She shrugged. "I just wondered… I'd love to go for a ride, but it's so impossible here-only being allowed to amble in the park."
"If you want to ride"-he tucked her books under one arm and fell in beside her-"you'll need to organize an excursion to the country."
Alathea grimaced. "I may as well wait until we return home." Her only hope was to keep him talking, to hold his attention so he didn't glance at the books. Africa was an unusual topic, certainly an odd one for her to be studying in depth. Given that Lucifer shared Gabriel's house, and she knew how they tossed tidbits and observations back and forth… she drew in a breath. "But the Season's still got weeks and weeks to go."
"Indeed, and those weeks are crammed with more balls than ever." Lucifer frowned at the pavement. "And now here's Gabriel threatening to eschew all but compulsory family events."
"Oh? Why?"
"The damned twins have gone on the offensive."
"Offensive? What do you mean?"
"Last night, they swarmed up to Gabriel on three separate occasions with a different lady each time, and cornered him."
Alathea wished she'd seen it. "Couldn't he get away?"
"Not easy with one of the twins hanging on his arm and refusing to let go."
"Oh, dear."
"Oh, dear, indeed. You know what will happen, don't you?"
She looked at him questioningly.
"He'll wash his hands of the hussies."
"Leaving you in the firing line."
Lucifer stopped dead. "Good God."
She managed to keep him grumbling about the twins all the way to where her carriage waited. Deftly dropping a kiss on his cheek, she snagged her books from under his arm.
He frowned at her. "What was that for?"
"Just for being you." Safe in the carriage, the books on the seat beside her, she smiled gloriously.
He humphed, shut the carriage door, and waved her away.
She was still smiling when she crossed the threshold of Morwellan House; she nodded brightly to Crisp as he held the door. Stacking her books on the table beneath the mirror, she reached up to remove her bonnet.
"There you are, dear."
Serena stood in the drawing room doorway. Placing her hat on top of the books, Alathea crossed the hall. "Do we have guests?" she whispered.
"No, no. I just wanted to speak with you." Serena stepped back into the drawing room. "It's about your father."
"Oh." Following her and shutting the door, Alathea raised her brows.
"He's in one of his states." Serena raised her hands helplessly. "You know-under the weather but not ill."
"Has anything happened?"
"Not today. He was a little quiet when he came in yesterday, but he didn't say anything. You know he would normally be at White's by now, but instead he's sitting in the library."
They looked at each other, concern mirrored in their faces. Then Alathea nodded. "I'll go and speak with him."
Serena smiled. "Thank you-he always listens to you."
Alathea hugged her stepmother. "He always listens to you, too, but we talk about different things."
Her smile strengthening, Serena returned the hug. "Have you learned anything more about this promissory note?"
Alathea nodded. "I think we've found a way-a legal way-to have the note declared invalid, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up yet."
"That's probably wise. Just tell us when we're free."
They exchanged quick smiles, then Alathea headed for the library.
The door opened noiselessly; she slipped in, noting that the curtains were open, the room bright, not shrouded in gloom. A good sign. While her father did not make a habit of succumbing to the blue devils, he had, she knew, been inwardly berating himself over the wretched promissory note. He'd put on a brave face for her sake and Serena's, but he would feel the sense of failure, of self-reproach, deeply.
Sitting in his favorite armchair, the earl was looking out over the back lawn. Mary and Alice were cutting roses, each girl as delicately beautiful as the blooms they laid in their baskets. Beyond them, Charlie was teaching Jeremy the rudiments of cricket while Augusta and Miss Helm were seated on a rug in the sunshine, reading a book. The garden was enclosed by stone walls, visible here and there between trees and thick bushes. The scene could have been a painting depicting fashionable family life, but it wasn't a figment of anyone's imagination-it was real, and it was theirs.
Empowering certainty filling her, Alathea touched her father's shoulder. "Papa?"
So engrossed had he been, he hadn't known she was there. He looked up, then his lips curved ruefully. "Good morning, my dear."
Catching her hand, he squeezed it; he continued to hold it as she sat on the arm of his chair. Alathea leaned her shoulder against his, comforted by the solidity beneath his coat. "What is it?"
He sighed, the sound deep and defeated. "I really hoped you'd be wrong about that company-that the Central East Africa Gold Company would ultimately turn out to be legitimate. That I hadn't made yet another mistake."
He paused; Alathea held his hand firmly and waited.
"But you and Wiggs were right. It was all a hum. Chappie I met at White's yesterday told me so. He was from those parts-Central East Africa. He knew the company. Condemned it as a racket set up to gull simpletons into parting with their brass." He grimaced. "I could hardly disagree."
"You couldn't have known…" Alathea blinked. 'This man, who was he?"
"Sailor fellow-a Captain something. Didn't catch his last name."
"What did he look like?"
At the sudden tension in her voice, the earl turned to meet her gaze. "He was of middle height, rather portly. Had great grizzled whiskers down both cheeks. His domes marked him as a seaman, senior rank-there's always a nautical air to such men." He searched Alathea's face. "Why? Is he important?"
Alathea reined in her excitement. "He could be. Wiggs and I think there's a legal way of overturning the promissory note, but we need to learn more about the company's business. A man like this captain could be very helpful." She gripped her father's hand. "Was he with anyone you knew?"
Her father shook his head. "No. But if it's important, I can ask around."
"Do, Papa-it could be very important. And if you should stumble across him again, promise me you'll bring him home."
Her father's brows quirked, but he nodded. "Right, then. I suppose I'd better get on to White's and see if I can track him down."
"Oh, yes!" Alathea bounced to her feet as he rose. "This could help us enormously, Papa. Thank you!" She swooped at him and kissed him on the cheek.
Catching her within one arm, he hugged her. "Thank you, my dear." He looked into her face, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Don't ever think I don't appreciate all you've done-I don't know what I did right to deserve you. I can only be glad you're mine."
Alathea blinked rapidly. "Oh, Papa!" She hugged him quickly, then broke away, glancing through the window. "I must get Jeremy off to his lessons or he'll play cricket all day."
Still blinking, she hurried out.
Chapter 10
That evening at Lady Castlereagh's ball, Alathea found herself plagued by gentlemen. With but little help from her, the number of mature bachelors who considered her an agreeable dance partner had been steadily growing as the Season progressed. Despite Celia's conviction that she hugged the walls, she was too astute to do so constantly. True anonymity meant doing nothing to make herself remarkable; she therefore duly danced and waltzed, not every dance but enough to ensure no one saw need to comment on her abstention.
Indeed, she enjoyed waltzing, although there were few men tall enough to meet her requirements. Yet despite the hurdle of her unusual height, the ranks of her admirers, as Serena insisted on terming them, had somehow swollen to the legion.