Текст книги "The Vanishing Thief"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

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Emma and I fixed tea from the pot kept warm under a tea cozy while Jacob helped himself to Dominique’s digestive biscuits. Then we settled into chairs at a distance from Sir Broderick’s roaring fire. “How does Inspector Grantham feel about being dragged into one of our investigations?” I needed to know how angry he was going to be at me for involving his grandmother.

“He’s threatened to lock Lady Westover up in her home, but she writes that he knows how far that will get him.”

“He’ll be taking it out on me, then.” I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s not a problem unless he gives me away.”

“He won’t, Georgia, unless it’s necessary to save his grandmother’s life.”

I knew Sir Broderick was right. Inspector Grantham had worked with us before and not given us away. “When is this family dinner?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“That doesn’t give us much time. What has anyone learned?”

Fogarty answered my question first. “I played the chap from the Water Board. I was suspicious of a woman with a colicky baby across from Drake’s and one house over. I sent Grace back, thinking it needed a woman’s touch. The mother had been up with the baby at about the correct time and looked out the window. She saw a very ordinary coach with no markings whose driver sat in the box the entire time. They were there at least five minutes, but not ten.”

“Did she see anything of the passengers?”

He flipped over a page in his notebook. “No. She heard men’s voices when they left, but she was on the wrong side of the street to see them. They seemed to be in a hurry getting away, shouting at the driver to get a move on.”

“Not a shiny, tall, ancient carriage?”

“No. Just a rental you’d expect to see hired to take a group somewhere. She remembered one of the two horses was a gray. She thought the coach would look better if the horses matched.”

“Definitely not the duke’s carriage. Edith Carter lied about that. Why? And what else has been a lie?”

Fogarty said, “I talked to her maid when I went to her house on my rounds for our fictitious Water Board survey. She said it was just the mistress and her.”

“No parents. Why did she lie to me about that? What possible difference could that make?” I’d been badly used by Miss Carter.

“I’m sure she has a reason for every lie, Georgia. The story about the coach may have been to point our attention at the duke.” Sir Broderick smiled, his eyes half-closed.

“He and his fellow club members are the only people we’ve found so far who might have a reason to abduct Mr. Drake,” Frances said. “Of course, there’s no reason why he would choose his victims from only one club. Once we saw the connection between Mr. Drake and debutantes, I started looking at the parties he was invited to last season. He attended at least fifty balls, although none of the smaller entertainments.”

Frances took a sip of her tea. “I talked to a couple of my contacts, middle-aged gently born ladies who act as chaperones at these balls so the mamas can go elsewhere. They remember Drake. He could always be counted on to fill out the dance cards of the less-popular misses and make himself agreeable wherever. It sounded to me as if he had ample opportunity to snatch the odd small, valuable trinket.”

“And seek out signs of scandal for blackmail,” I added.

“No one is ever more alone than in a crush at a ball,” Sir Broderick said. “What else has anyone found?”

Jacob said, “I tried all the pubs in the area, looking for Nicholas Drake’s friends Harry and Tom. Said I’d heard they were looking for me for a spot of work. I finally met up with Tom Whitaker. He said they didn’t have anything planned at this time, but they’d keep me in mind if they did. I told them I’d talked to Drake a few days ago and he said there was work to be had and soon. That’s when Tom said he’d not seen Drake in a few days and didn’t know about any plans. And I learned Harry’s last name is Conover.”

“Good work, everyone.” I filled them in on what I’d learned from Lady Westover and what Lady Dutton-Cox and her daughter Elizabeth had revealed.

“I’ll track down Harry Conover and see if he and Tom are known to my former mates.” Fogarty smiled as he limped in front of the bookcases. The retired police sergeant’s eyes sparkled whenever anyone gave him the slightest reason to chat with his former colleagues.

“We need to talk to the duke’s sister, but she’s in the country,” I said. I hoped I didn’t sound bitter at the prospect of traveling four days to meet someone who’d probably refuse to talk to me, but I didn’t want to leave my shop for that long for a trip that would probably prove fruitless.

“Where’s the family seat?” Sir Broderick asked, stirring in his wheeled chair by the fire.

“Northumberland.”

“Frances, see if you can learn who the duke’s half sister, Margaret, was friendly with before she left town, and whether they’ve exchanged letters with her since.”

