Page 83 of My Kind of Scoundel
“You’ll spend a month in the infirmary if you don’t.” Theo gave the man a few seconds to reply before adding, “Trust me, you don’t want to visit my brother’s basement.”
Shifting nervously, the beast wrung his hands beforeconfessing. “She never gave her name. Her maid is friends with Duncan’s sister and knew we were men for hire.”
“Her maid?” Eleanor said, knowing the culprit was one of two people. “Was the lady young or of middling years?” Was Mrs Dunwoody looking for the means to hurt Theo? Was Lady Lucille worried they’d discover she’d paid her fiancé’s debts?
“She was young and pretty. Spoke like she had a peg on her nose. Had hair like spun gold. She spread her hanky out on the chair before she sat down.”
“It has to be Lucille Bowman,” Theo grumbled. “It’s time we confront the woman and demand to know what the hell is happening.”
“What, and be fed a pack of lies?” Eleanor said. The lady had something to hide, something that amounted to more than secretly settling Lord Wrotham’s accounts. “No, we need to trick her into meeting Miss Franklin. Of the two, the latter is more likely to confess when pressured.”
“Confess to what?” Aaron said.
Eleanor shrugged. “We don’t know.”
With a growl of frustration, Aaron released his prisoner and made for the sturdy brute. “I want to know everything the lady said when she hired you. What information does she seek?”
The craven fellow stepped back. “I was to list the places they visited. And what dealings they had with the man at the silversmith shop.”
“Mr Franklin?” Eleanor sought to clarify.
“She got all in a tizzy and said the devil had ruined her life.”
How odd.
Had Lady Lucille fallen in love with the silversmith?Was that why she nurtured a friendship with Miss Franklin? Did she enjoy rubbing shoulders with the lower classes? Or did she have reason to fear him?
“You’ll make a statement to that effect,” Theo said. “I’ll have every word in writing. She’ll not worm her way out of this.”
With some reluctance, the men for hire accompanied them to Fortune’s Den. They stood in Aaron’s imposing study and scrawled their names on a document stating why Lady Lucille had hired them.
“You’re lucky you’re walking out of here,” Aaron said, shooing the louts out the front door. “If I see your faces again, you won’t be so fortunate.” He returned to the study and dropped into his black, throne-like seat. His gaze slid to Miss Lovelace, who sat beside Eleanor. “I’m sure you have much to do before you open tonight.”
“Nothing that cannot wait.”
“You seem to make a habit of becoming embroiled in my family’s affairs. One would think you have enough problems of your own.”
The lady raised her chin. “What problems could I have besides an absent father, the threat of bankruptcy and a host of young women who demand I play matchmaker? Surely you’ve heard their excited screams when the Marquess of Rothley comes to gamble.”
Aaron snorted. “I’ve seen them peering through the window—hardly what one expects from wallflowers. Besides, Rothley would eat them alive.”
Before the lady replied, a loud knock on the front door had Sigmund trudging through the hall. Seconds later, Daventry entered the study.
“What the blazes do you want?” Aaron said.
Mr Daventry smiled. “Good afternoon. I’ve been following the leads on the books Miss Darrow gave to Pickering.” His gaze came to rest on Eleanor. “I went to the shop to update you on my progress, but Gibbs said you were out. I came to see what Aaron thought of the information.”
“It’s about time you considered my opinion,” Aaron replied.
Mr Daventry ignored the snipe. He reached into his leather satchel and dropped a book onto Aaron’s desk. “The first volume of Radcliffe’sThe Italianleft in Miss Darrow’s coal shed and delivered to Pickering. You’ll see the note is still hidden beneath the bookplate.”
Aaron took a paper knife from the drawer. With surprisingly gentle movements for a man with large hands, he cut the plate and retrieved the tiny note. The paper was blank.
Eleanor sighed. “So, the motive was to ensure I left the shop.”
“Undoubtedly,” Mr Daventry said. “We must ask ourselves for what purpose? Why put on such a dramatic show?” He removed another book and handed it to Aaron. “Virtue Rewardsby Samuel Richardson. Perhaps you might tell me what the books have in common.”
“I did not deliver that book to Mr Pickering,” Eleanor interjected.
