It was not unusual for him to delay reading the papers.He rarely found them useful.They were filled with gossip and opinion and the occasional fact disguised as entertainment.
But this morning, his hand paused for a different reason.
Because, somehow, he already knew what he would find.
He opened it regardless.
And there, as bold as a slap, was B.Adroit’s latest work.
Nicholas’s gaze sharpened.
Sir Edwin Langford, rendered as if God had carved him out of arrogance and left the rest unfinished.His mouth a thin sneer.His eyes bulging with indignation.A ridiculous little crown balanced crookedly on his head as though he’d stolen it from a child.
And beneath it—merciless, elegant, perfect:
WOMEN SHOULD NOT MEDDLE.
Below that, a teetering teacup and a second line, dripping with mockery.
Nicholas stared.Then he smiled.
He couldn’t help it.The cartoon wasexcellent.
It was also, in a way Nicholas did not enjoy, terribly…timely.
He lowered the paper, his mind already turning.
He’d never been a betting man.But what were the odds that Bea had a public clash—however controlled—with Langford at Hillary House, and then within hours, B.Adroit skewered Langford in precisely the way Bea would most want?
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed.
A coincidence was possible.
After all, the salon had been full of men, and any of them could have carried the exchange into the street.Some might even have taken pleasure in Langford’s humiliation.Hillary himself would happily feed a cartoonist a dozen juicy remarks if it meant the next issue was more entertaining and his salon more popular.
But it wasn’t only that Langford had been the target—it was that the cartoon echoed his exact phrasing, the same insult he’d aimed at Bea like a blade.
It could have been anyone.
And yet?—
Nicholas’s gaze returned to the drawing.
There were details here.Not merely Langford’s general pompousness, but the particular phrasing.The emphasis.Thetoneof it.That teacup felt personal, like a woman’s fury given ink.
Nicholas tapped the paper once with his forefinger, thoughtfully.
Bea.
Bea had been quick with her words, precise with her points, and she’d spoken like someone who had been practicing the argument for weeks.She’d looked around that room not as a guest but as an observer.
As if she were cataloging it.
As if she might later…reporton it.
Nicholas had suspected for some time that Bea knew the cartoonist.She could easily be the source of information.She moved in those circles by birth.She heard things.She saw things.
And she vehemently disagreed with her father.
