A Conspiracy in Belgravia (Lady Sherlock #2)

Please forgive me for not putting pen to paper sooner.

I encountered ladies Avery and Somersby on Sunday near the Round Pond. As it so happened, Lady Ingram walked by with her children. Her presence made it easy to pose questions about her. The ladies confirmed that indeed, they had heard rumors that before her debut, she had at one point hoped to marry an unsuitable young man.

Which made me sad for everyone involved.

And now for news you were probably not expecting. After Lady Ingram had left the scene and the gossip ladies moved on to greener pastures, a gentleman came up to me and asked if he could speak with me. He then proceeded to introduce himself as Mr. Myron Finch, our illegitimate half brother.

Two days later I still have not found the words to describe my stupefaction. I do not believe his approach was called for. No self-invitation on his part could ever be called for.

Yet I cannot fault his reason for taking this extraordinary step. Apparently, one of Papa’s solicitors had called on Mr. Finch some days ago, when he had been out of town on holiday. It was his understanding, from speaking to his landlady, that the lawyer had not wished to leave a message, as he had come on a private matter of some delicacy.

“I gathered,” said Mr. Finch, “that the visit had been in regard to Miss Charlotte—whether she had sought my help in her exile.”

“You know about her?” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

“I do. Unfortunately, I have not heard from her at all. I hope she is well.”

“We all hope so,” I told him.

“If you can convey a message to her, please let her know that she is welcome to call at any time. And any assistance that I can render her, I will be more than glad to offer.”

With that, he bade me good day and departed. The encounter shook me. I am shaken still. But at least now there is one more avenue of possibilities for you, Charlotte.

Love,

Livia

P.S. Mr. Finch has taken rooms at Mrs. Woods’s residential hotel for gentlemen, on Fountain Lane.

P.P.S. Mrs. Montrose’s ball is tonight. After that, only Lord and Lady Ingram’s ball to go before we leave London. I have had more than enough of the Season, but I do not know how I shall bear eight months without you.



Livia sat at the edge of a group of other wallflowers, hating everything about the evening.

Everything about her life.

She had somehow managed to pen the letter she owed to Charlotte. But what purgatory, having to set down the events of that calamitous day, her skin scalding with mortification, her stomach contorting in nausea and disgust.

Her own brother! She had fallen in love with her own brother. And the worst thing was, whenever she thought of him, before the tsunami of dismay crested, she still felt that same sense of hope and excitement.

Which only made everything twice as repugnant.

“Miss Holmes? Miss Olivia Holmes?”

A young woman with a pretty, amiable face stood before Livia.

“Y-yes?” said Livia uncertainly.

“Of course it is you. How good to see you again! Do let us find somewhere quieter to talk—so unspeakably loud in here, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for Livia to respond, the young woman took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Livia, disoriented but not wanting to make a scene, let the young woman link their arms together and lead her away from the other wallflowers.

The young woman leaned in close. “I’m a messenger from Miss Charlotte. She needs to see you. Will you come outside with me?”

Alarm trilled through Livia. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. But she has questions for you after receiving your letter,” answered the young woman. “And I’m Penelope Redmayne, by the way, Mrs. Watson’s niece.”

“R-right. Enchanted.”

Livia could only hope that her unrequited and—Dear God!—incestuous love for Mr. Finch didn’t somehow announce itself loud and clear in the letter. It was terrifying, at times, to have a sister like Charlotte.

The streets outside Mrs. Montrose’s house were crowded with carriages. They walked some distance before reaching the one that contained Charlotte.

“I’ll be quick—we must get you back before Mamma notices that you are missing,” said Charlotte, once Livia had taken a seat.

Lady Holmes was an inconsistent chaperone. Sometimes she was far too concerned with her own amusement to keep an eye on her daughters. Other times, perhaps to expiate her guilt, she watched them like a hawk. Tonight she seemed awake enough, so there was no telling which kind of chaperone she would turn out to be.

“You said you were near the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens when you met Lady Avery and Lady Somersby. Where exactly were you with regard to the Round Pond?”

What did that have to do with anything? “On the east side.”

“Where the pond meets that grassy avenue?”

“Yes.” The grassy avenue extended all the way to the Long Water, the man-made lake that was half in Kensington Gardens and half in Hyde Park.

“Which way did you stand?”

“Facing the water, of course.”

“And where did Lady Ingram come from?”

“South of us. The children’s governess was carrying a toy boat, so probably they had been playing with it in the pond earlier.”

“Which direction were they headed?”

“To the avenue—to go home, I suppose.”

“And Mr. Finch, in your letter you said he approached you after the gossip ladies left. Was Lady Ingram gone from the scene by then?”

“Yes.”

“So he didn’t see them?”

Charlotte’s questions confused Livia, but she gave her sister the benefit of the doubt. “He’d already seated himself on a bench near mine as Lady Avery and Lady Somersby made their approach. Since he’d meant to speak to me, no doubt he saw them. I can’t be sure whether he saw Lady Ingram, but men usually tend not to miss a beautiful woman in their vicinity.”

Charlotte was silent for a moment. “Miss Redmayne, will you light the pocket lantern?”

A match scratched. The sharp tang of sulfur assaulted Livia’s nostrils. The lit pocket lantern was oriented so that its light fell on an open notebook in Charlotte’s lap.

She drew an oval, which was the actual shape of the Round Pond. “So here you are at its eastern edge. Where is the bench Mr. Finch took?”

Livia put her finger where she estimated the spot to be. “Ten paces away.”

“On the north side of the pond, facing south?”

“Yes.”

“You are sure?”

Livia nodded. Unfortunately, she knew exactly where he had been sitting.

“And you said Lady Ingram, her children, and their governess were coming from the south?”

“Yes.”

Miss Redmayne made a small, sharp sound, as if she’d sucked in an abrupt breath.

“How did Lady Ingram look, by the way, when you saw her?”

Livia shrugged. “How she usually appears these days. Beautiful and rather aloof, I’d say.”

“She didn’t look weary or unhappy or . . . surprised?”

“Not that it was apparent.”

“Did she see you?”

“She nodded at us. Very regally.”

“And how closely did she pass by you?”