A Daring Liaison

Chapter Eleven

Georgiana read the note from Charles for a third time, her mind bouncing between anger and gratitude. It seemed he had spent the

night in her library making plans for her safety. When morning came, she found he’d hired a bodyguard, dressed him in footman’s

livery and sent him to protect her against Hathaway’s possible return or any mischief he might have in mind. The man’s name was

Finn, the note read, and Charles further instructed her to take him with her to any appointments or outings. And he was standing

before her in the foyer this very instant.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. The man looked as if he’d been born to a race of giants. He was quite tall, with a large nose and

hands the size of hams. “Finn, is it?”

“Yes, madam,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“And where did Mr. Hunter find you?”

“I, uh, have worked for friends of his from time to time, madam.”

She was certain she did not want to delve further into that explanation. “Did Mr. Hunter give you instructions?”

“Yes, madam.”

“And if I dismiss you?”

A look of near panic crossed Finn’s face. “Mr. Hunter hired me, madam. I would not go until he gave me leave.”

Then there was no use in trying to send him away. She had visions of this man sitting on her front steps all day, frightening neighbors

and passersby alike. She would simply have to deal with Charles tonight. As surly as Hathaway had been, she could not imagine

that he would return. Charles was just being overly cautious.

“Are you day help, Finn? Or staff?”

“Staff, Mrs. Huffington.”

“Very well, Finn. Go to the kitchen and introduce yourself to Cook and Sanders. Ask them to assign you a room. I will be in the attic.”

At the man’s indecisive look, she hastened to explain. “I am going through my late aunt’s things. I doubt Hathaway will scale a wall in

the middle of the day for all the neighbors to see.”

“Mr. Hunter told me to watch for danger from any direction, madam, not just from someone named Hathaway.”

Oh! She never should have told Charles about the man at Vauxhall Gardens. Really, he hadn’t exactly threatened her. Just

mentioned that he had plans for her. Hmm. Well, perhaps that could be taken as a bit of a threat. She shrugged. “Very well,” she

allowed. “We shall discuss this further with Mr. Hunter tonight. Meanwhile, please try to make yourself inconspicuous.” Though she

doubted that was possible for man his size.

He nodded and stepped out of her way as she walked to the stairway. She had no doubt he would come looking for her sooner

rather than later and then laughed to herself as she thought of him at La Meilleure Robe this afternoon. Madame Marie would make

short work of him, she was sure.

The attic door was unlocked and the narrow windows at each end had been uncovered to allow light to pour through. Yes, Clara had

said that Hathaway had been in the attic yesterday. She frowned as she noted that dust covers had been tossed into a heap. Spare

furniture had been left bare. Trunks and boxes were open. Someone had been rummaging through Aunt Caroline’s things.

Hathaway.

A prickle of fear made her shiver as she looked around more carefully. What could he have been looking for? Hidden treasure or

something of value? Something to carry off? Or...or something in particular? More personal?

Georgiana had played up here as a child when she and Aunt Caroline had made short trips to the city to tend business matters. She

knew every nook and cranny. Every crate, box, trunk and broken chair. She knew right where Aunt Caroline’s childhood toys were

stored. Where the gowns now out of fashion had been kept for their trims and fabric. She knew where her old lesson books were,

and the sheet music from her pianoforte lessons.

And she knew something was very wrong.

She turned on her heel and hurried down to the library and the desk where Hathaway had seen her place the pouch with money for

household expenses. How foolish of her not to secure it in the safe at once! That money had to last her until the confusion over

inheritance had been settled. She opened the drawer and unfolded the pouch. After carefully counting the cash, she went weak with

relief. There! It was all there. She sank into the chair and opened the bottom drawer where a heavy lockbox was secured. She

removed the key from her chatelaine, opened the box and placed the pouch inside. When it was secure, she sat back and pressed

her fingertips to her temples, trying to think.

If Hathaway had meant to rob her, he’d known right where to go. But he hadn’t. Thus, he’d been looking for something more precise

than his valise when he’d gone to the attic. But what?

He’d been employed by Aunt Caroline’s father a year before his death, and had stayed on afterward. It was not unreasonable to

think that he might have collected quite a few belongings in that space of time. All the servants had their own lockers in the cellar to

store their valuables, and Hathaway had been no exception. In fact, he’d had two lockers.

No. Hathaway had not been looking for his own belongings. And that meant that he’d been looking for something quite specific.

She did not know how long she’d sat there, trying to think of anything Hathaway might have wanted, but she started when Clara

touched her shoulder.

