“I wish he’d mentioned it at the time,” Carenza muttered. “It would have been most helpful.”
“You were very adamant that it was Hector or no one.”
“Don’t remind me,” Carenza said.
“Are you really happy about Julian becoming your lover, sister?” Allegra asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Yes, I believe I am.” Carenza smiled at her sister. “At least he’ll be discreet.”
CHAPTER7
The address Julian had given her was just behind Grosvenor Square in Mount Street, which was a row of far less grand dwellings than the square. Carenza directed the hackney cab to pull up behind the house and got down, the veil over her bonnet already lowered to conceal her face. To her relief, the back gates of the houses had numbers, and she easily located the right one.
She walked up the neat garden path and knocked on the back door. A young girl opened it and curtsied with a smile. “How can I help you, miss?”
“I’m here to see Mrs. Mountjoy.”
“Come in, then, and I’ll tell her you’re here.” The girl looked at Carenza appraisingly before leading her down the corridor. They bypassed the kitchen and went through another door into a hallway. “You after new staff or what?”
“Bridget, that’s none of your business,” a clear voice called out.
Carenza looked up to see a middle-aged woman descending the stairs. Despite her reprimand, she smiled at the girl.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Bridget curtsied to Carenza. “I was just excited.”
“That’s quite understandable, but let me speak to our guest before you make any assumptions, and please bring us some tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget grinned and hurried back toward the kitchen.
The woman turned to Carenza and held out her hand. Her voice had the same upper-class ring as Carenza’s, but her dress was far less fashionable. “I’m Mrs. Mountjoy. You must be Mrs. Smythe. Mr. Laurent said you might be passing by. Please follow me.”
Not without some trepidation, Carenza followed Mrs. Mountjoy into a pleasant sitting room at the front of the house. It was furnished with considerable charm in rich colors that appealed to Carenza’s tastes.
“What a very pleasant room,” Carenza commented, her gaze drawn to a remarkably fine portrait in pride of place over the fireplace.
“I managed to purloin some of my favorite pieces before I left my family home for good,” Mrs. Mountjoy said. “The rest of the house is not quite so elegant.”
Carenza sat down and stared at her hostess. “Forgive me, but you look remarkably familiar. Have we met before?”
Mrs. Mountjoy considered her. “It’s possible that we attended the same events at some point. We are of similar age.”
“Then how …”
“How did I end up here and not presiding over a mansion in Grosvenor Square?” Mrs. Mountjoy smiled. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question.”
“But none of my business,” Carenza said quickly. “I can only apologize for my rudeness.”
“I chose to marry a doctor—a man without vast financial means—and my family, who were counting on me making a brilliant match, disowned me,” Mrs. Mountjoy explained. “Frederick died three years ago, and I’ve continued his work as he would’ve wished.”
“His work?”
“I help young women who find themselves in distressed circumstances.”
Carenza considered her next words carefully. “That is an admirable thing to do.”
“I think so.” Mrs. Mountjoy nodded. “You might think it strange that I no longer miss the life I once had, but I don’t.” She paused. “I never quite fitted in.”
The door opened, and Bridget came through with a tray that she set down in front of Mrs. Mountjoy.
