Chapter Nineteen
Eli’s faint hopethat Rob had invited him to Horse Guards for weapons training or at the very least a strategy session died under a pile of paperwork. Brynn Morgan, who worked as an intelligence analyst in Viscount Rockford’s organization, laid out a wide range of facts and figures, some obviously associated with the abductions and human trafficking, more of it related to smuggling in general, broader, and less specific. The viscount himself stopped in briefly, something Morgan described as a sign of how much importance he assigned to the investigation.
“It comes down to ownership. We have an idea about ports, but who owns the ships? What is the money trail?” Morgan said at last. “Some of the answers may be in London, some in Manchester or even York.”
It quickly became obvious which of Eli’s talents they wanted. He accepted his role with resignation, though how he would pore over account books, port books, and deeds while fulfilling his commitment to Rob to “stay close to Fanny,” a job he much preferred, he had no idea.
Now the ladies had him bundled in the carriage heading to yet another clothing shop. They seemed determined to make his life difficult. Maddy had once again sent word she was indisposed. Eli began to expect a happy announcement from the Morgans but knew better than to ask.
Mrs. Johnson’s Stitchery looked very little like the Hancock drapery and even less like the modiste they had visited earlier on. The sign above it gave few clues as to its nature. Eli peered at the window decorated with bolts of delicate linens and silks, most sheer, some embroidered, all artfully draped around vases of silk flowers and a few porcelain figurines.
Eli’s first hint of trouble came with the sight of a young man—an overdressed elite of thetonwith a smug smirk on his face—leaving the store with a box wrapped in pink tissue and tied with an elaborate rose-colored bow. The arrogant puppy cast an assessing glance at the ladies until a growl from Eli sent him scurrying away.
What sort of establishment for ladies is frequented by men about town?The answer to that was all too obvious, and Lucy’s mischievous grin confirmed it. Fanny refused to meet his eyes.
A tinkling bell announced their arrival when Lucy opened the door. She turned with a dare in her eyes before entering. “Are you certain you wish to join us, Eli? I am positive there is a tavern nearby where you can wait.”
When he shot a quick glance at the window, a particularly transparent fall of cloth in an earthy moss green, with heather embroidered on the edge, caught his eye and sent visions of it draped over Fanny—Fanny as the good Lord made her. He groaned and forced the image from his unruly mind.
He knew a ploy when he saw one. They were trying to get rid of him, but he had vowed to stay close to the women—to Fanny—at all costs. It might just come down to that; Mrs. Johnson’s might kill him.
“Of course, Lucy,” he said sweetly. “I wouldn’t think of abandoning you.”
The front of the shop, a narrow room, had shelves with bolts of cloth, rather like the Hancock drapery except for the nature of the material. Mrs. Johnson greeted the ladies effusively and cast a gimlet eye on Eli, sizing him up shrewdly. She led them to the spacious interior, where Eli was deposited in a sitting area in a far corner, one with comfortable chairs, newspapers, and the faint odor of tobacco, obviously designed for the use of gentlemen. She took the ladies’ cloaks and bonnets and led them to a table where she spread fashion plates.
From where he sat, Eli could see all three women, but not, thank heavens, the pictures in front of them. Fanny had her back to him, a mixed blessing when she leaned over the table to pick up one of the prints. He flicked open a wrinkled newssheet, held it in front of his face, and struggled fruitlessly to read some of the week-old news. Images of the green silk in the window kept intruding. Curiosity about the fashion plates elbowed its way in, and his wretched imagination spun various feminine nightwear made from the green silk. And the pink lace the proprietor pulled out to show the ladies.
When he peeped up from his paper to see Lucy hold out a drawing of a daring negligee to Fanny, he almost bolted. His brother most certainly would not be happy with Eli seeing sketches of intimate garments purchased by his sister-in-law. As to Fanny, he was certain ice baths loomed over his evening and several after. The damned paperwork might help. Sighs, moans, and giggles from across the room didn’t.
They held him prisoner there for an hour or more before they gave up and announced they were ready to leave. “Mrs. Johnson has graciously offered to deliver our orders, so you’ll be spared another visit,” Lucy said with an unrepentant grin.
Eli refused to cower. “Was your time successful as well, Fanny?” he asked.
Pink cheeks rewarded him for his sally, but victory in the exchange went to Fanny. She met his eyes without wavering. “It was certainly enlightening,” she said.
Enlightening? How?He dared not think about it. He thrust his hat on his head and followed them out.
