“It is good to see you too, Robert. I am sorry I did not contact you sooner, but there has been so much to see to since my return, and, well. . .to be perfectly honest, it has all been a little overwhelming.”
“I understand,” Robert told her mildly, taking the seat across from her. “It cannot have been easy for you to discover that your father kept so many secrets from you.”
“No, it has not been.” She met his gaze. “Did you know about it all along?”
“Let’s just say that it would have been highly unlikely for us to have been such close friends if we had not shared the same social background—even if we did share the same profession.”
Mary nodded with understanding but couldn’t stop the feeling of betrayal that washed over her. She’d always wondered about her father’s relationship with the earl, but whenever she’d questioned it, her father had explained it away with the shrug of his shoulders or the wave of his hand, claiming that they’d simply known each other forever, and that in their case their friendship transcended social status and material wealth. Lies. . .all of it.
Looking at Robert, she noticed that he was studying her with a cautious gaze. “Your father and I did not always see eye to eye, as you well know, but I was very sorry to hear about his death, Mary. I do hope that you realize that.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. I actually was hoping that you might be able to tell me if there is anything else that he might have kept from me.”
He gave her an assessing look. “I am not sure I follow. Your father was a colleague of mine and a truly dependable friend. I knew him for over twenty years, Mary, and in that time he was always working on one theory or another, some more successful than others, I suppose.”
“But was there nothing that stood out? Perhaps something that he spoke of with more frequency or with greater passion?”
He frowned. “What is this about, exactly?”
“To tell you the truth, I am not at all sure,” she said with a sigh, pulling a piece of paper out of her reticule. “But I received this letter this afternoon, and I am just trying to make some sense of it.”
Taking it from her, Robert read it. “Heed our warning. . .do not involve yourself in matters that don’t concern you.” He looked at Mary with much concern in his dark brown eyes. “This is quite alarming, to say the least. I daresay you ought to take this very seriously.” His eyes narrowed. “I hope you haven’t done something reckless.”
“No! Of course not.” Mary tried to compose herself. “I have no idea what they might be referring to. I have not been toying with anything that does not concern me. Though my father may have taught me everything he knows, he never shared his notes with me.”
Robert paused for a moment, mulling something over in his head. “Perhaps he was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“I cannot tell you that, my dear, but if, as you say, he did not share his notes with you, then perhaps it might be wise of you to read them. Your father was a meticulous man, Mary. He passed the piece of paper back to her. “I daresay that whatever this letter is about, it is possible that you might find the answers you are looking for in his journals.”
The instant Mary returned home, she hurried upstairs to her room in search of Emma, who was busy polishing Mary’s boots. The shirt and breeches were already laid out on the bed. Following her discussion with Robert, Mary was itching to take a look at her father’s journals, hoping that she might find some answers. It would have to wait, however; Lady Arlington came first.
“I have no idea what it is that you are up to, my lady,” Emma said as she handed Mary her hat after helping her get dressed. “Just promise me that you will be careful.”
“Not to worry, Emma. I just have to pay a visit to a friend of mine, that is all.”
Emma looked at her skeptically but apparently knew better than to pry into her mistress’s affairs and simply nodded, for which Mary was grateful. “I will be here waiting for you to return, my lady.”
With only her patient’s welfare in mind, Mary walked her horse briskly toward the street corner. She stopped for a moment, glanced about, and when she was certain that she was quite alone, she placed her left foot in the stirrup.
“Excuse me, sir!”
Mary froze, her heart taking off with a gallop. She knew that voice. What in the world was Mr. Summersby doing there so late in the evening? More importantly, what the devil was she supposed to do now? She’d told Lord Arlington that she’d be back to check on his wife, and so she would—not even Mr. Summersby would stop her from keeping such a promise. She continued to mount her horse, hoping to be gone before he could catch up with her.
“Sir!” His voice echoed more insistently through the night as his footsteps broke into a run, his heels clicking loudly against the pavement.
Oh hell, he was coming after her.
Why?
Mary didn’t have time to ponder that question. In another couple of seconds he’d be upon her, and then she’d really have some explaining to do. Gritting her teeth and muttering an apology he’d never hear, she swung herself into the saddle and tightened her grip on the reins. Then, without a backward glance, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and rode off, disappearing quickly out of sight.
Ryan stood for a long while after in the middle of the street, staring after the young man who’d just ridden off, the same young man he’d seen the previous evening. He’d hoped to ask him a few questions to find out what he was up to so late. What sort of errands was Lady Steepleton sending him on, and were they related to the letter she’d received? One thing was for sure: the emissary hadn’t wanted to stop for a chat.
