“So the damned Jacobites can escape if the Watch arrives. Mother Fleming should really have one of those.”
“There are plenty of underground passages in the city. Most created by rivers and the like.” Darius wrinkled his nose. “I’d have to be desperate to escape that way, though.” He touched the velvet of his sleeve. “And I would never do it in this coat. It’s by far my favorite. I thought the government was ignoring the Jacobites and their worthless plans?” He had reason to know that, having been involved in hunting a few down in his time.
His lordship shrugged. “It is, for the most part. Merely keeping a watch on them.”
It occurred to Darius that he knew someone who had recently become involved in tracking Jacobites. “Is General Court still involved?”
His friend sniggered. “In a way. We like to keep him busy. Looking in the other direction, for the most part. The man is a liability. He wouldn’t know subtlety if it walked up and introduced itself to him.”
The comment made Darius laugh aloud. A few people stared at him and tutted. He ignored them. “In what ways are you keeping him busy?”
“Pointing his nose in the wrong direction.” Morgan heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, he insists on occasion. Even more occasionally, he is of signal use. He gave good service in the field, you know. Sadly, a man who can lead troops into battle is not always the right person to choose for diplomatic work.”
“Ah, yes.” Darius worked hard at not appearing too eager.
“He has been hard at work compiling lists that in my opinion should not be gathered in the same place. Recently, however, he has become a touch more discreet. Before, I swear, he would have them on his desk for anyone to read. Someone reprimanded him, I believe.” He brushed a speck of dust from his heavily embroidered sleeve. “I do believe that bee is staring at me.”
Darius had not noticed the bee, zipping from flower to flower, stilled forever on the sleeve of the cerulean blue coat. “It does appear a somewhat malevolent beast. You could have it removed. Or maybe altered a little.”
“The fabric is too delicate to rip out a bee.” His lordship sniffed. “But I will have its eyes put out.”
The casual comment made Darius wince. Despite his effete appearance, Lord Morgan was capable of the deepest ruthlessness. At one time, a younger Lord Darius Shaw idolized him. Subsequent discoveries had made him more wary, such as the way his lordship kept his wife immured in the country, permanently pregnant, it seemed. Nobody had seen her for years.
“General Court had some dealings with my brother-in-law.”
Lord Morgan paused. “Ah, yes. Lord St. Just.”
Impressed, Darius nodded. He was one of six children, but after barely stopping to think, his lordship had recalled which of Darius’s three sisters was married and who was her husband. “The very same.”
“I recall something about him.” He glanced into Darius’s eyes, his own twinkling.
He knew very well, or at least he thought he did. But Dominic’s deepest secret was buried deep. It had better be, for the sake of everyone in this country. Dominic in particular.
“He spends all his time dragging Claudia out of another predicament.” Thinking of his wayward sister, Darius smiled. “He wouldn’t have it any differently.”
His lordship placed his hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes. “Ah, love! Spare me from that. It seems to disrupt a comfortable, ordered life.” He glanced up. “Speaking of love, that young man I saw you with. The one who acted as your brother’s counsel. The rumor is that you are being seen with him rather frequently.”
Perhaps Darius should not have rapped out “What rumor?” quite so sharply, but the words were out before he had thought them through. “Who is talking?”
“Most people.” Morgan raised a brow. “So it’s true. Love?”
Darius regained his composure and clicked his brain into working properly. The huge family portrait facing them seemed sinister, everyone staring at him, waiting for his answer. That painting was a miracle, people said, one of the wonders of London. At the moment Darius would have happily set fire to it. “Not at all.” He tried to keep his mood as cool as he needed. “Business. It is true, I’m meeting the man, but for more lucrative purposes.”
“I wondered.” Morgan glanced at the offending bee on his sleeve. “You are always so discreet, my lord, that to see something as blatant as that print came as a surprise, to say the least. Business, you say?”
Darius thought rapidly. “Yes, but I am not yet prepared to say what. I found the man astute and talented. He could prove very useful to the little venture I am running along with my brother and cousin. Rarely does one discover a truly underused talent.” That sounded damned plausible. He tucked the thought away, to be considered another time. He leaned closer. “Since my family discovered him, I needed to move fast. He has considerable talent and some truly innovative ideas.”
“He’s that good?”
“I believe so.”
“Tell me more.”
Putting the lie to his preferred appearance of extravagant wastrel, Morgan was astute and perceptive. Since the man could bring Andrew much business if he had a mind to it, Darius was only too glad to discuss his merits as a lawyer. If Andrew lost business from the narrow-minded people who currently employed him, Darius was determined he would find better prospects elsewhere.
Moving smoothly on, Darius wasted time discussing topics he had little interest in but made a point of talking about, like that damned soprano they were discussing at dinner. After a completely fruitless discussion about who she would take as her new lover, in which he could drop so many names Morgan would probably forget they’d even mentioned General Court, he passed on to the next person at the ball. He dropped his thoughts into their ears, discovering a few snippets that disturbed him in the process.
He went home shortly after midnight, enlightened, but committed to pursue what he had discovered.
“Of course I cannot discuss any particulars about a client the bank may or may not have,” Miss Childers said.
The Miss Childers, bank owner, presented an entirely different picture to the one in full dress, the society hostess. Darius preferred this one. She wore a simple gown of dark green cloth, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the chill of the late October day. Her golden hair was drawn neatly back and fastened into a knot at the back of her head, and she wore no paint or powder. A linen protector covered the lace ruffles at her elbow, holding them clear of the ink and paper on her desk. The desk itself bore the signs of hard use, ink stains, scratches, and grooves marring the surface of the old, well-loved piece.
“I understand that,” he said softly, “but a mutual acquaintance of ours could be in danger.”
She leaned back, putting her pen in the stand and giving him her full attention. “Let us have a hypothetical case.”
“I suspect one of your clients may be a traitor to this country.”