Читать книгу Brushed By Scandal - Gail Whitiker, Gail Whitiker - Страница 8

Anna pulled her dapple-grey mare to a halt by the base of a large oak and waited for Lady Lydia Winston to catch up with her. The two had made a point of riding together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and these rousing canters had become one of the highlights of Anna’s week. Lady Lydia, daughter of the Marquess of Bailley, was by far one of the most amusing and interesting people Anna had ever met.

‘Goodness!’ Lydia said as she drew her spirited Arabian bay level with Anna’s mare. ‘I was sure I had you at the big tree, but you sprinted past me as though I was standing still!’

‘I suspect Danby put oats in Ophelia’s bucket this morning.’ Anna reached down to give the mare’s glossy neck an affectionate pat. ‘She’s not usually that quick off the mark.’

‘Nevertheless, I had enough of a lead that it shouldn’t have made a difference. Tarik isn’t used to being left behind.’ Lydia’s ready smile flashed. ‘I won’t be so easily fooled the next time.’

Anna laughed, pleased that her little mare had done so well. She nudged her to a leisurely walk, content to enjoy the glorious morning sunshine and the relative emptiness of the park. During the fashionable hour, the avenue they were now travelling would be crowded with elegant carriages and their equally elegant passengers, but at this time of day it was the perfect place to enjoy a brisk canter.

‘By the by, have you heard the news?’ Lydia enquired.

‘That depends. All I heard at Lady Montby’s reception last week was that Cynthia Wicks had threatened to run away if her mother forced her to spend a month with her grandmother in Scotland.’

‘Good Lord, so would I,’ Lydia declared. ‘Lady Shallerton is a cold fish with whom I wouldn’t wish to spend an hour, let alone a month. But it wasn’t Miss Wick’s escapades I was referring to. It was the Baroness Julia von Brohm’s.’

‘Baroness von Brohm,’ Anna repeated slowly. ‘Should I know her?’

‘La, Anna, where have you been? It is all about town that the Viennese baroness has come to London to find a new husband.’

‘Why? What happened to her old one?’

‘He died. Almost two years ago now, leaving her a very lonely but extremely wealthy young widow. Apparently, he showered her with the most glorious jewellery and she was heartbroken when he died. Not because he gave her jewellery,’ Lydia was quick to say, ‘but because they were genuinely in love. But she is finished with her mourning now and has come to London to start a new life. I understand she’s taken a very fine house in Mayfair and is in the process of redecorating it from top to bottom.’

‘I’m surprised she would have chosen to leave Vienna at such a time,’ Anna remarked. ‘One would think she would prefer to stay with her family and friends.’

‘Friends I’m sure she has, but again, rumour has it that her only brother moved to America when she was quite young and hasn’t been heard from since. And both of her parents are dead.’

‘How tragic. What about her late husband’s family?’ Anna asked.

‘Apparently, they were never close. Difficulties with the mother-in-law, from what I hear.’

‘So Vienna is full of unhappy memories and the arms of her family hold no welcome. No wonder she decided to come to London,’ Anna said. ‘Has she any close friends here?’

‘I don’t believe so. Society is wildly curious about her, of course, but it hasn’t exactly thrown open its doors in welcome.’

‘Then we must be the first to do so,’ Anna said without hesitation. ‘I suspect once people see the daughters of the Marquess of Bailley and the Earl of Cambermere welcoming her, the rest of the doors will open soon enough. All it takes,’ she added with a knowing smile, ‘is that first little push.’

Barrington’s sword flashed once, cutting a smooth silver arc through the air and echoing down the length of the long gallery. Metal slid along metal as the two men moved through the orchestrated dance of extend, lunge, parry and retreat, and while concentration was etched on the faces of both men, only Barrington’s brow was dry. He feinted to the left, drawing his brother-in-law’s blade wide and ultimately opening him up to defeat.

‘Damn it!’ Tom Danvers snapped as the point of Barrington’s sword flicked his chest for the fifth time. ‘You’ve beaten me again!’

