Tony nodded. “Stafford. He must have known.”
“It were before ’is time he said.”
It was a terrible thing to have a whole life swept under the carpet like one never existed. What the hell had Foxton done?
“You know what rumors are like, m’lord. Once it gets back to the wrong people, lord knows what they will think or do. I doubt they will bother but…” He shrugged.
“Damn and blast it, Beckett. How am I going to keep this from her? She will hear the gossip eventually and be hurt we kept it from her. Either way, it could destroy any fond memories she has left of her father.”
“True, m’lord, but word of warning, you better to tell ’er before the gossipmongers do.”
“What’s my instruction from Stafford?”
“He thinks Foxton stole something important, something very valuable. You need to find out what she knows.”
What was he to do about this situation? “Leave it with me. I will ask her.”
“All right then, I will be off. You know where to find me.” He thumped the roof of the hack with a gloved fist and jumped out before it had even come to a full stop.
Beckett melted into the darkness before Tony could blink. BeckettwasLondon’s shadows, its dank alleys and worn cobbles. He was like an old tenement house: There was a slight lean to him but somehow, against all odds, he still stood proud decades later. Like smoke, he came and went in an instant only to linger on the breeze to remind you he had been there at all.
Chapter Eleven
Lucinda sat bythe fire in her room and pondered the last few days and decided she was at fault. If not for her hasty words at the exhibition he would not be so angry with her. She needed to talk to him, but he was never at home anymore. She had seen him briefly at the ball tonight, but he had not even tried to dance with her or Marianne. How long would he avoid her?
Deciding that action rather than more pondering was in order, she left her room and made her way down the stairs. She took the book from a few nights ago, that she had yet to read, with her as an excuse if anyone saw her. She had no intention of putting it back in the parlor and every intention of going to Tony’s study. If he was not there, it would give her time to snoop about his room, even though she knew that was wrong. If he was there, then she would use it as an opportunity to talk with him and apologize if necessary. She could not stand him being angry with her for another moment.
There was a dull light coming from a brace of candles, but Tony did not seem to be there so, checking left and right, she stepped across the threshold of his room. It was not a large room and held a small desk at one end and a chair set by the fire with a small round table that held a decanter and a glass, half full.
She went to the bookcase and used her fingertips to glide over the spines. They were mostly travel journals or books on other countries. How curious for someone who apparently did not like to read. The trunk she had seen him in front of the othernight stood open and so she leaned over to have a glance inside. Clothes appeared to have just been tossed in, not neatly folded as one would expect, and why would he have a trunk full of clothes in his study when he had a bedroom and a valet upstairs? She was aware that the door to the garden was not far down the hall. Easy to come and go as he pleased.
Lucinda took note of the framed maps on the wall and his military saber mounted on the wall above the fireplace. She reached up and took what looked to be a rock off the mantelpiece. She turned it over several times tracing the pattern inside with her finger.
“I would be careful with that.”
Tony’s voice made her jump, and she stumbled back. He grabbed her flailing arm and pulled her towards him, saving her backside and her ego from a bruising.
He had been seated in the large wing chair, so she had not seen him. Lucinda went to turn towards the door, but his grip on her arm kept her in place. It was only when she turned towards him that she saw concern in his eyes.
“Oh! I am sorry… I… was… and… the light.” He simply stared at her, his eyebrow raising with her every attempt to speak a coherent sentence. She could feel her face heating to the point she thought her cheeks may go up in smoke.
“Did you find what you were looking for, Lucinda?”
She squirmed. “I was trying to find you, actually.”
“Is that so?” His grip did not loosen so she stepped closer.
“Yes. Will you please release me?” It was a half-hearted plea.
“Oh, not just yet. You have some explaining to do.”
She studied his face for a moment. His eyes were glassy, and his cheeks were flushed. “Are you drunk?”
“Not nearly enough,” he replied.
She wrinkled her nose. “And you smell of whiskey and smoke.”
“Do I? Well, pardon me.” He pulled her closer. “You smell of roses and lavender soap.”
