Page 61 of Miss Dauntless
A tap on the door effected an amazing transformation in MacKay’s features. A convincing scowl was replaced by beaming benevolence.
“Come in, darling wife.”
Dorcas MacKay opened the door and returned besotted fire with a dazzling smile. “Husband, our Michael has come to call. I’ve sent for the tea tray. My lord, are you acquainted with my brother?”
Tremont bowed as the most strikingly handsome fellow he’d ever beheld was introduced to him. Michael Delancey’s features were masculine perfection, from clean jaw, to patrician nose, to dark hair curling just so over a noble brow. He was a good-sized specimen, but one did not notice that at first, given the splendor of his physiognomy.
“Lord Tremont, a pleasure.” Delancey bowed in return. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”
He had the plummy vowels of the Oxonian and the cultivated deference of the young churchman-with-great-potential. Something about his eyes nonetheless conveyed restlessness.
“I was just leaving,” Tremont replied. “Might I put a question to you in parting, Mr. Delancey?”
“Of course.”
“You attended Oxford. Are you familiar with the surrounds of Worthy Street?”
“I am,” he said, his gracious smile turning quizzical. “Among the students, the name was something of a joke. The activities common to the neighborhood were anything but worthy in the opinion of the faculty. Dicing, drink, and other dubious diversions. One learned to avoid Worthy Street unless one wanted to be relieved of all of his coin and half of his wits, not in that order.”
No judgment clouded that disclosure. If anything, Delancey sounded wistful.
“And do you recall an inn just south of Oxford doing business as the Hungry Hound?”
“I recall no such establishment, my lord, and I traveled the Oxford Road frequently, because I took all my breaks with my family here in London.”
“Thank you,” Tremont said. “You have appeased my curiosity. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mrs. MacKay, Major, good day.”
MacKay scooted past his wife and brother-in-law and around a footman bearing an enormous tea tray. “I’ll see ye out.”
In the foyer, Tremont donned his cloak and hat and prepared to walk half the length of London in increasingly wintry weather. Another conference with the solicitors was in order.
MacKay hesitated before opening the door. “Good Samaritans with the kind of coin needed to send a body from Oxford to London don’t generally dwell in the neighborhoods where drunken college boys are cheated of their quarterly funds.”
“Though a professional swindler would have ample connections in such a location, if not temporary lodgings. Harry Merridew is alive and well, though he’s grown so short of coin that he’s willing to rise from the dead. Fortunately, I have coin to spare.”
“And if he wants something other than coin?”
“You mean if he wants to resume his status as Matilda’s husband?” Tremont pulled on his gloves. “Then I am prepared to use every privilege and advantage I have—and they are legion—to thwart him. Good day, MacKay.”
Tremont welcomed the chilly wind on his face and welcomed the distance to march. Both would aid him to focus on strategies most likely to achieve victory in the looming conflict with Merridew.
Though defeat was always a possibility.
English law took marriage seriously. From all accounts, Matilda’s wedding had been a proper affair, with her father present and offering no objection. If Harry Merridew chose to be difficult, then the coming battle was likely to end in all-out war.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You are early,” Matilda said as Tremont offered her his arm, “and you brought your fancy coach.” The vehicle, crests hidden, four matching bays in harness, sat at the bottom of the steps, looking sober and splendid, much like its owner.
Tremont handed her up and climbed in after her. “I thought we’d fortify ourselves with a noon meal at the tea shop before we meet with your prospective buyer.”
Clearly, Tremont had been thinking of much more than that. He was again the punctiliously mannered, slightly distracted gentleman whom she’d met in St. Mildred’s parish hall. He took the place beside Matilda on the forward-facing bench, though he did not reach for her hand.
“I’m nervous, Marcus. I thank you for the invitation, but might we take the extra hour at your house instead?”
He rapped on the roof with the head of his walking stick, and the coach rolled smoothly forward.
“You want to swill tea in my parlor and debate tactics? This is merely a reconnaissance mission, my dear. We go to listen and collect information. Any documents you sign will be genuine enough, so exercise extreme caution if you’re inclined to wield a pen during this meeting.”