He glanced at Lady Steepleton’s house, wishing he could talk to her and perhaps find out more. Damn. There was more to it than his desire to keep her safe; he was merely looking for an excuse to see her again. Ryan raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. God help him if he wasn’t falling for the woman. He’d do well to keep this growing fancy under control, especially since she appeared to be far more trouble than he ever would have imagined. She certainly wasn’t as demure as he’d initially thought her to be. He reflected on that for a moment. Would he really care for the companionship of a sedate woman? Absolutely not, although he was hoping for someone a little less willful and unruly than his sister. He grinned at the very thought of it: the Marchioness of Steepleton dressed in a shirt and breeches, gallivanting about like the hoydenish Alexandra.
Not bloody likely.
Lady Steepleton might have a sharp tongue on her, but she wasn’t at all the hoydenish type. Still, something was awry, and he intended to get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible.
“Not very astute, are you, Mr. Summersby?” a dry voice asked from behind his left shoulder.
Ryan turned to find the Messenger standing but a few paces away from him. In fact, with just one step, he could probably have reached out and touched him. His eyes narrowed with irritation. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t figured out who it is that keeps leaving Lady Steepleton’s house in the middle of the night, running errands that are still as elusive to you as the rider’s identity.”
Ryan glared back at the black-hooded figure. “And what do you know of it?”
“Enough to tell you that Lady Steepleton is finding it difficult to do as she is told.”
“Meaning?” If only they weren’t standing on a public street in the middle of London, he’d take much pleasure in wringing this man’s neck, no matter whom he might turn out to be.
“Meaning that, if I were you, Mr. Summersby, I would tell Lady Steepleton that if it is a hobby she is looking for, she ought to pick something less likely to draw awareness.”
The sound of hooves clicking on the cobbles nearby drew Ryan’s attention for the briefest of moments. When he looked back, the Messenger was gone.
Damn!
He needed someone to talk to, not to mention a stiff drink to calm his mood. Picking up his pace, he headed down David Street, toward Berkeley Square. He knew exactly where he wanted to go.
“Can I offer you some more claret?” Alexandra asked as she regarded her brother closely. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him so out of sorts.
Ryan nodded, taking the bottle from his sister and filling his glass. He took a long sip. “I need your opinion on something,” he finally said after a lengthy moment of silence. “Percy came to me a few days ago, asking that I keep an eye on Lady Steepleton.”
“The marchioness that everyone has been so busy talking about?”
“The very one.” Ryan sighed. He then went on to tell Alexandra about his conversation with Percy and about the hooded stranger he’d encountered in the street.
“And what about Lady Steepleton herself?” Alexandra asked. “Has she not given you any clue as to what might be going on?”
Ryan shook his head somewhat sheepishly, forcing a troubled sigh from his sister. She knew that he’d always felt less suited for a career in intelligence than she and William. Not that he couldn’t hold his own when it came to fighting or thinking on his feet, but he just didn’t have the same feel for uncovering information that had come so naturally to both William and herself. It was one of the key factors in his decision to give up on a career in the Foreign Office and continue with his studies instead. What irked Alexandra was that he seemed to consider the lack of this quality a shortcoming. On the contrary, she’d give anything for the ability to soak up knowledge the way Ryan did.
“All right,” Alexandra said thoughtfully. “Let us consider everything that we know so far. You say that her father was a physician and that he was killed at Waterloo. We also know that she received a letter, which appears to have alarmed her in some way, and that upon having read it, she went to meet with Lord Woodbridge, who, by the way, also happens to be the Master of the Royal College of Surgeons. If you ask me, Ryan, whatever it is that your marchioness may be involved in, I am strongly inclined to believe that it is medically related.”
“I have to agree, but I just fail to see why that would pose a threat to her in any way.”
Alexandra was quiet for a moment. An idea had begun to manifest itself in her head, but it was only a guess, and to verify it, she would have to meet Lady Steepleton in person and take a good look at her. “What if I accompany you on your next visit to the marchioness?” she suggested with a bright smile. “I have a feeling that the two of us will get along famously.”
“That is an excellent idea, Alex. I was planning on going over there tomorrow afternoon for tea, but if you are coming along, then perhaps we might take Lady Steepleton shopping. There are a multitude of balls this season, and she is in dire need of some proper gowns to wear.”
Alexandra made a sour face, as if she’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Actually,” Ryan continued, shifting nervously in his seat, “I thought you might perhaps be able to act as our chaperone.”