Page 12 of An Enchantress for an Earl

Chapter Five

As soon as they reached home, Violet claimed tiredness, and took herself to bed. But rest was not easily gained. If truth be told, the evening had left her feeling shaken. First, that most peculiar conversation she had overheard, and then the equally peculiar interaction with Lord Merryfield.

For a moment, when he had caught her as she rushed through the door, fear had filled her – but only for mere seconds, until she realised who it was that held her so firmly. The knowledge that it was Lord Merryfield had made relief rush through her, and for a moment she had wanted nothing more than to crumple against him, and allow his strength to support her. Which really wouldn’t do at all, especially in public!

And him, of all people….

She could not explain that momentary lapse of judgement. The overheard conversation must have shaken her far more than she had realised at the time, for she had needed the support of his arm as they had crossed the room.

And that Thorne had noticed… that was possibly the worst part of it!

Now, as she settled into her bed, a cup of warm chocolate in hand, the memory of that overheard conversation came back to her. It frightened her, with its casual implications of threat and wrongdoing, especially as she did not understand what sort of wrongdoing they might have been discussing – only that it was bad enough that revealing it would lead to some kind of ruin for the men involved and those close to them.

The calmness with which they had discussed it had chilled her more than the stone she had leant against, and left her with a sense that she did not know the people around her at all, despite having been amongst most of the ton much of her life. She did not know who those men had been – and the very idea that they could be people she had spoken with, might even have danced with, was terrifying.

One voice had seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place it, the other, the one that the first man had called ‘Cater’ had not sounded familiar at all. And that name did not help her, as far as identifying them – she knew of no one whose name was Cater. It had to be a shortening of part of the man’s name, one of those casual namings among friends which boys developed at school, before they came into their titles.

She sighed, and set the empty cup down on the small table beside her bed. The not knowing would fester inside her, worrying away until she, somehow, discovered the truth of their identities, and the meaning of what she had heard. But tonight, she could do nothing more, unless she wished to go down to the library and scour DeBrett’s by faint lamplight, in the hope of finding a name which might reasonably be shortened to Cater.

Which she was not going to do.

She would be sensible, and sleep. Perhaps, in the morning, something helpful would come to her.

She blew out the candle, and slid down to curl under the covers, but sleep was slow to come, and filled with strange dreams when it did – dreams in which Lord Merryfield stood between her and some monstrous, nebulous threat.

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Trent Weatherton, Marquess of Canterford, leant back in the well-padded chair and sipped the perfect coffee he had just been handed. Opposite him, Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, set down his own cup and smiled. It was a rather grim smile, and Trent wondered what that presaged.

“Canterford, I’ve a more sensitive than usual task for you. You are aware of the ongoing concerns about forgery…”

“Indeed – first we were treated to that rather obnoxiously large report on every small amount of money spent on any imaginable thing for the last few years, then interminable discussion in the House of Lords about the fact that so much forgery was happening that regulation of the country’s finances seems impossible. And now Westerhazy’s committee are deep in analysing every potential way in which forgery can be prevented. It’s taking so long though, that the problem will only get worse, and we may never stop it. And recently, there have been rumours…”

“Yes. Very odd rumours, implying that there is something untoward about Westerhazy – beyond the fact that his son has a low tolerance for pompous old professors.”

“I cannot countenance that any of those rumours are true.”

“Neither can I, Canterford. But their existence makes the task I have for you more urgent. I will be blunt – I have a more than strong suspicion that someone amongst the ton is indulging in forgery. It was only a matter of time, I suppose, given how much debt some of the younger high-flyers are carrying, before one of them decided that forgery might be an easy way to solve their financial woes.”

Trent shook his head sadly.

“Some of them have no honour at all. But given the other things we have uncovered at times, I am not truly surprised. Still, forgery of currency is officially treason – who would be mad enough to do such a thing, and risk losing everything, and their family being outcast as well?”

“Someone desperate, with a moneylender hounding them for repayment, perhaps? And if they found a way to do it successfully – for it would require access to a person with the skill to create printing plates of a quality that would pass muster – they would be committed, wouldn’t they, after the first note was printed. And greed is such that, once started, they would be unlikely to stop.”

“I suppose you are right. Do you have any specific suspects at this point? Or only the hint that it might be happening?”

“So far, only the hint of it. A few men who have previously run perilously close to the wind on their funds have recently been far more flush, and have paid off some debts – not all that they owe, but enough to make me wonder where the blunt came from. I’ll give you a list of those, and you can start with observing them. Given that part of my remit in our work for the Crown is to prevent treason, this falls squarely to us to investigate.”

“As usual, I’ll do nothing obtrusive – I assume you’ll have men following them, and other investigations in place, so I’ll only need to worry about what they do in the ballrooms and parlours of the nobility?”

“Indeed, exactly that. And I’m sure that your charming and intelligent wife will be able to discover any interesting gossip which might relate, as well.”

Trent laughed. Lily was, in his opinion, far better suited to be a spy for the Crown than he was.

“I am sure that she will.”

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