“Madam? That Finn fellow said you’d gone to the attic, but here you are in the library. I came looking for you to get you ready to go to

the dressmaker. Finn says he’ll be escorting you today.”

“Oh, yes. I just forgot something here. Could you get the key to the attic and lock it for me? I won’t have time for it until tomorrow.”

“Aye, madam. How long is Mr. Finn going to be with us?”

“Not long, I think.” She noted the flash of disappointment that passed over Clara’s face. “I do not believe ‘footman’ is his usual

occupation, Clara. He will likely leave when the danger has passed.”

“Danger? What danger, madam?”

Georgiana stood and went to the library door. “Mr. Hunter seems to think Hathaway could come back to cause trouble. Finn is here

to prevent that from happening.”

“He’s a bodyguard, madam?” Clara asked in wonder.

“Something of the sort.” She gave her maid a wry smile. After the discovery of Hathaway’s thorough search in the attic, she was

suddenly very glad Finn was here.

* * *

Charles paged through the betting book at his club and sighed. Yes, there it was. Hunter—Huffington Nuptials. Odds were not

favoring his surviving marriage to Georgiana Huffington, née Carson. The long odds were giving him a week. On the short end,

someone had bet he wouldn’t arrive at the altar. Only three had taken odds for survival—Lord Lockwood, Andrew Hunter and James

Hunter. His brothers. He hoped he’d make them rich.

But, of course, the engagement and pending marriage were a farce. No one would win. Well, maybe Georgiana if they found the

killer.

“I vow, I do not know which odds to take,” Wycliffe spoke over his shoulder.

“The only right wager would be no wager.”

Wycliffe grinned. “I’m not so certain of that, Hunter. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And the way she watches you.”

Sir Harry Richardson joined them with a hearty smile. “You look to be in a good mood, considering the odds against you.”

Charles gave them both a quelling glance and headed for the parlor. They gathered three chairs in a conversational circle with a low

table bearing a coffee service in the middle. He poured himself a cup and prayed it would be strong. He’d gotten very little sleep last

night between listening for Hathaway’s return and thinking of Georgiana. The only new plan he’d been able to conceive was so

shocking that he could scarcely believe he’d thought of it. And yet there was a certain logic to it. Nothing else would answer all their

needs.

Actual marriage.

He could move Georgiana’s household to his, thus thwarting any plans Hathaway might have and enabling him to better protect her.

The killer would be forced to act quickly or forfeit his game. Georgiana would be compelled to stay in London. With him. He would

have free and unhindered access to her. It was madness. And yet...he would acquire a special license to marry. Whether he’d use it

or not remained to be seen.

“So pensive, Hunter?” Richardson asked as he and Wycliffe sat.

“I have a lot on my mind. None of which has to do with the matter at hand.”

“And what is that?”

“Richardson, how quickly can you be to Cornwall and back?”

“Where in Cornwall? St. Ives?”

“Mousehole.”

“Why in God’s name—”

“That is where Lady Caroline finally located Georgiana after her parents’ deaths. I want you to find out anything that might have a

bearing on this matter.”

Wycliffe narrowed his eyes. “What is it that you suspect?”

“Nothing. Everything. I am becoming more convinced that the answer to this problem lies neither in who Georgiana is, nor whom she

married, but in her identity before Lady Caroline took her in. Lord Carlington gave me a possible link to her father—a Captain

George Carson of the Royal Navy. Carlington said he’d look into it, but see what you can find out about him or his wife. And why

Georgiana was abandoned in Mousehole. Find out, too, who cared for her during that time.”

“Mousehole,” Richardson repeated. “The end of the earth.”

“Well, England, at any rate,” Wycliffe contributed. “Appears as if someone wanted her lost.”

This echo of Charles’s thoughts confirmed his suspicions. It was looking more and more as if Georgiana Carson was not at all what

she seemed. “How soon can you report back?” he asked Richardson.

The man glanced at the tall case clock standing in one corner of the parlor and still reading an indecently early hour. “How soon do

you need the information?”

“Yesterday.”

“I can ride for Brighton within the hour and from there hire a smack to Mousehole. With favorable winds and ready tongues once I get

there, three days, perhaps four.”

Charles nodded and Richardson got to his feet. “I’m going to need a few days to sleep when I get back.”

Wycliffe nodded. “You’ll get them.” He waited until Richardson disappeared and then turned back to Charles, a serious expression

on his face. “And the rest of it?”

Damn. The man always knew when he was holding back. “Only a vague notion that all is not as it should be. But why Lady Caroline

should be party to a lie, I cannot imagine.”

Wycliffe gave him a sage smile. “Can you not?”

