She looked up then, allowing a measured degree of surprise to enter her expression.
“Major Manners,” she said. “How… timely.”
“At your service,” he replied, though there was nothing accidental in his tone.
He removed his gloves with unhurried precision and took the chair opposite her without awaiting invitation. To any observer, it would appear the most ordinary of encounters.
“You did not use the front door,” she added quietly.
“I thought it best not to,” he returned. “Your message was cryptic.”
She leaned forward, her voice lowering just enough to separate their conversation from the quiet murmur of the room.
“Kendall is following me,” she said.
Manners’ expression did not change, but his attention sharpened immediately. “You are certain?”
“At first, it might have been construed as coincidence,” she said. “He arrived at the iron-works I was visiting this morning, not long after I did.”
He raised his brows, but if he thought it an unconventional choice of places to call at he made no remark. A waiter brought more tea for the Major. Francesca waited until the man had withdrawn before continuing.
“I have spoken with him,” she said. “I placed the bait upon my hook.”
“Do continue.”
She nodded once. “I suggested further improvements to my factories and a plausible expense—something that would justify additional funds.”
“How did he respond?”
“He scolded me a little for not letting him arrange such matters,” she said. “However, he did agree to see to it, with sufficient implication that I believe he will act upon it.”
Arch leaned back slightly, considering. “Then the trap is set.”
“Yes.”
A moment passed in silence. Major Manners sipped his tea.
“You must take extra care,” he continued, putting his cup down. “If he is following you, then he is suspicious.”
“Since I shall give him nothing further to suspect, he will conclude I am merely improving my factories.”
“I think that is wise. My men will do the rest now that you have set the plan in motion.”
“I must hope he acts quickly because I confess that one day of being a Society lady is a dreadful bore.”
Major Manners laughed and the sound warmed her inside more than the tea had done.
CHAPTER 17
The winter sun was gone by the time Arch returned to St. James’s Square. He paused only a moment upon the threshold, removing his gloves with deliberate care, though his mind was far from composed. The image of Miss Vale lingered with disquieting persistence, particularly the deliberate manner in which she had laid her design to trap her friend. She was not merely reacting to a threat; she was inviting danger to reveal itself.
“Manners,” came Baines’ voice, cutting through his reverie. “Join us. We have all just returned.”
“Something has happened. You look as though you have either solved the matter entirely or complicated it beyond repair. Which is it?” Fielding asked.
Arch inclined his head slightly, keeping his expression composed though his thoughts were anything but. “I should say both, if I am to be precise.”
Baines leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossing the other with careless ease although his posture suggested indifference rather than discipline. Fielding occupied an armchair on the opposite side of the hearth, turning a glass slowly in his hand,whilst Stuart stood near the window, his attention divided between the street below and the conversation within.
