Page 15 of The Unfortunate Debutante
Simeon took a sip of his drink. “We aren’t friends, and I apologize if I gave the appearance of such.”
Sitting back in his seat, Lansdowne regarded him for a long moment. “You seem different, Wentworth.” He snapped his fingers as if making a discovery. “If I have to guess, I would say you appear more bitter than the last time I saw you.”
Simon cast him a look of annoyance. “I am. Happy?” He tipped his head towards the door. “Now leave.”
“But we haven’t gotten our drinks yet,” Beckett said with a shake of his head. “Walking away now would be inconsiderate.”
Boyle and his friend started laughing loudly and clapping each other on their backs. Simeon’s plan had just gotten more complicated. He highly doubted that Boyle would lead him to the other rebels if he was too drunk to do more than stagger.
“We have a job for you,” Benedict said unexpectedly.
“Not interested,” came his quick reply.
Beckett placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “The pay is generous.”
“Find another Bow Street Runner.”
The barmaid walked up with two tankards of ale and a tray of bread. She placed them in the middle of the table and hurried off.
Lansdowne reached for the bread and broke off a piece. “A young woman is in trouble.”
The refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t find the strength to say it. Blazes! How could he deny their request if a woman was in trouble?
He lifted his brow. “Why ask me?”
Beckett slid the tankard in front of him. “Frankly, because you are the only Bow Street Runner that we can trust. Plus, you are adequate at your job.”
“I assure you that I am more than adequate,” he contended, while ironically feeling a source of pride at Jonathon’s words.
Shrugging, Beckett replied, “We shall see.”
“Someone is going to great lengths to sabotage Miss Emma Pearson’s Season,” Benedict explained. “A burr…”
Simeon spoke over him. “Who is Miss Pearson?”
“She is the ward of my brother, Lord Downshire,” Beckett shared.
He let out a low, approving whistle. “The ward of the Marquess of Downshire. That’s an impressive guardian to have.”
Lansdowne continued. “As I was saying, a burr was placed under her saddle, resulting in her being upended in Hyde Park. Then, later that evening, her glass of champagne was laced with laudanum, causing her to pass out during the opening set of the ball.”
“Both could be labeled as accidents. Burrs are not uncommon, and she might not have been the intended target of the laudanum. How do you know someone meant to do Miss Pearson harm?” he questioned.
While lowering his tankard, Jonathon answered, “If not for both incidences occurring so closely together, it might have been dismissed as a coincidence. However, the servant that had handed Miss Pearson her drink was also seen milling around the stables under false pretenses.”
“Again, why me?” he asked. “Surely, any agent could be tasked with keeping her safe.”
“That’s true, but we aren’t sure what we are up against,” Beckett replied. “We need someone that we can trust to ensure Miss Pearson’s protection while we continue to investigate. Besides, this falls under the Bow Street Runners’ jurisdiction.”
Reluctantly, Simeon had to admit that Beckett had a point. The Home Office dealt more with foreign threats. “Do you have any suspects?”
Benedict tossed back his drink and placed it on the table. “We do. Mr. Peter Lockhart. He mistakenly believed that Miss Pearson and he were to be wed. Apparently, he did not take kindly to her becoming Lord Downshire’s ward.”
Reaching for the bread, Simeon asked, “Has he made any threats?”
“Not yet,” Beckett said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a large stack of notes. “But he’s written every month for the past two years.”
Beckett placed the pile in front of him.
