Page 36 of Anastasia and the Duke
"Lud," the marquess rolled his eyes, "That means I have to listen to it all again."
"Not again," Oliver corrected him, "For you didn't listen the first time."
The two men left the floor, bickering amicably between themselves. As they walked through the cavernous entrance hall, they were approached by the Earl of Morris.
"Hawkfield," the earl nodded at Oliver, "Kitteridge. Stimulating debate; I can't wait to get my teeth into it again tomorrow."
"Nor I," Kit agreed, innocently.
"Er," the earl pulled at collar of his shirt, nervously, "I was wondering if you had time for a chat, Hawkfield? There's something I'd like to ask you."
"Of course," Oliver answered, his mind at once jumping to Miss Blackmore.
"I'll be in White's," Kit offered cheerfully to his friend, "I want to run through the debates in my head over a nice glass of brandy."
"Oh, perhaps I'll join you after," Morris looked pleased, unaware of the marquess' sarcasm, "There's a few points Lord Heatherford made that I'd love to tease out further."
"Capital," Kit did not miss a beat, though as he turned to leave, he mouthed the word "Boodle's", so that Oliver might know he could be found at his other club.
Morris flagged down a passing clerk, who showed he and Oliver to an empty room, where they could talk in privacy.
"Is anything the matter?" Oliver asked, once they were alone, for the earl was visibly out of sorts.
He was a stout man, like his father before him, with little resemblance to Lady Lansdowne, barring his green eyes.
"No," Morris replied, "I mean, yes. I wish to know more about this Miss Blackmore, but I don't know how to go about it. I am a simple man, Hawkfield; I do my duties in Parliament and go home with my wife when the season ends. I do not keep company with anyone who does not frequent White's and, as such, I have no idea how one might go aboutinvestigatingthe young woman."
"You think Miss Blackmore a knave?" Oliver asked, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He had just decided he wanted to marry the chit and now he was being asked to investigate her.
"No," Morris replied, somewhat shamefaced, "Well, I don't know, she could be, but she..."
The earl trailed off and looked down at his shoes for a moment, before lifting his face to Oliver's.
"She looks so like Giselle," Morris finally said, his ruddy cheeks made ruddier by his blush, "If there is some possibility--any possibility at all--that the girl is Anastasia, then I want to know."
Though it was uncouth, Oliver whistled as he let out the breath he had been holding. If even Morris saw similarity enough between Miss Blackmore and Giselle, was it possible that she could be the long-lost Anastasia?
For a man who had once looked down on his grandmother for even thinking that it might be true, Oliver was suddenly hoping the very same thing--and trying to figure out just how it might be proved.
"I have her letter of recommendation," Morris continued, reaching a hand into the inside pocket of his coat and extracting a folded sheaf of paper, "The housekeeper gave it to me when I called. There's enough on there to be started with; just send whatever expenses you incur to my man of business."
"That won't be necessary," Oliver smiled; he could well afford it.
"I just..." Morris added, again pulling at the collar of his shirt, "I just don't know how it might be true, but when I saw her, I felt that itcouldbe. Does that make any sense?"
"Stranger things have happened," Oliver shrugged, as he echoed his grandmother's earlier words.
Morris nodded and fidgeted with his hands for a moment, before squaring his shoulder and offering Oliver a smile.
"My thanks for your help, Hawkfield," he said, brusquely, "Do you know, I'm a little exhausted after all this excitement and subterfuge; I might just return home for a nap in my chair. Do you think your friend will mind?"
"I shall pass your apologies on to Lord Kitteridge," Oliver smiled, "I'm sure he'll try and arrange a debate for another day."
"Good, good," Morris smiled, "Well, cheerio, Hawkfield, and thanks again."
The earl gave him a jaunty wave and went off to take his afternoon nap. Oliver stayed in the room for a few minutes after he had left. If a man as dull and unadventurous as the Earl of Morris believed that there was a faint possibility that miracles could happen, then Oliver could too.
Thanks to his grandmother, Oliver was now as familiar with Miss Blackmore's social calendar as he was his own. Thus, when evening fell, Oliver found himself mingling with the great and good of London town in Lord and Lady Keyes’ ballroom, waiting for Miss Blackmore to arrive.