‘And I will continue to do so if you do not apply yourself more keenly to the sport,’ Barrington said, drawing back. ‘You won’t stand a chance if you keep both feet firmly planted on the ground, Tom. You need to keep moving. Dance on the balls of your feet.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s easy for you to say,’ the other man complained good-naturedly. ‘I’ve three stone and five years on you and it’s not so easy being nimble when you’ve more weight below your waist than above it!’

Barrington laughed. ‘Then tell that pompous French chef of yours to start preparing less fattening meals.’

‘What? And have him quit because I had the audacity to tell him what to cook! Jenny would have my head. Monsieur Etienne is the finest French chef in London!’ Tom exclaimed.

‘Be that as it may, he is not doing you any favours by serving all those heavy sauces and rich desserts,’ Barrington pointed out. ‘If you wish to be quicker on your feet, the weight will have to come off. In fact, I have a solution.’

‘I’m not sure I wish to hear it,’ Tom muttered.

‘Of course you do. I shall take Monsieur Etienne off your hands for a few weeks and you can have Mrs Buckers. I guarantee your clothes will fit better after only three days.’

‘Perhaps, but I won’t care because Jenny will have left me.’

Barrington clapped his brother-in-law on the back. ‘A man must sacrifice for his sport. Ah, there you are, Sam. Has my two o’clock appointment arrived?’

‘Not yet, Sir Barrington,’ the secretary said, ‘but another gentleman has and is asking to see you. I put him in your study.’

Barrington nodded. A visitor in his study meant one of his network had come in with information. Friends he welcomed in the gold salon. Any one else was made to wait in the hall until he had ascertained the nature of their business. He did not purport to be a private investigator, but, because of his past successes, there were those who sought him out regardless.

‘Thank you, Sam. Tell the gentleman I shall be there directly.’ He turned to smile at his brother-in-law. ‘Sorry to cut it short, Tom …’

‘No need to apologise. You’re a busy man, and, in truth, I’ve taken all the humiliation I can for one day,’ Tom said good-naturedly. ‘Before I go, however, Jenny wanted me to find out if you were available for dinner one night this week. She misses you dreadfully and even young George was heard to say it has been a great deal too long since his Uncle Barr came to play with him.’

Barrington’s pleasure was unfeigned. ‘Tell my sister I shall make a point of coming one evening this week, and then inform my nephew that I shall be sure to arrive early enough to play two games of hide and seek with him.’

‘He will not sleep for the knowledge,’ Tom said, starting for the door. ‘By the by, I should warn you that you won’t be the only guest.’

Barrington groaned. ‘Don’t tell me Jenny’s matchmaking again?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Who is it this time?’ He sighed.

‘Lady Alice Stokes.’

Barrington dug into his memory. ‘Lady Alice—?’

‘Stokes. Eldest daughter of the Earl of Grummond,’ Tom supplied helpfully. ‘Beautiful, cultured and an heiress in her own right. Jenny thinks she would be perfect for you.’

‘That’s what she said about the last three ladies she introduced me to and they were all unmitigated disasters.’

‘True, but at least you wouldn’t have to worry about Lady Alice marrying you for your money. Or for your title,’ Tom pointed out.

True enough, Barrington conceded. An earl’s daughter could do much better than a baronet, and if she had her own money, his wouldn’t be as much of an attraction. ‘Very well, you may tell my sister I shall come on Friday. That should give her ample time to put everything in place.’

‘You’re a brick, Barrington,’ Tom said in relief. ‘I was afraid you’d bow out if I told you the truth, but I didn’t like the idea of you being caught off guard.’

‘Rest assured, I shall be the perfect guest,’ Barrington said. ‘And you need not fear retribution from my sister. I shall act suitably surprised when the beautiful Lady Alice and I are introduced.’

‘You are a gentleman in every sense of the word.’