“Nothing I’d care to share at the moment.”

“Do you think our assailant in this instance has turned his attention to Georgiana?”

“I do. She has had several close calls recently. One just last night in Vauxhall Gardens. A man encountered her along one of the

paths and warned her that he had plans for her. That he’d rather ‘cut’ her than see her with me. Cut her, Wycliffe. I think that is a clear

threat.”

“Did he say why? Did she even know him?”

Charles shook his head. “He was behind her and warned her not to turn around. She said she did not recognize his voice, but I

wonder if she would tell me if she had.”

“I cannot believe anyone would wish her harm. She is such a pleasant woman. Who could she have given offense to?”

“I can think of at least half a dozen people who might want Georgiana dead, and most of them would profit by it.”

“Half a dozen?” Wycliffe scoffed. “Surely that is an exaggeration.”

“Not in the least. A conservative estimate, actually. Between the families of her deceased husbands, the newly found potential heirs

to Caroline’s fortune and her own murky beginnings, there could be more.”

Wycliffe sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “Two cousins of Lady Caroline’s, a displaced cousin of her second husband, the

parents of her first husband.” He stopped to look pointedly at Charles. “Not to mention various friends and Adam Booth’s parents.

Yes. You might have something there.”

“I would wager my fortune that she had nothing to do with Booth’s death.”

“Never really thought she did.”

“Then why—”

“To get you to accept the assignment, Hunter. You can be deucedly stubborn when you have your ire up.”

“Possibly,” he mused. What did he actually know about Georgiana? That she’d been raised by Lady Caroline Betman and married

twice. That she made love like an innocent and that she used lilac soap to wash her hair. That she had turned him around with barely

a crook of her finger. What still lay hidden to be discovered?

“I heard you hired Finn. What prompted that?”

“Her butler has been behaving suspiciously. She dismissed him and he made threats. He and I...well, he knows he’d be a fool to try

anything. But fools are born every day.”

Wycliffe leaned forward and lowered his voice, glancing right and left before speaking. “Hunter, hurry up. I’ve heard from the Under

Secretary that pressure is increasing to solve these cases. And there appears to be some new development. Information that could

implicate Mrs. Huffington in those murders and lead to her imminent arrest.”

“Imminent? How imminent?”

“Within a few days. A week at most.”

“Why?”

“The pressure was severe a week ago when I put you on this matter. With nothing to acquit her and new evidence to implicate her...it

’s becoming a losing proposition, Hunter.”

“Damn it, what new evidence?”

“Laudanum.”

“What does that mean?”

“That was the word whispered to me this morning in my office. It isn’t official. Not yet. But, if you can, find out what Mrs. Huffington

knows about laudanum.”

Charles nodded. He would be seeing Georgiana tonight. If the word meant anything to her, he’d know it.

* * *

As predicted, Finn looked quite peculiar sitting in a small wooden chair in the reception area of La Meilleure Robe. That he felt out

of his element was obvious by the way he fidgeted and kept turning his hat around by the brim. Every member of the Wednesday

League mentioned it when they arrived.

“Who is that great hulk in the foyer?” Lady Annica, the last to arrive, asked as she entered the dressing room and took a chair.

“Finn. My bodyguard.” Georgiana, standing in her chemise and corset, explained the circumstances for the fourth time before she

could be asked again.

“As if you haven’t enough trouble,” Grace Hawthorne added. “Still, Finn is a good idea. I would certainly think twice before accosting

you with him in the way.”

Sarah shook her head. “My brothers know the oddest people. I wonder where Charlie found him.”

Georgiana was spared a reply by Madame Marie’s entrance, a heap of pale violet silk in her arms. She stepped onto the low

platform and dropped it over Georgiana’s head. “Come, chèri. This will be the last fitting, yes?”

Once the gown was settled around her, Madame knelt and began tugging the hem to pull the folds into place for pinning.

Grace folded her hands in her lap. “Now tell us, Georgiana, have you been able to uncover any information that might be useful?”

“I fear I only have more questions.” She hesitated, recalling the warning she’d been given, but surely that information would be safe

here. “We went to Vauxhall Gardens last evening, and while I was alone on a path waiting for Charles to return, a man approached

me from behind. He instructed me not to turn around, so I did not see his face. He seemed to know me, but I would swear I have

never met him. I am positive I would have recognized his voice. He warned me to stay away from Charles specifically and all the

Hunter men generally. He said I should do as he said and that he had plans for me. He ran off when we heard Charles returning, but

not before he said he would find me again.”

Sarah’s face had gone quite pale. “Dear heavens! Did you warn Charlie?”

