Page 59 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
“The Duque shall not lay a hand on you or harm you in any way.And I suspect the treasure was ever a phantom, Jane.Captain Kingsley copied the coordinates and has been looking for it these many years.”Their carriage stopped in front of a house glittering with light.“And now, my dear, we’ve arrived.”
Blast it.She’d been too astonished to find words to negotiate a transaction with him.And hewouldtempt her with that tidbit of information about Captain Kingsley and leave out the rest of the story.Oh, he was a sly one, and surprisingly sanguine about the painting’s location.
Too sanguine.He might trust Guignard to safeguard the painting as much as Madame did.Or he might himself know the painting’s location.Or he might not care, because if the painting truly couldn’t be found, then the Duque couldn’t have it either.
For the Duque, the painting might represent treasure, but for Shaldon it meant revenge—as long as the Duque wanted it and couldn’t have it.And if the painting was truly out of Shaldon’s hands and lost, wouldn’t that be a far better revenge against the Spaniard?Shaldon could go on with the rest of his life and be done with the Duque.
They climbed the steps to the salon where the musicians had assembled.Astonished gazes met their appearance together.Pretending to not notice the buzzing around them, Jane greeted acquaintances and allowed herself to be introduced to other guests.
They found seats and waited for the singer being featured, an Italian soprano newly arrived in London.Across the aisle from Shaldon, a large mustachioed man watched them through shifty eyes.He had an unsavory look about him.
She was grateful for Shaldon’s presence.
“Who is that man?”Jane murmured.
Before he could answer, Quentin appeared, bowing over her hand and asking permission to take the empty seat on her other side.
He chatted politely about the singer and the evening’s program.He was gentlemanly and polite and his good manners calmed her racing heart.If he hated her, he was hiding it well.Perhaps there was hope for her to be a real mother to him.
She saw the moment Quentin caught sight of the mustachioed man.He paled and his lips thinned, and he turned to greet the gentleman taking the seat next to him.
She touched Shaldon’s arm.“Who is the man across from you?”she whispered again.
Shaldon craned his head toward the man and stared until the man broke the contact and turned away.
Her heart clattered within her.There was more afoot tonight then her conversation with Quentin.
“He’s a sold-out major and I’m surprised he was invited.He’s not someone I want to make my acquaintance.”He touched her hand.“Or, if I may be so bold, my dear, yours.”
When she glanced across the aisle again, the Major had disappeared.
At the interval,Shaldon sent a meaningful look to Quentin, and he in turn inquired whether she’d like some fresh air.Nerves rattling, she followed her son down a short corridor to an alcove overlooking the garden.
They were alone, the rest of the crowd having gone to chat with the soloist and to take refreshments.
Quentin began by thanking her prettily for agreeing to speak to him.It was rehearsed and stiff and she didn’t know what to make of it until he sighed.
“I’m truly sorry for my reprehensible behavior yesterday,” he said.“You have supported me all these years?”
“I’ve helped.I knew the Walkers would not be able to afford many luxuries.I chose them to raise you because they were said to be kind, especially Mrs.Walker.Nor were they fussy about official matters.”She took a breath.More truth-telling.“Certain details of your baptismal record were forged, and they knew it.”Mr.Walker’s allegiance was to a higher authority than the state or even the episcopacy.“They were quite happy to pass you off as one of Mrs.Walker’s distant relations.Were they kind, Quentin?”
“Yes.Kind and genteel, and firm, as I now admit was sometimes needed.My uncle—that is what I call him, is quite the scholar.My aunt was the salt of the earth.She died a few years ago.”
“I heard and I’m so sorry.”
He nodded.“It was unkind of me to speak to you so rudely.Lord Shaldon helped me to see that you’ve paid a price for…for me, whilst I lived quite comfortably.You may dispense with your support, though, because he has…he has seen to the debt and has offered me a position.So, you see, all will be well.”
His smug smile, so like his disreputable father’s, tore at the hole in her heart.She sucked in a breath and reached for his hand.“Quentin…your father…your father was Reginald Dempsey.He died never knowing about you.He was killed on one of Lord Shaldon’s missions, along with my brother.”
A breath of air, a slight noise, a sense of another presence, stilled her words.She’d lived most of her life attuned to such nuances and keeping her secrets.
In the distant music room, a violin wailed as a bow was dragged across it.
“I should like to know more, but we had better return to our seats,” Quentin said.He clasped her hand between his.“And you’re not to worry a bit about me.I’m perfectly capable of making my own way.”
She walked numbly next to him, her hand tucked around his arm.He’d all but dismissed her until a more convenient time.Or perhaps Shaldon had already told him all of her story.
At the door to the music room she stopped.“I’m afraid I’ve a hem needing a stitch,” she said, dropping her hand from his arm.
He bowed and went off, and when she turned, she almost bumped into a tall wall of muscle.The mustachioed Major blocked her way.