I looked around the room. “I’ll talk to Julia Waxpool. As she’s a debutante, Drake might be blackmailing or stealing from her, and her grandfather is on the list Lord Hancock gave us. I’ve heard she was acquainted with Lady Margaret. With luck, I’ll be able to find out what she knows about Victoria and Margaret and whether there were truly bad feelings between them.”

Turning to Emma, I added, “Could you follow up on where Edith Carter was born and if she’s ever been married?”

“Do you think chasing down the person who brought the problem to our attention is a wise use of our time?” Sir Broderick asked.

I nodded. “She knows more than she’s told us, she’s lied to me, and I want to get that problem out of the way before we take on all of polite society.”

Sir Broderick smiled. “Tomorrow, Emma, please find out everything you can about Edith Carter. After that, you may be too busy watching the bookshop in Georgia’s absence to do much sleuthing for us.”

Frances Atterby said, “Perhaps I can help Emma. I may not know the book business, but I know how to wait on people. And my son’s wife has been making noises again that I’m underfoot and should be sent away to her family’s farm to mind the chickens. Me? On a farm? Can you imagine anything worse? I can’t allow that. And I can’t stay not busy.”

Emma and I made murmuring sounds. Frances might look like she was getting older and should be slowing down, but she wasn’t. More to the point, she didn’t want to.

The widow of a London hotel manager, Frances had come to the Archivists to find her husband’s killer. It had taken us two years to bring the monster to justice, and in the meantime, her son kept telling her to sit down and put her feet up while he and his wife ran the hotel. Accustomed to an active life, Frances transferred her considerable talents and energy to the Archivist Society. As she told us, her son never noticed and her daughter-in-law didn’t care.

“After you check on those young ladies for Sir Broderick, Emma and I would be glad of your help.”

Sir Broderick said, “If there’s nothing else, we can call it a night. Georgia, I’d like you to wait a moment, please.”

Oh, great. What had I done? Or not done? Emma nodded to me and walked downstairs talking to Frances. I pulled up a chair across from Sir Broderick, letting his body block the worst of the heat from the fire. Sweat still rose on my scalp and under my corset.

“Georgia, I need to tell you something. From that time.”

I knew what time he meant. Both of our lives had been irretrievably altered.

“Do you remember Denis Lupton?”

“I remember he had a bookshop on Piccadilly. He was murdered not long after my parents—” I gulped down a sob. Those days had been too much with me lately.

“His killer was never caught,” Sir Broderick said.

“I remember every bookseller in London was terrified for weeks afterward. In the end, life returned to normal.”

“Your father had a message from Lupton a few days before he was taken prisoner. About a Gutenberg Bible.”

I grabbed the arms of the chair I sat in to prevent me from leaping up. “What did Lupton want? What did my father answer? And why have you waited until now to tell me?”

“I don’t know what the message said, but your father was frightened. He told me he sent a message back to Lupton saying no. Your father wanted nothing to do with whatever Lupton proposed.”

He’d ignored the question I most wanted answered. “Why have you waited until now to tell me this?”

“Because if I had told you before, you’d have gone off chasing the wind in hopes of finding the murderer. Now you’re doing it anyway, so you might as well know what little I learned.”

I settled back in my chair, ready to hear the rest. “You’re certain this concerned a copy of the Gutenberg Bible?”

“Yes. I do know that much. Later, I learned Lupton’s shop was ransacked when he was killed. A tall, well-built man in a top hat was seen strolling away just before the body was found, but he wasn’t carrying anything. Could the murderer be your abductor? I don’t know.”

“Had you considered talking to Lupton about the Bible?”

“When you came running in here that day, I decided to question your father and Lupton as soon as we freed your parents. Instead, I found myself in agony with mangled legs. I was bedridden for months. Everyone who came to see me hovered, waiting for me to die.” He smiled. “Except you, Georgia. Your determination to right wrongs, and forcing me to help you, saved my life and gave me a purpose for living.”

I couldn’t bear to have him thank me. I’d failed him as badly as I had my parents. “When did you find out the details about Lupton’s murder?”

He brushed my words away with one hand. “No, Georgia, I need to say this. You saved my life twice, once at the house where your parents perished, and once when you came to me to help you prove you didn’t kill Lord Westover.”

“Scotland Yard should have searched harder for his murderer.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my tone. I’d been eighteen, newly orphaned, and frightened of the police detective who’d questioned me.

“If they had, I never would have met Adam Fogarty and Lady Westover and we never would have formed the Archivist Society.”

