Page 40 of The Bachelor
“Who’s your master?”
“Mr. Pritchard. Owns a lodging house in Chelsea.”
That was not a name Joshua had been expecting. “Why is your master writing notes to Lady Gwyn?”
“Ain’t my master writing them. Mr. Pritchard is sending it on behalf of the captain what’s staying in his lodging house.”
Nowthatwas more what Joshua had expected. Or rather, had feared. “What is this captain’s name?”
“Don’t know. He ain’t been staying there long.”
“Describe him.”
When the boy gave a fairly accurate description of Malet, Joshua’s heart sank. Why would Gwyn communicate with the man who wished to abduct her?
He frowned. Unless there was more to the story. Unless she and Malet had a friendship unknown to her brother. After all, her family had traveled back to England from Prussia. They might have met the fellow along the way.
Although she hadn’t seemed happy to get the note. And Joshua was almost certain the duke had lied today when questioned about a previous friendship between Gwyn and Malet.
Whatever the reason for their communications, it could not be good. And he hated being right in this instance. Could Gwyn just be flirting with him to keep his suspicions off whatever she and Malet were up to? That possibility tore a hole in him.
“Major?” the lad asked.
“Where is this lodging house exactly?”
The boy rattled off an address, then held out his hand.
“Ah, right. The guinea. Here you go. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. And if you ever need a boy in your employ, you just ask for Dick the Quick. Everybody knows I’m the fastest in West London.”
“Thank you again. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell the lad that the likelihood of Joshua being able to hire a servant was fairly small. Joshua wasn’t even sure he could get himself back on the full-pay list.
Speaking of which, he’d better get going. He wouldn’t want to miss his appointment. Still, he watched as the boy darted across the street and down the block. If Joshua had time, he would accompany the lad and confront Malet himself.
But he didn’t have time. So Malet would have to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Viscount Castlereagh, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, was widely reputed to be an intelligent Irishman who ran the War Office with a deft hand. Or that was how he was regarded by soldiers like Joshua.
But something must have occurred to upset the great man’s equilibrium, because when Joshua showed up for his appointment, the War Secretary had little to say to him. Despite attempts to moderate Castlereagh’s rhetoric by the man’s undersecretary, another Irishman named Lucius Fitzgerald, the War Secretary informed Joshua coldly that England needed able-bodied men in this war against Napoleon, not half men on half-pay.
Castlereagh also made it clear that he’d looked into Joshua’s situation and had heard about his bouts of temper, which had become a matter for gossip in Sanforth. The War Secretary said that the last thing Joshua should be doing is fighting at war, where ungoverned temper had no place in battle.
By the time Castlereagh was done with his insulting remarks, Joshua was seething. Never had he wanted to throttle a man more, even knowing it wouldn’t help his situation. So Joshua uttered a few barely cordial remarks to end the appointment, then marched out into the street, where he hit his cane so hard against a lamppost that it broke.
He instantly regretted that. He would have a hard time finding another sword cane worthy of this one. He stood there staring down at the shattered walking stick and cursing himself. Perhaps Castlereagh was right—hewasunfit for anything but catching poachers and breeding hunting dogs on his grandfather’s estate.
Then, out of nowhere, Fitzgerald, the undersecretary who’d witnessed Joshua’s humiliation firsthand, appeared at his side. “Damn. That looks to have been a very useful implement.”
Joshua gathered up the pieces, hoping he could somehow repair it. “What doyouwant?” he snarled. “To go in for the kill now that your superior drew first blood?”
Fitzgerald regarded him with a steady blue gaze. “Actually, I want to offer you a position. But not in the Royal Marines. I’d like you to work forme.”
That flummoxed him. “In what capacity?” Joshua asked warily. “I am no politician, sir, as you might be able to tell.”