‘Just don’t let me hear any mention of the words engagement or marriage or I shall be forced to renege on my promise,’ he warned.

Tom grinned. ‘I shall do my utmost to make sure you do not.’

They parted on the best of terms; Tom to return to his happy home, Barrington to return to his study to find out what new information had come to light. While there might be more comfort in the former, he was not of a mind to complicate his life by taking a wife. Investigating the underhanded dealings of others was hardly conducive to forming intimate relations with gently reared young ladies. It was neither the occupation of a gentleman nor what he’d planned on doing when he’d returned to London after his father’s death.

However, when an unfortunate set of circumstances involving two of his father’s friends and a large sum of money had forced him into the role, Barrington had discovered a unique talent for uncovering the hidden bits of information others could not. His carefully cultivated network of acquaintances, many of whom held positions of power and even more who held positions of knowledge, made it easy for him to find out what he needed to know and, over time, he had established himself as a man who was able to find solutions for people’s problems.

Naturally, as word of his reputation had spread, so had his list of enemies, many of them the very men he had helped to expose. Beneath society’s elegant and sophisticated façade lurked a far more dangerous element—one comprised of men to whom honour and truth meant nothing. Men who were motivated by greed and who routinely committed crimes against their fellow man.

Hence Barrington’s wish to remain single. While he could be reasonably assured of his own safety, he knew that if his enemies tried to get to him through the woman he loved, he would have no choice but to comply with their demands. The unscrupulous did not trouble themselves with morals when it came to getting what they wanted.

That’s why he had taken to avoiding situations that might place him in such an awkward situation. He existed on the fringes of society, close enough to be aware of what was going on, but far enough away that he wasn’t seen as potential husband material. So far it had worked out well, much to the annoyance of his happily married sister. He was able to assist the people who came to him with problems, while avoiding the complications that came with marriage.

Now, as he headed to his study, Barrington wondered which of the sins was about to be revealed and who would be thrown out of Eden as a result. Paradise was sometimes a very difficult place in which to live.

‘Ah, Richard,’ he said, opening the door to see his good friend, Lord Richard Crew, standing at the far end of the room, his attention focused on a particularly fine painting by Stubbs that covered a large part of the end wall. ‘Still hoping I’ll sell it to you?’

‘Hope has nothing to do with it,’ Crew murmured. ‘Eventually, I’ll name a price you won’t be able to refuse.’

‘Don’t be too sure. I’ve rejected every offer you’ve put forward so far.’

‘Fine. I’ll make you another before I leave today.’

Barrington smiled as he moved towards his desk. Lord Richard Crew was an ardent lover of horse flesh and owned more paintings by Stubbs, Tillemans and Seymour than any other gentleman in London. Quietly picking them up as they came available for sale, he had amassed an impressive collection—with the exception of Whistlejacket, a magnificent painting of a prancing Arabian thoroughbred commissioned by the Marquess of Rockingham and acknowledged by many to be one of Stubbs’s finest. That was the piece of work currently hanging in Barrington’s study, and the fact that he owned the one painting his friend wanted more than any other was a constant source of amusement to him and an ongoing source of irritation to Crew.

‘Did it ever occur to you,’ Barrington asked now, ‘that money doesn’t enter into it?’

‘Not for a moment,’ Crew said, finally turning away from the canvas. ‘Every man has his price and it’s only a matter of time until I find yours. But rest assured, I will find it. And I know exactly where I’m going to put Whistlejacket once I finally wrest it from your iron grip.’

Barrington smiled. ‘And where might that be?’

‘In my study, opposite my desk. That way I’ll see it when I’m working.’

‘I would have thought you’d want it in your bedroom.’ Barrington moved to the credenza and poured brandy into two glasses. ‘That way, you’d see it most of the time.’

‘True, but I would only be paying it half as much attention.’ Crew’s smile widened into a grin. ‘After all, there are so many other pleasurable things to occupy oneself with in the bedroom, wouldn’t you agree?’