I had to smile at the recollection. “I nagged you night and day, brought you every scrap of information I learned, until you finally gave up. You brought Lady Westover, police sergeant Fogarty, and me together in this room. That was the day you began to build the Archivist Society. Now,” I said, giving him an obviously false stern look, “when did you learn the details of Lupton’s murder?”

“Much after the fact, a witness to the discovery of Lupton’s body came to see me about an antiquarian volume. Given such an opportunity, I learned all he could tell me about the murder. He knew nothing about any bookseller possessing a Gutenberg Bible.”

This was a new lead, at least to me. “I think we need to investigate Lupton’s murder using the assumption he was killed by the same man who killed my parents.”

“Georgia, we have to consider the possibility that the murderer learned about Lupton from your father.”

My father would have only revealed that type of information to his abductor if he or my mother were tortured. I must have sounded grim when I replied, “We’ll find out when I catch him.”

But where was he now?

Chapter Six

AS it turned out, Emma was gone most of the next day on our investigation while I managed the shop and wondered what I would discover at dinner that night. She returned in time to help Phyllida dress me for the party with the warning that I’d better not stay out late because she had more archival research to do the next morning. Phyllida hushed her while reminding me what each of the fourteen pieces of silverware I’d face at dinner was used for.

I took a cab to Lady Westover’s and entered through the mews at the back so as not to be noticed arriving. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining and by carefully stepping and holding my skirt embarrassingly high, I entered without trailing dirt and wet footsteps. I didn’t have time to brush mud off my skirt, and it probably wouldn’t have helped. The fabric would be ruined if the hem got wet or dirty.

Glancing out from the back hall, I saw no one by the front entrance or the stairs. Hurrying up the steps, I caught my breath outside the door to her formal parlor. Then I nodded to the butler and he opened the door. He announced me and I found I faced a silent room full of stares.

My evening gown had too little fabric in the tiny sleeves and too much in the front of my skirt. It was five years out of fashion, and the guests were probably considering how far from London and society I lived. I was well disguised to play Lady Westover’s unfortunate relative. Lifting my head, I stepped forward, looking as pleased to meet them as I felt.

Lady Westover introduced me to Lord Naylard and his sister, Lucinda, before she was called away by the butler. After my curtsy, Naylard said, “It must be jolly to have family visit.” He had the coloring and eagerness of a golden retriever puppy.

“Even more so for me, since this is a special treat. Do you have a large family here in London?” I said.

“No. Miss Lucinda and I are on our own. We’re not a hardy family. But we have each other.” He gave his sister a look of pure devotion.

She looked at him benignly, like a woman gazing at a not overly bright lapdog, and said, “My task in life is taking good care of my brother.” Her dark blue gown was high necked and her widely puffed sleeves covered the tops of her white gloves at the elbows. Her jewels at ear and neck and wrist were almost as understated as my pearl earrings.

I gave her a smile and said, “Your dress is both lovely and practical in these drafty houses. I admire your taste.”

Lucinda gave me a gracious nod but said nothing.

How did these aristocrats handle social situations if they didn’t talk? Shifting the conversation, I said, “Lady Westover told me this was to be a family dinner, so you must be related to her, and, more distantly, to me.”

“Lady Westover is my mother’s cousin, once or twice removed. How are you related to her?” Lord Naylard asked.

A detail she and I hadn’t worked out. Aiming for vagueness, I said, “Through my scandalous grandmother. I think Lady Westover takes an interest in me to make certain I don’t repeat family history best left forgotten.”

Another guest came up to us. Lord Hancock paid attention to only Lord Naylard, saying, “I’m glad I’ve seen you tonight. I have an opportunity I’d like to let you in on. I’ll stop by your club tomorrow.”

Hancock had seen me at the Archivist Society meeting he’d crashed. He apparently hadn’t considered me worthy of notice that night, but I turned to face Lucinda Naylard and hoped he didn’t recognize me.

Miss Lucinda ignored me and moved between Hancock and her brother. “He has no interest in investing in machines of war, Lord Hancock.”

“The British army is fighting all over the globe for our empire. They should have every advantage,” Hancock said.

“Our army already has the advantage over those poor natives in every way. You can’t save the world by inventing noxious things and blowing everyone up. And that’s all we’ve seen your inventions do.” Miss Lucinda put a lovely sneer in her tone. I was impressed with her polished reserve. Apparently so was Naylard. He took a half step behind his sister.

