“I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. And while you might be itching to follow the new leads we’ve acquired, it will have to wait until Friday.” A brief hesitation followed, and then he said, “On a different note, I’d like you to reconsider my offer regarding a servant.”
“We’ve been over this repeatedly,” Ida protested. He’d brought the subject up at least five times since their run-in with the Duchess of Huntley at La Belle Anglaise.
“We need not fill the house with people if you do not wish it,” he said, “but I think it would be good for you to have someone else here with you. It would, in my opinion, be the responsible thing.”
“I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
“Which I respect, but we have to consider the fact that you are supposed to be my ward. As such, you cannot remain here alone. It isn’t proper.”
“Simon, I—”
“Have you given any thought to how you will prepare for the ball without someone to help you dress?”
Ida huffed out a breath. He’d neatly managed to corner her. “All right. Fine. I’ll agree to a maid of all works if that will satisfy you.”
“Thank you.” He stiffly bent to place a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll stop by early on Friday so we can discuss whatever I may have learned by then before heading off to the Huntley ball. I’ll bring the maid with me.”
Ida could only nod. His kiss, so lacking the ardor he’d put on display earlier, was devastating. He was devastating. And as she bid him good bye and watched him walk back to his carriage, she knew she’d miss him terribly until she saw him again.
Chapter Nine
“Do I not have any letters, notes, or invitations from the Marquess of Kirksdale lying around?” Simon asked Winthorp the next morning. After returning home the previous afternoon, he’d riffled through every piece of correspondence he had on file. Finding examples of his uncle’s handwriting had been easy enough. He had several letters and missives from him, and Simon was relieved to see that it didn’t match the lopsided scrawl on the note he’d received from Captain Murdoch.
Neither did Elmwood’s. An inquiry he’d sent Simon three years prior with regard to the purchase of a foal sired by one of Simon’s stallions had proved it.
“If I recall,” his secretary said as he went to one of the cabinets Simon had already searched, “you received a petition from him a few years ago requesting support in his effort to have the Blasphemous and Seditious Libels Act included in what became known as the Six Acts.”
Yes. That was it.
Simon watched as Winthorp retrieved a box labeled 1819. The act Kirksdale had spearheaded allowed magistrates to seize libelous materials and to have those who’d written them transported for up to fourteen years. The purpose had, of course, been to prevent another Peterloo Massacre, but Simon had feared it would stop those who had legitimate concerns from voicing their opinions and that the act would simply serve as a means to silence the masses.
Winthorp riffled through the stack of papers inside the box until he located the sheet he sought. He handed it to Simon, who noted the blank spot at the bottom where he’d been asked to sign. He had no regret over his disagreement with Kirksdale on this issue. His belief that the massacre hadn’t been the fault of the peaceful protestors seeking reformation but of the government’s order to break things up by sending cavalry into their midst was what had caused him to craft his own bill – the reason he had to participate in today’s and tomorrow’s parliamentary sessions.
He considered the neatly penned script outlining the act at the top of the page. One quick glance was enough to inform him that it wasn’t a match either. Although…
His gaze sharpened. “It says, ‘the Marquess of Kirksdale wishes to acquire your support in the following matter of great importance.’”
Winthorp tilted his head. “Yes?”
Simon re-read the phrasing and sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I would never refer to myself in the third person like this. Not even for the purposes of making a formal request.”
“Of course not, my lord. I gather the marquess’s secretary penned it.”
In other words, it wasn’t the least bit helpful in terms of discerning whether or not Kirksdale had also written the instructions delivered to Captain Murdoch. Of course, it was possible to suppose he had by using the process of elimination, since it was now clear that neither Elliot nor Elmwood was behind it.
Still, Simon sighed and returned the request from Kirksdale to the box. He didn’t like maybes. He wanted concrete facts – irrevocable proof of the marquess’s scheming. After all, he’d misjudged people before. Considering the stakes involved in charging a peer with treason, he’d like to avoid a repeat occurrence where Kirksdale was concerned.
Simon glanced at the clock perched on top of the cabinet next to the door. “I have to go. But before I do, there’s one more thing.”
“My lord?”
“I’ll once again be requiring a maid at Bedford Street.” He chose to avoid further explanation. Telling Winthorp he now had a ward would be pointless. The secretary was too familiar with Simon’s affairs to believe such a story.
Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes. “Of course, my lord. I’ll see to it right away.”
Happy with this assurance, Simon departed. The secretary would simply think he’d acquired a mistress, which wouldn’t be the worst supposition in the world if only it were true. Unfortunately, however, the lovely woman occupying the extra house he owned was averse to such a delicious notion. And he wasn’t sure how to get her to change her mind, or even if doing so would be wise. She was, after all, an innocent – a woman who might one day marry – and he would be the most selfish bastard alive if he ruined her chance to do so.
Ida spent Wednesday and Thursday going back over the newspaper clippings she and Simon had gathered. When they offered no additional information, she resumed her knitting. By the time Simon arrived Friday afternoon, her project was progressing quite nicely.