The question was rhetorical. Lord Richard Crew’s reputation as a lady’s man was honestly come by because, in point of fact, Crew adored women. He had ever since a buxom dairy maid had introduced him to the pleasures of Venus in the loft of his father’s barn, followed in quick succession by three of the housemaids, two of the village shop girls, and a married woman Crew had steadfastly refused to name.

As he’d grown into a man, his appreciation for the fairer sex had not waned, but out of respect for his parents, he’d left off tupping the household servants and moved on to ballet dancers and actresses. He had steadfastly avoided marriage and refused to trifle with virgins or débutantes, saying it was a matter of pride that he had never deflowered an innocent or given false hope to a well-born lady. And once it became known that he preferred his women uncomplicated and experienced, the list of married ladies willing to accommodate his voracious appetite grew.

Hence Barrington’s surprise when, during the investigation of the Marchioness of Yew’s infidelity, he’d learned that his good friend was finally in honest pursuit of the lady’s very respectable and exceedingly lovely nineteen-year-old daughter, Rebecca.

‘Sexual conquests aside, dare I hope you’ve come with news about the identity of Lady Yew’s alleged lover?’ Barrington enquired.

‘Nothing alleged about it.’ Crew strolled towards the desk and picked up a glass in his long, slender fingers. ‘I happened to be in the lady’s house on the occasion of the young man’s last visit and saw them acting very lover-like towards one another.’

‘How convenient. Were you there in hopes of seeing the lovely Lady Rebecca or to question the mother?’

‘Most definitely the former.’ Crew raised the glass to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Unlike our young Romeo, I have no interest in romancing ladies over the age of thirty. The bloom has long since gone from that rose.’

‘But with maturity comes experience,’ Barrington said, reaching for his own glass. ‘A gently reared miss of nineteen will know nothing of that.’

‘Fortunately, I am more than willing to teach her all she needs to know.’ Crew swallowed a mouthful of brandy, pausing a moment to savour its flavour before sinking into a chair and resting his booted feet on the edge of the desk. ‘However, returning to the matter at hand, the gentleman in question is not our typical Lothario. I’ve never heard his name mentioned in association with lady or ladybird; in truth, I’d never heard of him until his arrival in London just over a month ago. So the fact he has chosen to dally with a marquess’s wife is somewhat unusual.’

‘Are you sure they are lovers?’

Crew shrugged. ‘Lady Rebecca confided her belief that they are. She told me she’s seen the gentleman enter her mother’s private quarters on more than one occasion, and, as I was leaving, I saw them myself going upstairs together hand in hand.’

‘Damning evidence indeed,’ Barrington said. ‘And reckless behaviour for a man newly arrived in London. Does he suffer from a case of misplaced affection or unbridled lust?’

‘Knowing the marchioness, I suspect the latter,’ Crew said in a dry voice. ‘It’s well known she favours younger men because her husband is a crusty old stick twenty-five years older than she is.’

‘Still, she has charmed a legion of men both younger and older than herself, and, up to this point, her husband has always been willing to turn a blind eye,’ Barrington said. ‘For whatever reason, he is not inclined to do so this time.’

Crew shrugged. ‘Perhaps he fears a genuine attachment. It’s all very well for a woman to take a lover to her bed, but it is extremely bad taste to fall in love with him. People have been known to do abysmally stupid things in the name of love.’

‘Too true. So, who is the poor boy Lord Yew is going to flay?’

‘His full name is Peregrine Tipton Rand.’

‘Good Lord. Peregrine Tipton?’

‘A trifle whimsical, I admit, but he’s a country lad visiting London for the first time. Apparently, his father owns a farm in Devon. Rand’s the oldest of four brothers and sisters but he hasn’t shown much interest in taking over from his father. Seems he’s more interested in books than in bovines, so when the mother died, the father shipped him up here to stay with his godfather in the hopes of the boy acquiring some town polish. Unfortunately, all he acquired was an affection for Lady Yew.’