Hancock matched her sneer as he said, “You claim to be concerned about saving the souls of all mankind, but I’m the one who’s lived in Africa and met those savages. I’ve seen what they’re capable of, and I think our soldiers should be protected from those heathens.”

Lady Naylard sniffed indelicately and said, “What were you doing that made the natives respond with violence?”

Hancock narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin aggressively. “I was studying the medical properties of plants and insects. Nothing that should have upset them. But I saw barbarism that can’t be believed in this civilized country, much less spoken of in polite society.” He focused on Naylard and said, “Keep your sister home where she’s safe to believe the natives have souls worth saving.”

Naylard was saying, “Oh, I can’t let her leave—,” as a very young woman dressed in the height of fashion and dripping jewels joined us, Lady Westover at her side. Lucinda Naylard gave Hancock a scowl and turned to the new arrivals.

“Georgia,” Lady Westover said in a tone designed to remind everyone they were at a dinner party, “I’d like you to meet Miss Daisy Hancock. Her mother was my dear goddaughter. And have you been introduced to Lord Hancock, her uncle and guardian?”

I dropped into my curtsy again, keeping my head down in the hope that Lord Hancock wouldn’t recognize me.

When I glanced up, Hancock looked fully at me for the first time and scowled. I decided to stay in character and hope he only thought I resembled someone as I said, “Lady Westover has mentioned you’re a famous scientist.”

“More like infamous,” Lucinda Naylard murmured.

Miss Daisy looked her over with a pitying expression and said, “My uncle’s a brilliant man. Too bad you don’t recognize his greatness. He’s done vital work for the army and he’s a fellow of the Royal Society. I’ve been privileged to live in London with him since my parents’ death.”

“Associate fellow, actually,” Lord Naylard added with happy eagerness, and then dipped his head like a scolded puppy when Hancock glared at him.

“Oh, good for you,” Miss Lucinda said with such finality the young woman was shocked into silence.

Hancock pulled Lady Westover aside and said in a loud whisper, “Really, should you be inflicting your unsavory relations on Miss Daisy? She’s an innocent who was presented to the queen less than a year ago.”

“Oh, Georgia is innocent of any trespass. It’s her grandmother I wouldn’t introduce to Miss Daisy,” Lady Westover said blithely. “I had the worst time getting in contact with you. You really should let your friends know when you move.”

“We moved last fall from Chelling Meadows to a more convenient and modern town house. I thought you knew.” Hancock fixed her with a haughty expression.

“No, I didn’t. Your brother was the one who bought Chelling Meadows. I suppose it’s hard to make someone else’s house yours.” Lady Westover matched his disdainful look before turning to her butler, who hovered at her shoulder. After a moment, she announced, “I’ve been informed dinner is ready. We’ll go down now and hope our last guest arrives soon. Eddy, if you’d escort Miss Daisy down, and Georgia, you’ll have to bring up the rear on your own.”

Eddy, Lady Westover’s grandson and a Scotland Yard inspector who much preferred to be called Edward or Inspector Grantham, winced but did as he was bidden. He flashed me a look that clearly said, What are you up to? before he offered Miss Daisy his arm.

We entered the dining room and faced Lady Westover’s large square table with two seats on each of the four sides and a stunning floral arrangement in the center. With the amount of time and effort Lady Westover spent on her heated glasshouse, I shouldn’t have been surprised at the gaily colored spring flowers that decorated the table.

Once we were all seated, the vacant chair next to me drew all eyes. Lady Westover had told me earlier my missing partner was the son of an old friend and suspected in Drake’s disappearance, but she refused to give me the man’s identity.

Naylard shared a corner of the table with me, giving me an excellent opportunity to question him about Drake. As soon as the soup course was served and the footmen retired, I said, “I’ve heard a friend of yours has gone missing.”

His unlined face scrunched up in a frown. “Who?” he asked around a mouthful of creamy asparagus soup.

“Nicholas Drake.”

“Yes. Shocking, isn’t it?”

“How did you meet?”

“It’s dashed embarrassing. How we met, that is.” Naylard turned pink. “I was standing on the riverbank watching some friends practice rowing at Henley. I slipped and fell in. Drake fished me out. Saved my life.”

“Can you swim, my lord?” I asked, staring into his eyes. Around us, other conversations were going on. No one was paying us any attention.

“Not a lick. I’m terribly uncoordinated.”