“The moment we were alone. He seems to think this may be progress.”

“Progress?” the ladies said as one voice.

“That...that someone has come forward.”

The ladies shared a meaningful glance, then turned back to Georgiana. “No wonder he has hired Finn,” Sarah said.

Madame Marie stood and turned Georgiana toward the mirror. “Magnifique, n’est-ce pas?”

Speechless, she nodded. Yes, it was, though it exposed more of her than Aunt Caroline had ever allowed. But she was a widow

now and no one would think twice about her gowns. She noted the smiles of the ladies behind her reflected in the mirror. They

approved. Thank heavens she would not be criticized by the ton.

With a few deft moves, Madame Marie had her gown unfastened and over her head. She handed Georgiana a wrapper. “François

will join you in a minute. I shall ’ave my girls sew the ’em immediately so that you can take it ’ome with you.”

True to her word, her husband was waiting. He entered through a side door and assumed his usual position in one corner, almost at

ease with seeing a woman in a dressing gown. “Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them. “We have a bit of news, at last.”

“Do tell,” Lady Annica said.

“I’ve just gotten back from Kent.” He removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped the cover back. “I fear the news is

not all good. No one remembers your mother, Mrs. Huffington. The villagers only recall when Lady Caroline returned from Cornwall

with you in tow. You must have been about two or three at the time. Quite a favorite in the village, by all accounts.”

Georgiana recalled her weekly trips to the village and smiled. The only friends she’d had growing up were the butcher, the

greengrocer and the baker. Later, she’d gone to the tea shop and dressmaker, but all those friendships had lacked intimacy. They

were just acquaintances, really.

“I also took the opportunity to meet your cousins, Walter and Robert Foxworthy. They raise horses as well as crops. Told them I was

interested in buying a horse and got them to chatting about families. They mentioned you, but did not expand on the matter. Decent

sorts, I thought—Robert more than Walter. There was something crafty in Walter’s manner. I thought he was simply trying to bargain

the best price for his stock, but there could be more. I do not believe there is anything to worry about, but should you meet him, be

careful.

“I asked if they’d been in London recently or if they had any plans to come. Robert says he’s never been. Walter does all the

traveling, it seems. I could not pursue the subject as diligently as I’d have liked without raising their suspicions, but as near as I can

tell, Walter makes monthly trips to town, as well as other destinations as business requires. Hard to determine if he was in the area

of your husbands’ homes at the appropriate times.”

Georgiana let out a long-held breath. “That is more than I expected, Mr. Renquist. Thank you very much.”

“I’m not done yet, ladies. Walter Foxworthy will be coming to town soon, and I’ve asked him to look me up if he’d like to meet my

price on the stallion I inspected.”

Grace clapped her hands. “Excellent.”

“I also caught up with some of the rookery lads upon my return. And this is the news that worries me.”

The ladies all sat forward in their chairs and Georgiana drew the wrapper a bit closer around her.

“There are whispers circulating that someone from the rookeries has a very singular interest in you, Mrs. Huffington. Just what that

interest is remains a mystery, as yet.”

Georgiana frowned. “An interest? Is that all?”

“All? There are some very unpleasant men in the rookeries, Mrs. Huffington. It is not a place you would want your name mentioned,

or where you’d want to provoke interest.”

The voice from last night rang in her head. We gots a secret, you an’ me. Was he the one with the singular interest?

It could not be Hathaway. He’d only just been dismissed. Whatever threats he’d made, he hadn’t had time to instigate them, let alone

to have displayed and “interest.” Heavens! How many men wished her ill? She quickly told Mr. Renquist about the incident at

Vauxhall and her dismissing of Hathaway.

A worried frown played at the corners of Mr. Renquist’s mouth. “The blighter at Vauxhall, Mrs. Huffington. That’s the one that worries

me most. I shall put my men to uncovering that first. As for Hathaway, we cannot eliminate him. He has had access to your home and

all your secrets the whole time. I shall see if I can find out more about him.”

“Yes, but I only dismissed him yesterday and Mr. Hunter removed him from my house last night. There has not been time for him to

cause a stir in the rookeries.”

“If he whispered a prayer in the rookeries last night, it would be common knowledge by dawn, and if it were a juicy bit of gossip,

sooner.” Renquist shook his head. “It is beyond me how guarded they are with outsiders, yet how ready they are to gossip among

themselves. Well, I should have more information in a few days. Perhaps even the name of your...admirer at Vauxhall. I will send you

a note when I have something to tell you.”

Pray it would be soon. Very soon.

Before that horrid man found her again.