Barrington frowned. ‘How did a country boy come to be introduced to a marchioness?’

‘Through the auspices of Lord Hayle, Viscount Hayle.’

‘Hayle?’ Barrington’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The beautiful Lady Annabelle’s brother? ‘I wouldn’t have thought the Earl of Cambermere’s heir the type to associate with a country gentleman of no consequence.’

‘I dare say you’re right, but as it happens, he has no choice.

Rand is staying with the family. Cambermere is the man reputed to be his godfather.’

‘Reputed?’

‘There are those who say the lad bears a stronger resemblance to the earl than might be expected.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Barrington rapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Wrong side of the blanket.’

‘Possible, though no one’s come right out and said it.’

‘Of course not. Cambermere’s a powerful man. If he did father an illegitimate child years ago and now chooses to have the boy come live with him, no one’s going to tell him he can’t. Especially given that his own wife died last year.’

‘But there are other children living in the house,’ Crew pointed out. ‘Legitimate children who won’t take kindly to their father foisting one of his by-blows on them.’

Especially the son and heir, Barrington reflected grimly. Viscount Hayle was not the kind of man to suffer such a slight to his family name. If he came to suspect the true nature of Rand’s paternity, he could make things very difficult for all concerned. So difficult, in fact, that Rand might hightail it back to the country, and that was something Barrington had to avoid. He needed to find out as much as possible about the young man before news of his liaison with Lady Yew went public—because there was no doubt in Barrington’s mind that it would. The marchioness wasn’t known for being discreet. Her list of lovers was a popular topic of conversation at parties, and the fact that this time, her husband had chosen to make an example of the young man would definitely make for scintillating conversation over wine and cards.

‘You’ve gone quiet,’ Crew said. ‘Mulling over how best to break the news to dear Peregrine’s unsuspecting family?’

‘As a matter of fact, I was.’ Barrington got to his feet and walked slowly towards the long window. ‘I met Lady Annabelle Durst at Lady Montby’s reception the other week.’

‘Ah, the beautiful Anna,’ Crew murmured appreciatively. ‘Truly one of society’s diamonds. I cannot imagine why she’s still single.’

Barrington snorted. ‘Likely because she’s too busy trying to prevent silly young women from ruining themselves.’

‘An admirable undertaking, though knowing how many silly young women there are in London, I don’t imagine it leaves much time for looking after her own future.’

‘Virtually none,’ Barrington said, his thoughts returning to the lady whose existence he had first learned about during an investigation he’d undertaken the previous year. It had not involved Lady Annabelle directly, but had focused instead on the uncle of one of the girls she had been trying to help. As a result of that investigation, however, Barrington had become familiar with her name and with her propensity for helping naïve young girls navigate their way through the choppy waters of first love.

Always from a distance, of course. Given his own self-imposed boundaries, Barrington knew better than to risk getting too close to her, but he was strongly aware of her appeal and smart enough to know that she could be dangerous for that reason alone. He’d met a lot of women in his life, but there was something about Lady Annabelle Durst that set her apart from all the rest. Something rare. Something precious. Something indefinable …

‘Well, if you’re going to sit there all afternoon and stare into space, I’m leaving.’ Crew drained his glass and set it on the desk. ‘I am expected for tea with Lady Yew and her daughter; if you have nothing more to tell me, I may as well be on my way.’

‘Fine. But while you’re sipping tea and whispering endearments

in Lady Rebecca’s ear, see if you can find out anything else about her mother’s relationship with Rand,’ Barrington said. ‘The more I know about the situation, the better off I’ll be when it comes time to confront him with it.’

Crew unhurriedly rose. ‘I’ll ask, but, given the extent of the marquess’s displeasure, I doubt you’ll hear Rebecca or her mother mention the name Peregrine Rand with favour again.’

Anna was reading Shakespeare when the door to the drawing room opened. Leaving Hamlet on the page, she looked up to see their butler standing in the doorway. ‘Yes, Milford?’

