Page 49 of Souvenir of Love

Anne shot a surreptitious glance at Sir Edmund to see if he had noticed this appalling lapse of manners, but he had resumed his story.

“Ever since that day, I have started my morning with a bit of scotch and sugar, and so you see me now, as hale and hearty as a horse, with never a day’s illness since those tremulous early years.” He sat back in his chair, folding his hands over the spread of his waistcoat.

Almost as if he were expecting applause.

If James were here, he’d have ready some subtle innuendo about horses or village breasts that Edmund wouldn’t understand. Afterward, they’d laugh at his ignorance in the privacy of her boudoir. But James was gone, leaving only a brief note reassuring her that he loved her. She hadn’t the faintest idea of where he was, or how long he’d be away. But she knew very well why he’d left. He’d been humiliated by that beast, Rafe Harcrest, marked forever by that frog-loving brother of a slut. She smiled at Sir Edmund. “Your childhood experiences are truly harrowing, sir. How fortuitous it is that you have survived to provide us with such charming company.”

“It is you, Lady Anne, who are the charming company.”

She lowered her eyes with practiced modesty. “You flatter me, Sir Edmund.”

“I only tell the truth”—he patted his stomach for emphasis—“as you’ll realize when you come to know me better. Why, in Hamcroft, I’m known far and wide for my honesty, my fairness in dealing with my tenants.”

She’d heard his estates brought in a considerable sum a year. “Do tell us more about Hamcroft.”

“It would be my pleasure. Though it would be an even greater pleasure if I could show them to you.” He narrowed his pale-blue eyes suggestively and waggled his brows.

Agatha spied the look and misinterpreted it completely. “Oh, sir,” she cried with alarm, “you’ve caught a cinder in your eye! Let me get you a cloth with a bit of cool water.”

Sir Edmund flushed. “No, no, really, Miss Leech, it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“No, no, don’t try and be polite about it, sir. I can see you flinching. It’s this inferior wood, it is—full of sparks and cinder. And the chimneys haven’t been cleaned properly in ages.”

“My eyes are fine, Miss Leech,” Sir Edmund said in a voice that made Agatha sit back. “Do not trouble yourself any further on my account. As for the fire on the hearth, I had not noticed it, so taken am I by the light of Lady Anne’s eyes.” He smiled at her. “But as I look at it now, the draw seems perfectly fine.”

Anne’s eyes met his, reconsidering. Perhaps there were greater depths to the pale puddles than she’d suspected. “Hamcroft,” she prompted. “You were about to tell us about the estates and your family… How long have they occupied the land?”

His smile broadened. “My baronetcy is but a humble title in comparison with the great name of Dinsmore. But it is as old as the name of Dinsmore. Indeed, much older in its claims than many of those popinjays who strut about the ton wearing titles fresher than their linen.”

Anne’s eyes widened at his indelicate choice of words, though she agreed with him and was amused by his metaphor.

Sir Edmund waved a hand. “I am indiscreet in speaking so frankly to a lady of such gentle breeding; I apologize.”

“No apology is necessary. You have said you are an honest man. Frankness of speech is honesty’s hallmark.”

“Well said, lady.” He reached for a gooseberry tart. Between bites that left sprinkles of crust in the folds of his starched holland stock, he continued, “London is littered with upstarts. Last year’s merchant is this year’s lord.”

She nodded, offering him another tart.

“And if that were not bad enough, there are those of noble birth and breeding who welcome this lot, even stooping to join them in their sordid business affairs. I’m sure you know to whom I refer.”

Anne put down the plate of tarts and poured herself a cup of tea, having long ago learned that an air of indifference was the greatest accelerant to gossip.

“I understand he even challenged your brother to a duel.”

“Moreham?” It was with tremendous effort that she hid her excitement, affecting a tone that hinted at boredom. “That tediously self-righteous man, whatever has he done now?”

“Not now, but for the past several years, under society’s very nose.” Sir Edmund leaned conspiratorially over his girth. “I took a trip to France before the troubles began. Something of a grand tour, see a bit of the world…though I don’t believe the French have anything but corruption to offer English gentlefolk. While I was there, I met a fellow who told me the most interesting tale about the Earl of Moreham and the textile trade.”

“The earl involved in trade? Sir Edmund, surely you jest?”

He shook his head. “No, indeed, I swear, the story I shall tell you is the God’s honest truth.”

Oh, James, Anne thought with delight,if only you were here.And she offered Sir Edmund her first genuine smile of the day.

They foundthe pug curled under Rafe and Alix’s bed. Roland stretched and yawned and wriggled out from under the tester, eager to play. The two women tossed him a ball of rags, commenting on his antics and avoiding meaningful conversation. Which was fine with Elizabeth. She doubted she could have managed to string two sentences together coherently. She was absorbed with thoughts of James.

If only Alix hadn’t interrupted her eavesdropping in the library; if only she could have heard the rest of the conversation in Rafe’s study. Of all the men in England James could have approached for help with his venture in France, why her brother? Surely there were other men with networks who could be used to transfer money to France? It didn’t make sense.