Page 52 of My Kind of Scoundel
“We were glad of it, sir,” the wife blurted. “The debts were mounting, and all requests went unanswered. Getting the note was like a blessing from heaven. Within days, all the bills were paid.”
“We will need the name of your debtor.” Theo mentally scratched his head. Why would Lucille Bowman have debts at a baker’s shop? And why had her father not settled her account?
“Does it matter?” the baker said, raising his voice to compensate for the rowdy noise in the shop. “It would be wrong to reveal the name of such a prestigious client.”
“It matters,” he snapped. “We know Lady Lucille Bowman sent the note. We need you to confirm it was the case.”
The baker’s brow creased in confusion. “There must be some mistake. The debt belonged to a gentleman, sir.”
“A gentleman?” Miss Darrow tapped her finger to her lips. It took her mere seconds to make sense of the conundrum. “Then the debt belonged to her father, or her affianced? I would guess Lord Wrotham ran up the debt.”
While the baker remained tight-lipped, his wife said, “He ordered cakes by the dozen most days. He spent ten pounds one week.”
“Ten pounds? On cake?” Theo had to laugh. The lanky fop was all skin and bone. “How much did he owe in total?”
Bowing his head in shame, the baker said, “Almost a hundred and fifty pounds. It’s been a problem for over a year.”
“Since settling his account, he’s not been back,” the wife added.
So, Lady Lucille was secretly paying Lord Wrotham’s debts. Theo would wager the bookshop owner and perfumer told a similar tale. A visit to the solicitor’s office would confirm as much.
But who lived at Finch Lane, Cornhill? Another creditor? And how was it linked to the damage at Miss Darrow’s shop?
“We’ll ask Daventry to find out why Wrotham cannot settle his own accounts,” Theo muttered in Miss Darrow’s ear. “We can visit the office tomorrow.”
She looked at him and nodded. Plagued by a sudden tiredness, she failed to stifle a yawn. “Forgive me. It’s been such a long day. I’m not sure I have the strength to visit anyone else.”
“We should go home. Nothing is so important it cannot wait until tomorrow.” He thanked the baker and led MissDarrow through the crowded shop and onto The Strand. “You’ve not eaten all day. Perhaps that accounts for your flagging spirits. We’ll dine with Aaron before the club opens at eight. Then you should rest upstairs.”
She glanced at him through tired eyes. “What about our game of piquet? You have debts to pay. You owe two forfeits.”
He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek and say something wicked. “They’ll be your stake in the game tonight. I shall do my best to win them back. Assuming you’re well enough to meet me for a midnight liaison.”
She smiled before yawning again. “What might I claim if I win? I shall have to give the matter a great deal of thought.”
“I’m a man of many talents. I suggest you choose wisely.”
“Hello!” The baker’s assistant came hurrying out of the shop, something wrapped in parchment in her hands. “You forgot your plum pie. Your wife seemed keen to take one home.”
His wife?
Theo did not correct the misconception. He thrust a few shillings into the woman’s hand despite her insisting it was a gift. He did not take advantage of the hardworking classes. He was not his cousin Wrotham.
They settled into the carriage, Miss Darrow cradling the wrapped pie in her lap. “We should have it with our claret at the card table tonight.”
He didn’t care for gaming or plum pie but longed for their secret rendezvous.
“It occurs to me I need to win back one forfeit, not two.You thought I’d lied about plums being an aphrodisiac. Perhaps tonight, I shall prove I’m right.”
Aaron held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, his expression a mix of contemplation and concentration. “Everyone knows money runs like water through Wrotham’s fingers. But to have Lady Lucille mop up his mess is downright embarrassing.”
Theo swallowed a tender piece of beef and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Why orderThe Vampyrefrom Pickering’s library? What are the odds she would innocently pick the villain’s book?”
“Extremely poor.” Aaron reached for his wine, took a sip and looked at Miss Darrow, seated to his left. “Are you sure you’ve told us everything?”
Appearing quite revived, she nodded. “I have no need to lie or keep secrets.” Her gaze drifted to Theo. “Honesty above all else. That is our motto.”
Aaron’s mocking snort rang through the dining room. “There is no such thing, Miss Darrow. Everyone manipulates the truth for their own advantage.”
