continued. “That young man is swindling half the haut ton. Not me, of course. My money is well secured, and I’d never invest it in anything for any reason. Fools, the lot of them, but they thought they’d be safe with a duke’s heir. Why, I couldn’t say. The Berridges were never clever with money.”
“But you said some people benefitted nicely,” Caro said, trying to understand. Lady Carmichael’s story tallied with some of the things she’d learned through Jo and Louise and their connections, but it was still puzzling. “Which means some shares went up and others down. I believe that happens with stocks, does it not?”
“Yes, but not with the exact same ones at the exact same time,” Lady Carmichael scoffed. “If Lady Featherbrain invests in canals and loses her money but Lady Feeblewit invests in the same canals and rakes in a forty-percent profit, that raises many questions about these shares. Such as, are they real at all? What does Berridge actually do with the investments?”
Caro had never needed to be shrewd about stocks and shares, but she did know that high returns were unusual. Either people were far over-investing, as had happened with the notorious South Sea Bubble of the last century, or there was something shady going on.
“Who could tell me?” Caro asked, though she was more or less musing out loud. She wasn’t certain Lady Carmichael would have an answer.
“Rudyard’s man of business,” Lady Carmichael said at once. “Or your son’s. Make them both dig into what Rudyard is doing. I will also dig. I never invest myself, as I say, but I keep an eye on the markets. I’ll send my own man to find out exactly what are stocks these people believe they’re buying and how Rudyard is covering them. Do not worry, Caro, dear. We will discover all.”
Caro had no doubt Lady Carmichael would. When the woman was determined, not even all of Emperor Bonaparte’s army could have stopped her.
Unfortunately, Lady Carmichael turned that determination on Caro in the next moment.
“Now then, what about you and this picture man? The one who has been ferreting through the duke’s things since your former curator deserted you? I hear he watches you like a lost sheep. Do you reciprocate his sentiments?”
Chapter 25
Caro couldn’t very well exclaim, I don’t know what you mean, to Lady Carmichael, when she’d already been so intimate with Eamon.
Intimacy Caro had relived in her heart every day and night since. Each kiss they stole tasted of it, each smile and touch brought the rush of desire flaring to the surface. It was agony to know Eamon was so close but at the same time had to remain remote.
Eamon always made certain to leave the house at six in the evening, Singleton locking up after he’d gone. Caro knew she was wanton enough to beg him to stay, hang the scandal, but Eamon was being very careful with her reputation. Caro ought to be grateful, but the hunger he’d stirred could not be sated.
Caro only hoped her heated discomfort at Lady Carmichael’s questions did not show too much on her face.
“I am a grown woman,” Caro said stiffly. “And a widow, not a foolish ingenue.”
“I know that, my dear, but your mother-in-law tells me that you and the picture man are rather inseparable.”
The dowager always discerned more than she let on, which burned Caro hotter still. She strove for dignity. “I do not believe it is anyone’s business.”
“If you marry him, it will become many people’s business,” Lady Carmichael said with her stern practicality. “This Mr. Stone will have influence over Leo and all those who want to be close to him. Including Cousin Rudyard, which is why he is being so troublesome. Rudyard wants guardianship of Leo, does he not? Hence you fishing for any dirt on him you can find.”
“I can’t give Leo to Rudyard,” Caro said, her desperation returning.
“I agree with you. Rudyard will do everything it takes to gain the title, especially if he owes people money. If nothing else, once he is duke, Rudyard could make laws in the House of Lords that keep him from having to pay back what he’s taken.” Lady Carmichael waved a black-gloved hand. “Possibly. I have no idea what they get up to in the Lords. A great deal of empty posturing, I’m certain.”
“Please help me stop him,” Caro begged.
“You poor darling. Of course we will stop him.” Lady Carmichael’s voice gentled. “You do realize that, in order to keep Leo safe, you might have to send your picture man away. Are you prepared to do so?”
Was she? Caro had long understood she might have to tell Eamon to leave, and she would, if she had no other choice.
Once Leo was grown and Caro was old and decrepit, and no one cared what she did, perhaps she and Eamon could meet again and have their affair—if Eamon remembered her at all by then.
Caro felt herself break down. She’d resolved to remain businesslike while she spoke with Lady Carmichael, to gather her arsenal to face Rudyard.
But the thought of sending Eamon away, of weathering a bleak, lonely future without him, washed her in despair. Caro had never meant to lose herself like this, but it was too late now.
