Caro’s tears blurred the creams and blues of the drawing room and the black-clad form of Lady Carmichael. “Why does it have to be so difficult?” she asked shakily.
“Because life is always difficult, dear, in great ways and small ones.” Lady Carmichael patted Caro’s hand then handed her a large linen handkerchief. “Love is difficult as well. But worth fighting for, in my experience. Leave it with me. I will find out specifically what Rudyard is up to, and we’ll have him. Few people can abide him anyway, so they’ll be happy to shut him out.”
Caro wiped away tears, grateful for the pragmatic handkerchief. “Will that be enough to keep Leo safe?”
“Possibly. We can’t change the line of inheritance or Rudyard’s blood ties to Leo, but we can make England too hot to hold Rudyard and allow Leo to grow up in peace. Once Leo comes of age, he’ll be able to deal with Rudyard himself. And who knows? Leo might produce many heirs of his own, and keep Rudyard far from the dukedom.”
Caro smiled tremulously at Lady Carmichael, crumpling the damp handkerchief. “Then let us do our worst.”
“That’s the spirit,” Lady Carmichael said. “Now, drink your tea, dear. It will fortify you for what’s to come.”
When Eamon reached the Grosvenor Street house the next afternoon, after a morning spent running all over London, he found the Countess of Heyford and Princess Josephine descending the staircase.
Caro glided after them, she in her simple everyday frock while her friends wore the latest in light summer coats and plumed bonnets, though the countess’s shades were subdued. Caro was animated, her color high, eyes sparkling like jewels in the dim light.
“Your Ladyship, Your Highness, Your Grace.” Eamon swept off his hat and greeted them in turn.
“Mr. Stone.” Lady Heyford gave him an elegant nod.
Jo shot him an impish grin. “Mr. Stone, how lovely to see you. And how clever you were to find Leo’s Rembrandt. How fortunate, also, that Colonel Harper wished to buy it. Yes, I have my resources and know he was the purchaser.”
Eamon couldn’t stop himself from grinning back at her. “Indeed. Her Grace has been most fortunate all the way around.”
“As have you, but I do not think it was all luck.” Jo’s eyes twinkled with good humor. “By the bye, while you’re searching London for more genuine paintings, you wouldn’t look out for a nice miniature—say a Holbein or some such—would you? I’d like to give one to Merry for her birthday.”
Eamon nodded. “I know the sort you mean, and yes, I will keep an eye out.”
“Splendid.” Jo latched her arm through that of Louise, who’d been listening with cool detachment. “We are off to do battle. Good afternoon, Mr. Stone.”
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Eamon handed his hat to Singleton, who’d emerged the moment the two women reached the ground floor, and bowed once more.
A carriage pulled up before the house, footmen swarming from it to help the ladies inside. Caro waved her farewells until the carriage rolled away and Singleton shut the door.
Singleton took Eamon’s coat as he shed it and hung it on the hall tree, then vanished to wherever he vanished to every day. The man always reappeared like magic when Eamon finished for the evening and was ready to depart.
“I have much to tell you,” Caro said to Eamon once they were alone in the foyer.
“I have things to tell you as well,” Eamon said. “Shall we?”
He gestured up the stairs, as formal as though they hadn’t shared a passionate kiss the evening before or lounged together in her bed the previous week.
“I think mine is more important,” Caro declared as they started for the gallery.
“Of course it is,” Eamon said. “A lady’s news should always come first.”
Caro eyed in him exasperation. “Do not try to be witty. But it is important. About Rudyard.”
Eamon had no interest in discussing the lump, but he drew Caro to the far end of the gallery and turned her to face him.
“Rudyard has been running an investment scheme.” Caro bounced on her toes as she announced this. “Taking money from his friends and acquaintances, telling them they were investing in anything from shipping ventures to new canals that will trundle goods across England.”
“Has he, now?” Eamon’s interest reengaged.
Since canal building was an ongoing activity, and ships from all over the world came and went from London, such a proposal on Rudyard’s part would sound plausible. Rudyard could then take the money he claimed would go straight to an investment house and pocket it for himself.
“Everyone believed him at first,” Caro went on, “because he’d pay them back handsomely in a few months, sometimes doubling what they’d invested.”
“Ah,” Eamon said. “I begin to see.”
