Page 89 of Miss Determined
Purvis came puffing across the street, face flushed, his walking stick apparently serving as more than a fashionable ornament.
Perhaps Lissa should remind him that a steady diet of pastries and cobbler, and days spent mostly napping behind a desk, had consequences.
“Don’t look,” Mama murmured from the place beside Lissa. “Read to me.”
Two benches farther on, Sycamore Dorning and his oldest brother were placidly consuming their ices. Kettering sat on the bench across, and he, too, was demolishing his treats, not a care in the world. Another well-dressed fellow sat buried in his newspaper on the bench to Kettering’s left.
Miss Brompton had a ringside seat in one of the coaches lining the west side of the square, and Lissa knew not who else Trevor had recruited for the afternoon’s program. She and Mama were both wearing loosely veiled straw hats, while Trevor, without disguises or defenses, prepared to snare a weasel.
Purvis sat on the bench Trevor occupied. Because the breeze blew from the east, Lissa heard every word exchanged.
“Fine weather we’re having,” Purvis remarked. “Fine weather for a courtship, in fact. One must commend your lordship on getting down to business. I might even be persuaded to write up the settlements without charge if you can get the lady to the altar by special license.”
Gracious angels. Purvis was talking business—blackmail business—in broad daylight.
“You’ve been spying on me?” Trevor asked pleasantly.
“I think of it as keeping an eye on my investments, a concept you are only passingly familiar with, much to my delight.”
Trevor consulted a gold watch, then put it away. “You’ve seen me doing the rounds?”
“My spies have. You aren’t galloping for Gretna Green, but you are progressing toward your assigned goal.”
Lissa could feel Trevor’s temper simmering, but his expression was bland and his posture relaxed.
“You brought the files I requested?”
“Right here, my lord.” Purvis patted a trio of folders bound in red ribbon. “I regret to say that your late cousin was something of a profligate. He must have owed half of Bordeaux when he died.”
Trevor took the topmost file—black ribbon—and set it aside. “And you are dealing with his creditors in a timely fashion?”
“You may always rely on me to execute my responsibilities in a timely fashion. When can I expect an engagement announcement, my lord? I’m prepared to be patient, but the Season only lasts so long.”
“What exactly did your spies tell you about my social activities?”
Purvis steepled his hands on his walking stick. “You stood up with Mis Brompton for the good-night waltz at the Westerly ball. Good-night waltzes are notably romantic, my lord, but next time, the supper waltz would be the better choice. More of Society is on hand to remark the company you’re keeping. A dawn hack in Hyde Park among the predictable bevy of spinsters-in-training. A shopping expedition or two, all properly chaperoned, of course.”
“Did your spies tell you with whom I enjoyed my supper waltz at Westerly’s ball?”
Purvis waved a hand. “You lot don’t dance with the same young lady twice. I know that, but next time—”
“I saved my supper waltz for Miss Amaryllis DeWitt,” Trevor said. “I accompanied her to Hatchards, while Miss Brompton tagged along. I rode out with Miss DeWitt in Hyde Park, and again, Miss Brompton kept company with us on some of the bridle paths.”
“Must you be tedious?” Purvis said with all the long suffering of a nanny on her last nerve. “The DeWitts are gentry, with whom it is my burden to have some acquaintance. You are not to court the DeWitt creature. She’s used goods, difficult, and headstrong.”
“Is she?” Trevor’s smile showed a lot of teeth. “Is she, really? That is no way to speak about my future marchioness, assuming she’ll have me. Miss DeWitt?” Trevor rose and extended a hand in Lissa’s direction. “Mr. Purvis has a very rude opinion of you.”
Purvis had the manners to struggle to his feet. “Miss DeWitt can have no cause to complain about my services, sir, and she will not be marrying you.”
“Yes,” Lissa said. “I do have cause to complain. You’ve been embezzling from his lordship’s coffers, and that’s not the limit of your perfidy.”
Purvis glanced about uneasily. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down if you must spread such slander. Perhaps you’re hysterical, Miss DeWitt. In need of a repairing lease. I’m sure I could approve the expenses involved.”
“Perhaps you are the one on the verge of mental collapse,” Lissa shot back. “You have charged his lordship’s tenants far more rent than you’ve deposited in the Tavistock coffers, and speaking as one of those tenants, I will happily testify to what you’ve done.”
Purvis shifted so he stood between Lissa and the busier end of the walkway. “Keep your voice down, you wretched harpy. Tavistock well knows what the consequences will be if so much as a word of—”
Kettering sauntered up and collected the file containing Jerome’s expenses. “Forget the rents, Purvis. What I have here is proof positive of embezzlement from the funds of a grieving young peer.”