‘Excuse me, my lady, but a gentleman has called and is asking to see Mr Rand.’

Anna glanced at the clock on the mantel. Half past eight. Somewhat late for a social call. ‘Did you tell him Mr Rand was from home?’

‘I did, but he said it was a matter of some urgency and wondered if you knew what time he might be home.’

‘Lord knows, I certainly don’t.’ With a sigh, Anna set her book aside. ‘Did the gentleman leave his card?’

Milford bowed and silently proffered the tray. Anna took the card and read the name. Sir Barrington Parker. How strange. She knew the man by reputation rather than by sight. A wealthy baronet with an impressive home, he was, by all accounts, a cultured, educated and exceedingly charming man who was also reputed to be one of London’s finest swordsmen. The story went that he’d spent several years in Paris training under a legendary French master; when his father’s death had compelled him to return to England, Sir Barrington had been besieged by the pinks of society asking him to teach them his skills. With very few exceptions, he had refused every request.

Why, then, would he be here now, asking after a man with whom he was unlikely to have even the slightest acquaintance? ‘Ask him to come in, Milford. Then inform my father that we have a visitor.’

The butler bowed. ‘Very good, my lady.’

The wait was not long. Moments later, the door opened again and Milford announced, ‘Sir Barrington Parker.’

Anna rose as the butler withdrew, but the moment the baronet arrived she stopped dead, totally unprepared for the sight of the man standing in her doorway. ‘You!’

‘Good evening, Lady Annabelle.’ Sir Barrington Parker strolled into the room, as impeccably turned out as he had been the night of Lady Montby’s reception. His dark jacket fit superbly across a pair of broad shoulders, his buff-coloured breeches outlined strong, muscular thighs and his cravat was simply yet elegantly tied. ‘I told you an occasion would present itself whereby our introduction could be made in a more acceptable manner.’

‘You did indeed,’ Anna said, struggling to recover from her surprise. She’d thought about him several times since meeting him at Lady Montby’s, and, while she’d found him a powerful presence there, he was, in the small confines of the drawing room, even more compelling. ‘I simply did not think it would be in my own home or that the illustrious Sir Barrington Parker would turn out to be the gentleman with whom I exchanged opinions the other night.’

‘Illustrious?’ His beautiful mouth lifted in a disturbingly sensual smile. ‘I fear you are confusing me with someone else.’

‘On the contrary, rumour has it that you are an excellent fencer and an unparalleled shot. And that you’ve uncovered more than your fair share of secrets about those who move in the upper reaches of society.’

His smile was indulgent, much like that of a teacher addressing an errant pupil. ‘You and I both know how foolish it is to put stock in rumours, Lady Annabelle. One never knows how or why they start and most often they are proven to be wrong.’

‘Do you deny that it was you who exposed Lord Bosker as an embezzler?’ Anna said. ‘Or that you just happened upon that letter naming his fine, upstanding cousin, Mr Teetham, as his accomplice?’

‘I tend to think the timing was, for the most part, coincidental,’ Sir Barrington said, careful to avoid a direct answer. ‘Their crimes would have come to light soon enough. They grew careless, too confident in their own ability to deceive.’

‘But you were the one who drew attention to what they were doing,’ Anna persisted. ‘Had you not, they would most likely have continued in their games and who knows what other crimes they would have perpetrated. But forgive my manners, Sir Barrington. Pray be seated.’

‘Thank you. And while your confidence in my ability is flattering, I should tell you it is entirely misplaced.’ He glanced at the chairs arranged in front of the fireplace and settled into the wingback chair opposite the one upon which her book lay open. ‘There were other people involved in their arrest and to a far greater extent than myself. But, as we are talking about other people’s affairs, how did matters proceed between Miss Banks and Lieutenant Blokker after you and I parted company the other night?’

Surprised he would even remember the conversation, Anna managed a smile. ‘Remarkably well, all things considered. Lieutenant Blokker turned out to be a delightful young man and I realized, after speaking with him, that while the manner of his approach to Miss Banks left much to be desired, his intentions were strictly honourable.’

