“Likewise,” he said. His eyes were very blue, and despite his age, he was handsome. One side of his face did appear to droop slightly, but it did little to damage his good looks. “I do apologize for being so forward.”
“If it is for a good cause, I certainly don’t mind. This is my companion, Miss Georgina Pendansky, she’ll be going with us. There is a teashop around the corner that opens quite early. We could go there, if you like.”
“What suits you, suits me, Mrs. Cabot.” Mr. Morgan swept into a gallant bow, a gesture that strangely reminded her of Lord Grabe’s theatrics.
“This way, then,” Prudence said, unsure of what to do.
The trio found themselves at a workingman’s café, where they were clearly out of place. They served tea in heavy ceramic mugs and heavy, crumbling scones the size of her fist. It wasn’t refined, and Prudence loved it. Somehow, it made her feel less homesick.
“Now, Mr. Morgan,” Prudence said after they’d found a high table with stools. It was not where a lady might sit, but then, sheand Georgie were Americans, and it took far more to ruffle her. Mr. Morgan likewise didn’t look askance at their surroundings. She found that interesting too. Based on his clothing, she thought him maybe a country gentleman, who might be aghast at eating with the working classes. “What brings you to my door?”
“That is just the thing, Mrs. Cabot,” he said. His accent struck her ear oddly. It was a cultured accent like Ophelia’s and her family’s, but there was something else there that she couldn’t put her finger on. A native speaker could easily suss it out, she was sure. There was something about this man that felt false. But she couldn’t say why. “I believe you came to my door first.”
“Oh?” she asked.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I believe you rented a cottage on my property.”
Prudence blinked. Leo had said once, quite by accident, that he owned Thornridge, but then he said Lenny Morgan owned it. Could it actually belong to this man?
She was not about to get into a land dispute between two men. Especially when one of them was Leo, who clearly didn’t value her enough to win her time. Was eleven hundred pounds an unreasonable sum? Yes, of course. But she knew he had it. He’d looked straight at her and given up. It had hurt worse than she ever could have realized.
“Hm. And were you not paid for the rental of this space?” she asked, sipping her tea, letting the pieces of this strange puzzle fit where they may.
“That is just it, my dear. When I checked on it, the caretakers, lovely people, insisted it had been paid for. But I simply didn’t receive the rent. I believe my son did.”
A piece of scone stuck in her throat. She coughed and swallowed some more tea. “And who is your son?”
“That’s just it. When I sent my man for him, the couple renting the cottage up and left. Very odd.”
“And you think I am the woman from the cottage,” Prudence asked.
Mr. Mason nodded. “A pretty American heiress makes a stir in a small town. Even in a big town. Your name and likeness was all over the papers the last day or so.”
The charity ball had made quite an impression. With so very little left in the social season, their grand event took over the gossip columns.
Prudence was glad Georgie had a derringer at the ready, just in case. There was something about this man that discomfited her. Put her on edge. “You never told me who your son would be? Since that is the person you are truly looking for?”
“It is. His birth name is Leonard Morgan. I have every reason to believe he thinks me dead. I did, some years ago, have a devastating health issue, an apoplexy that left me paralyzed for some time. I was away, and no doubt they’d heard I had not survived. My wife and child were gone by the time I got back. Broke my heart. Couldn’t find them anywhere.”
Again, somehow Prudence didn’t fully believe him. The droop of Mr. Morgan’s face was a clear enough sign of apoplexy—Gregory had suffered episodes as well, causing him paralysis of one entire side of his body. It had been the harbinger of the end.
“Outside of your acquaintance, I’m sorry to say that I know of no Mr. Morgan,” Prudence said, which was the utter truth. Georgie had put both of her hands under the table and was no longer pretending to sip her mug of tea.
“I’m not sure why, perhaps there were creditors—none surfaced when I returned, of course—but I believe he changed his name. He might still go by his first name. I always called him ‘Leo’ for short. My little lion. He was such a cute boy. I’ve missedhim so.” Mr. Morgan put a hand to his chest, as if he was pining for the boy of the past.
It was a theatric again. And Prudence had no doubt in her mind that she was looking at Leopold Moon’s birth father. The tall, slim build was an echo of Leo’s, as were the high cheekbones. Instead of gray eyes that glinted like steel, this Mr. Morgan had blue eyes that no doubt charmed many a young lady in his youth.
“Tell you what, Mr. Morgan. I will seek out my acquaintances and tell them you’ve arrived in London, wanting an introduction. I will not make a big deal of your possible relation, in case I don’t have the correct man in mind. You could check back with me at the end of the week, and I’ll be happy to inform you of all I’ve found.”
“Bless you, young lady. My old heart beats with hope once again.” Mr. Morgan stared her down, no doubt hoping to use his blue eyes to their full effect. But Prudence didn’t swoon at the sight of blue eyes. Not when she had been taken by the cool strength of gray ones.
None of them finished their repast. Prudence stood, and Georgie echoed her movement, hand sliding out of her reticule. “Good day, Mr. Morgan. I’ll speak with you soon.”
*
GEORGIE ANDPRUDENCEreturned to the hotel, not speaking until they were in Prudence’s suite, safe from listening ears. They stared at each other.
“I should have used my derringer,” Georgie said, putting her reticule on the long thin foyer table.