“I imagine you keep that secret.”

In the pause as Naylard took a spoonful of soup and then a sip of wine, I heard Lord Hancock touting the benefits of his newest invention to Inspector Grantham. Grantham’s responses were toneless noises.

“Oh, no. Everyone knows I sink like a stone. This is the second time I almost drowned. The first was at school. Friends still tease me about it.”

“How did you come to slip and fall in?” I took a quick sip of my soup. It was hot and creamy, the perfect thing on a cool, drafty night when I was expected to display a good deal of my neck and shoulders.

“The riverbank was wet and slick. I lost my footing when a wind gust hit me.”

“Those strong winds must have made practicing rowing on the river difficult.”

“No, there was no wind on the river.” A startled look crossed Naylard’s face. “Oh. Someone must have bumped me. I felt a nudge but I thought it was a strong breeze. Drake was the only one nearby to rescue me.”

Just as I suspected. Drake helped Naylard into the river so he could rescue him. In the silence as distrust slowly penetrated Naylard’s mind, I heard Lady Westover question someone about their favorite charity. I watched as Naylard’s expression changed from cheerful to questioning to surprised and then worried.

Was the man really so naive? “So you’ve been friends with Drake ever since he saved your life,” I said. “Any idea where he is now?”

Worry disappeared from his face. “No. I haven’t seen him since Lady Florence, the Duke of Merville’s daughter, had her engagement party last week. He’s not been in any of our usual haunts.”

“It is worrying when a friend vanishes.”

“Quite. It’s dashed disconcerting having people pop in and out of your life. Lucinda says it’s God’s will, but I’m afraid I don’t share her faith.”

I took a mouthful of soup, trying to think of a reply that would keep Naylard talking when the dining room doors opened and the butler announced, “The Duke of Blackford.”

It was all I could do to keep from choking. Blackford here? I’d spoken to him under my own name at his house and then at Sir Broderick’s. I’d told Lady Westover I’d met him. What was the old woman thinking of? He’d give me away.

My face heated as I stared at my soup, afraid at any moment my deception would be exposed. Mercifully, the Duke of Blackford began to talk to Lady Westover and Miss Daisy Hancock. I had only a few minutes before he would turn to face me and give away my true identity. I had to learn what I could from Lord Naylard.

I took a gulp of wine to wash the panic out of my voice. Hoping I didn’t sound like a fool, I asked, “What interests do you share with Mr. Drake?”

“We both love a good practical joke. Drake has such a keen sense of humor. We both play cards, although I play badly. And we both like horse racing and horse trading. He’s supposed to be looking for a new filly for my stables.”

“You breed horses?”

“Yes.” He started on a long story about horse breeding at his stables. All I needed to do was make appropriate noises at the correct moments and Naylard provided the rest of the conversation. Now I had the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop on other conversations around the table.

My interest quickly waned in Lord Hancock trying to sell shares in his latest weaponry to Lady Westover, and Inspector Grantham’s increasingly forceful refusals on her behalf. I turned my attention to studying Blackford. His voice was a deep hum in answer to Miss Daisy’s chatter. He ate neatly and sparingly. I dared not look at him directly, but I could glance in his direction as I sipped from my soup spoon. His jacket sleeve was made of the finest black material and his cuff link was a bloodred ruby.

I swallowed the last of my now-lukewarm soup and turned my attention back to Naylard just in time. A moment later, he finished his tale about his barns with “Don’t you think?”

Giving him my best smile, I said, “I’m afraid I’m not an expert on raising horses, milord.”

“We’ll continue later,” he said in a soft voice as the footmen picked up the soup bowls.

When the fish was set before us, Blackford turned to me with a cold smile. The clatter of silver and the rumble of voices faded in my ears. Apprehension must have shown in my eyes because my heart was pounding and I’d lost my appetite.

In a very low voice he said, “I didn’t realize you were Lady Westover’s country cousin, Miss—Peabody. Or should I say Miss Fenchurch? Does the presence of a Scotland Yard inspector have anything to do with why we’re enjoying this meal together?”

“No.” The duke deserved a better answer. He’d not given me away yet. I kept my voice low to match his. “The inspector’s here to even the numbers and make it appear more of a family dinner. And he’s curious about Drake’s disappearance, although it’s not his case.”

“Scotland Yard inspectors don’t attend dinner parties to even the number of men and women, even for as persuasive a hostess as his grandmama, and they don’t get curious.”