‘Ah yes, the ill-fated rendezvous in the garden,’ Sir Barrington mused. ‘Not the best thought out of plans, but thanks to you no harm came of it.’

‘And thanks to you, the two are now formally introduced and eager to begin a courtship,’ Anna said. ‘But I don’t suppose Miss Banks’s romantic escapades have anything to do with your reason for being here this evening.’

‘Regrettably, they do not. I was actually hoping to speak to your house guest, Mr Rand, but I understand he is from home.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Anna gazed at him, surprised to feel her heart beating a little faster than usual. Obviously she wasn’t used to being alone with such a disturbingly handsome man. ‘I wasn’t aware the two of you were acquainted.’

His dark brows arched ever so slightly. ‘Are you acquainted with all of Mr Rand’s friends and associates, Lady Annabelle?’

‘As a matter of fact, I am. Peregrine has only recently come to stay with us, and, given how anxious my father was that he become known in society, I took the liberty of including him in all of my social activities,’ Anna said. ‘That being the case, I think I can safely say that I do know with whom he is and is not acquainted. I have never heard him speak of you.’

Briefly, the gentleman smiled, but while it softened the lines of his face, it did nothing to lessen the intensity of the expression in his eyes. ‘I am not acquainted with Mr Rand, Lady Annabelle, nor is he with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve come here at the behest of another, on a matter of extreme urgency to both.’

‘An urgent matter?’

‘Yes. One I would prefer to discuss in private with the gentleman. Or, failing that, with your father, if he is at home.’

‘He is, Sir Barrington,’ Lord Cambermere said, walking into the room. ‘But if Edward has done something that warrants discussion—’

‘It is not Edward Sir Barrington wishes to speak to you about, Papa,’ Anna said calmly. ‘It is Peregrine. And there is no point in my giving you privacy since we both know Peregrine will tell me everything the three of you say the moment Sir Barrington leaves.’

‘He may not wish to tell you this,’ Sir Barrington said, slowly getting to his feet. ‘And I would prefer to speak to you about it in private, my Lord.’

Cambermere frowned. He was a tall, solidly built man with warm brown eyes, a ruddy complexion and dark hair that was just beginning to show signs of grey at the temples. His clothes were more suited to a country gentleman than a man about town, but now that his year of mourning was over, Anna was hopeful he might once again take up an interest in socialising, and, by necessity, his appearance.

‘Yes, I’m sure you would,’ the earl said. ‘But I have no doubt Anna speaks the truth about the boy’s repeating everything we say. He’s my godson, you see, and the two have become as thick as thieves in the short time they’ve been together. I’m surprised he’s gone out without her tonight. Still, he’s a quiet enough lad. I can’t imagine him doing anything that would be inappropriate for Anna to hear about.’

Anna could tell from the look on the baronet’s face that he was less than pleased with her father’s decision. Equally aware that trying to force the earl into a private interview was not the conduct of a gentleman, Sir Barrington merely shrugged those broad shoulders and said, ‘Very well, though you may wish to change your mind once I begin to relate the details of the situation. You see, not long ago, a titled gentleman came to see me with regards to a personal matter concerning his wife.’

‘His wife?’ The earl looked decidedly confused. ‘What has this to do with Peregrine?’

‘The gentleman suspected his wife of having an affair,’ Sir Barrington continued. ‘Naturally, he asked me to make enquiries as discreetly as possible and to keep the results similarly confidential. He knew I’d had some success in this area and I agreed to look into the matter for him and see what I could learn. Now, having discovered the identity of the gentleman, I felt it behoved me to hear his side of the story. That’s why I’m here. I regret to inform you, Lord Cambermere,’ Sir Barrington said quietly, ‘that the gentleman guilty of having an affair with the wife of a highly placed nobleman is none other than your godson, Mr Peregrine Rand.’