“Attention to detail is fine. Wasting time is not. We have another suspect. There is a new guest. A female.”
Something about her—the way she talked, the way she acted—seemed familiar. Was it a memory from the past he couldn’t remember? As usual, thinking about his life before what he called the “accident” gave him an instant headache over his right eye, a stabbing pain that blurred his vision. He applied pressure on the scar and cleared his mind. The throbbing lessened to a manageable level.
“The cousin from America,” Carl said with a nod. “She could well be a Napoleon supporter.”
“Digby wasn’t acting very cousinly toward her.” Shermont dismissed the niggling jealousy, calling it excitement that their hunt for a foreign agent in the area was finally achieving results. He hoped that by changing clothes in record time he could get downstairs to question her before Digby arrived.
“A distant cousin,” Carl clarified. “According to the servants, she’s a childhood friend of the sisters. Their uncle Huxley was married to a Roberta Donaldson, and her brother is Mrs. Pottinger’s father.”
“Married to …”
“Widowed eighteen months ago.”
Shermont released a breath he wasn’t sure why he’d been holding. “The husband?”
“No one seems to remember him. Only reference was to the Captain. They did say her husband was killed in battle,” Carl continued. “Another reason she would have no love for the English despite being born here.”
“Send a message to our contact at the diplomatic corps, and see if they have any information on a Captain Pottinger. He could have been military or even a private ship’s captain. Did you find out why she’s here? Seems a dangerous time to make such a hazardous journey simply to visit old friends.”
“According to Twilla, the ladies’ maid, the sisters hope to foster a marital alliance with their brother. It would be an advantageous match for the American, as she has no fortune and no prospects. Other servants are quite sure Digby will marry Miss Holcum.”
“What does his valet say?” Shermont asked, knowing a man could keep few secrets from his manservant.
“His valet is closemouthed, as is proper.”
Shermont had finished dressing and turned to the mirror to check his cravat. “Excellent.” He patted the elaborate knot Carl had tied. “Keep your ears open,” he encouraged as he headed for the door with a light step.
“Yes, milord.”
Chapter Three
Interested in the topic of their conversation, Eleanor left her seat by the window in the parlor and joined the other women around the coffee table. She accepted a cup of tea from Deirdre.
“Shermont will not ask either of you to dance if he has a lick of sense,” Mrs. Maxwell said to her daughters. “Your father would—”
“It’s just a dance, Mother,” Fiona said.
“No. It’s your reputation.”
“What is it about that man young girls find so fascinating?” Mrs. Holcum asked. “Oh, I know he’s handsome, and titled, and—”
“Now he has a title,” Mrs. Matthews interrupted. “But I heard …” She paused for effect, and the other chaperones leaned forward. “Five years ago, the elder Shermont found him on the roadside beaten near to death by brigands, as the story goes. He survived, but he has no memory of how he got there or any events before being found. He does not even remember his real name. Since the elderly Shermont’s sons had both been killed fighting Napoleon, he later named this stranger his heir.”
“Can someone adopt a grown man?” Eleanor blurted out.
“Not adopt,” Deirdre explained. “Named as his heir. Not unusual for a man without a son to name a nephew or cousin or distant relative—”
“But a stranger?” Aunt Patience shook her head. “Who would have thought it possible?”
“And most surprising, Prinny approved,” Mrs. Holcum said. “He missed an opportunity to have the sizable estate revert to the crown. Not that I would say anything bad about the Regent, but to elevate a man of uncertain breeding …”
“I met Shermont several years ago,” Mrs. Matthews said. “He had an accent I couldn’t place, definitely unrefined. Perhaps he is a Colonial, like your cousin,” she added to Deirdre.
Eleanor bristled and would have made a scathing comment about intentional rudeness, but Mina quickly remarked, “I find her accent charming.”
“We are at war with the United States,” Mrs. Holcum said with a sniff.
“I understand your concern for your brother serving in the Navy, but England is not at war with our cousin,” Deirdre said, putting deliberate emphasis on the last two words.
Mrs. Holcum pressed her lips into a hard white line, saying no more along the ugly American theme. Eleanor decided to cut the woman some slack. She’d forgotten about the War of 1812, as it was known in America. Although the presence of men in uniform was mentioned several times in Jane Austen’s work, Eleanor had always assumed they were destined to fight Napoleon.
“The Americans. The French. Is there anyone we’re not fighting?” Fiona sighed. “These wars have created a dearth of available young men, and any still in England speak of nothing else.” She propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her chin in her hand. Her mother tutted her disapproval, so Fiona sat up as straight as a yardstick and folded her hands in her lap.
“The Spanish are our allies,” Mrs. Holcum pointed out.
“And if a Spaniard appears on our doorstep, we will offer him our hospitality,” Deirdre said. “Currently, Lord Shermont is our guest and as such can expect nothing less than appropriate civility.”
“He seems quite proper,” Aunt Patience said. “He’s been here for several days, and his manners have been above reproach.”
“Well, he has spent time in polite society,” Mrs. Matthews admitted. “Perhaps one should not be too hasty to judge a person solely by his antecedents. Other factors should be taken into account.”
“Other assets aside, I hear he has a large … um … fortune,” Aunt Patience said.
Mina and Hazel giggled and whispered and giggled more. Eleanor fought to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Good heavens, Patience, don’t say such things in the presence of impressionable ears.” Mrs. Holcum gave her daughter a stern look. “My daughter will not dance with that man. For all we know he could be the son of a … a …”
“Highwayman or pirate,” Mina supplied with a wistful smile.
Eleanor shivered, but her reaction was not fear.
“A rather fanciful notion,” a deep voice responded.
Lord Shermont sauntered into the parlor, with Lord Digby on his heels.
Deirdre jumped up and greeted the newcomers. She put her arm through Teddy’s and said, “Brother dear, do say something in defense of our guest.”
“I might point out that ne’er-do-wells rarely speak several languages, quote classical literature, or understand scientific and mathematic principles,” Teddy said, almost hiding his reluctance at singing the other man’s praises.
Mina stuck out her bottom lip. “There could be an educated pirate.”
“Obviously my sister has been reading too many romantic novels,” Teddy said as he shook his head and spread his hands.
Shermont stepped forward to execute a gallant bow in front of Mina. He raised her hand to the barest brush of his lips. “While I’m flattered to be compared to the hero of one of your books, I expect when the truth of my previous circumstances is known, my heritage will prove quite ordinary.”
“I think not,” the entranced girl whispered.
Eleanor changed her mind and decided Mina must be the one who was seduced. Shermont moved away from Mina and stood by the fireplace with one elbow on the mantle. Even though he appeared to ignore her, he was close enough for Eleanor to detect the spicy scent of his cologne.
Teddy cleared his throat. “So where is the dancing master? You have here two gallantly agreeable partners. That is, at least in my case, if you’re willing to risk your toes in the pursuit of learning the latest fashionable steps.”