“I think they must. Curiosity is the most important characteristic an investigator can possess.”

He took a bite of his fish and considered. “You’re probably right,” he said when he’d swallowed. “So what is this dinner in aid of?”

“Drake was introduced to Victoria Dutton-Cox by Lord Naylard. Lord Hancock was a victim of Drake’s. I want to question them without them realizing what I’m doing.”

He’d jerked in his seat when I mentioned Victoria’s name, but by the time I finished speaking, he had himself under control again. “That’ll be easy with Naylard. The man lacks both suspicion and brains.” He took a sip of his wine. “Do you want to question me again?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will only be fair if I question you, too.”

“All right.” What does he want? “Did Drake try to blackmail you?”

“Yes. How long have you been looking for missing people?”

I glanced around, trying to hide my surprise. I hadn’t expected the duke to admit that Drake had blackmailed him. Fortunately, no one at the dinner was paying any attention to us. “Over ten years. What did Drake possess that would make him think he could blackmail you? You’re a formidable man. He’s very ordinary.”

A smile flickered over his lips. “Letters written by my sister. I control her money; therefore, he came to me to sell his silence. Have you ever been someone’s mistress?”

I felt my eyes widen and my cheeks burn. That was hardly a question one could ask in polite society, but then, the same could be said of questions about blackmail. I thought I had the upper hand until he’d turned the tables on me. The man had the instincts of a hunter hidden inside impeccable tailoring. This was a man I could understand.

Glancing across the table, I saw Lady Westover staring at me. Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice my discomfort. I gave a half smile and turned my attention back to the duke.

He raised his dark brows. “Surely you didn’t think you could ask my deepest secrets without revealing your own?”

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. “No and no. I’m not. Did you pay his blackmail and for how long?”

“No. I offered to buy the letters, but so far, we’ve not agreed on a price. Has a man ever made love to you?”

The soft growl of his voice as he asked me his impertinent question left me sweltering in the chilly dining room. I swallowed hard. “Yes. Who are the other men you mentioned who belong to your club who are also being blackmailed by Mr. Drake?” I wondered if he’d confirm the list I’d already obtained.

“Hancock, Dutton-Cox, Waxpool, and Merville. What did your parents think of your scandalous behavior?”

“It’s not a scandal if no one finds out, and my parents were long dead at that point. Why is Lord Hancock being blackmailed?”

His gaze flicked across the table at the man in question. “It can’t be over his inventions. They’re both dangerous and disastrous. And it’s no secret that his finances are shaky at best. With all that being gossiped about as common knowledge against Lord Hancock, I can’t imagine what his secret is. Are you and this unnamed gentleman still lovers?”

I was saved by the next course. I turned my attention back to Lord Naylard, giving my heart rate a chance to slow while I tried with delicacy to learn why Drake would blackmail such an uncomplicated man.

“I keep thinking of Mr. Drake,” I told Naylard. “He’s out there somewhere and here you are his good friend, and you don’t know where he is. Has he disappeared like this before?”

Naylard finished his bite. “This is very good roast. Try some. Drake hasn’t disappeared before. I never went more than two or three days without seeing him, and it’s been a week.”

“Do you always see him in the same locations? Perhaps you haven’t been to these places lately and Mr. Drake isn’t really missing.” I was already sick of looking at so much food and wishing this was Phyllida’s simple cooking.

He chewed slowly and studied the far wall. “No. I either see him at my club, and I’m there almost daily, or at the racecourse, but there haven’t been any races lately. Perhaps he’s gone somewhere to look at a promising filly. He’ll turn up and make a joke at the thought of anyone being concerned.”

“And as your sister says, it’s all in God’s hands.”

Naylard seemed to back up a little in his chair. “I say, are you one of them?”

“One of whom, milord?”

“Is that why you’re not quite eligible to go out in polite society?”

Had this man who appeared so simple figured out I was an impostor? “What do you mean, milord?”

“Lady Westover said you weren’t eligible for polite society. Nothing naughty, I hope.” He grinned as if he’d told a childish joke.

I grinned back. “No, but my grandmother was scandalous. Your sister hasn’t done anything scandalous, has she?”

“Oh, no. Lucinda believes in following all of the commandments. She’s very wise.”

“I’m certain of that.” Talking to Lord Naylard was useful, but I was beginning to develop a headache from all the verbal leaps we were taking. “Am I one of whom?”