Page 33 of An Enchantress for an Earl

“Do you have a better idea?”

They were silent for a while, as the pianoforte music dropped to a delicate flowing pattern of notes, before rising to a crescendo again. Then Villeham shook his head.

“I don’t. Even with that, if this demonstration shows any real promise, we’ll need a campaign against it – something sowing doubt about the technical quality of the suggested methods. We’d best be ready for that too.”

“True. I’ll do some planning. But we’ll know, as soon as we see this demonstration, just how fast, and how hard, we’ll need to act. I’m not willing to lose everything.”

“Neither am I.”

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Trent slipped out of the House of Lords leaving others to continue the current discussion, which was on matters of little interest to him. He hurried through the buildings until he stood just outside the large anteroom off Westminster Hall, where the anti-forgery demonstration had been set up. Not long after he arrived there, Lord Setford joined him.

“Canterford – come to see what it looks like, before the crowds?”

“As much as you have Lord Setford. I assume that you have men in place, inside and out?”

“I do. Every second footman is one of mine, and others of the staff in the whole complex, as well as twenty or more scattered through the surrounding streets.”

“You are leaving nothing to chance, then? Does Westerhazy, or his son who appears to be organising this for him, know?”

“No. I thought it wiser not to directly involve them. They have enough to concentrate on with making sure that this goes off well and the Lords actually pay attention.”

“That makes sense. Still, if I see anything untoward, I do believe that, after telling you, I’ll warn Merryfield – just in case our suspects decide to take drastic action.”

“That’s reasonable – just don’t create unnecessary panic. Merryfield is a steady man in most ways, as far as I can see, but he does seem to have an obsession for orderliness. No need to disrupt things for him.”

“I won’t. Let’s just hope that the men we are watching do as we suspect they will, and take a sample note, then leave, so that we can follow them. If there’s to be any altercation, I’d rather it was not in these buildings at all.”

“That is my preference too. Ideally, none of the other Lords will even know that anything has happened.”

They stood quietly for a while, watching as the last things were put in place for the demonstration, waiting for the moment when the Lords would all come bustling down to see what the committee had promised to show them. As they waited, the side door from the street opened, and a footman escorted a woman in. Trent started, and he and Setford moved back a little, into the shadows.

“What on earth is Lady Violet doing here?”

Setford looked amused at Trent’s question.

“Indulging her curiosity, I suspect, no doubt with her father’s approval.”

“Let us hope, then, that nothing dramatic does occur. The need to protect a Lady rather complicates matters, doesn’t it?”

“A little, yes. But the men will manage.”

Lady Violet was led across to the door of the anteroom, and shown in by the footman as they watched.

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Arryn stepped back, for the first time feeling truly confident that the demonstration would go well. Everything was in place, and even Mr Ibbetson, who had been very nervous earlier, was beginning to look more comfortable.

He turned from where the small printing press had been set up, intending to adjust the chairs in the room for a final time, just as the door opened. A footman showed someone in, and closed the door after them. Arryn knew her instantly, even though she was the last person he would have expected to be in that place, at that time.

She lifted her gaze, and her eyes met his across the room. It was as if everything slowed, as if none of his careful planning mattered, as if none of it existed anymore. There was only Lady Violet Gardenbrook. He forced himself to breathe, and stepped forward, wanting to go to her, but she smiled and shook her head gently when she saw his movement, and simply slipped to the side, to locate herself in the dimmest part of the room, beside a large old bookshelf.

With her eyes no longer locked onto his, the world spun back into focus, and he was grateful – grateful that she was wiser than he.

This was not the time to allow himself to be distracted, to be put off balance by her presence. Once the demonstration was done, he could speak to her, could discover how she had come to be there. For now, she was safe where she was, inconspicuous, and unlikely to be questioned by anyone. He turned his attention back to chairs, and squeezing enough into the space, but all the time, subliminally, he was aware of her, as if she were a magnet which drew him, an anchor in the chaos of preparation.

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