A Most Discreet Inquiry (The Regent Mysteries Book 2)

by Cheryl Bolen

  “We have strong reason to believe Mr. Prufoy was followed to the Cock & Stalk public house by men who intended to kill him,” Jack said.

  Mrs. Hale's mouth gaped open, and her eyes filled with tears. “Who would ever want a kindly man like him to be dead?”

  Jack shrugged. “We think perhaps he was killed for some papers that might have been in his possession.”

  She nodded. “I remember him telling me he had important papers to take to an important man.”

  “Did he perchance mention Lord Castlereagh?” Jack asked.

  She shook her head. “To tell ye the truth, I don't remember the man's name. I might know it if I 'eard it, and I do remember it being a lord. I'd have remembered if it was Lord Castlereagh, though, because I know he's the Foreign Secretary.”

  “Did Mr. Prufoy tell you what was in the papers?” Jack asked.

  “Not really. He said his Major—you know my Eli was batman to Major Styles—was killed in battle, and that before he died, he told Eli to deliver the important papers to some Lord Something.”

  Daphne's heartbeat stampeded. There had been a list! And it had made it back to England!

  But now it had fallen into the wrong hands, and it was imperative they get it back.

  “Did your Mr. Prufoy ever mention being in possession of love letters written to Major Styles from a woman other than his wife?”

  She nodded. “He returned the rest of the major's things to his widow but me Eli didn't 'av the 'eart to let her see those letters. Me Eli could be very discreet. He told me the love letters were written by some mighty duchess, but Eli was too much the gentleman to name 'er even to me.”

  “Then I doubt a gentleman like that would ever consider trying to blackmail that mighty duchess?” Daphne mumbled.

  “Ye can be assured that Eli wouldn't do nothing illegal like that! Why, he was such a fine man, he wouldn't even move in with me here when I begged 'im to. Said it wouldn't be proper fer me children to see that.” She looked up at Daphne, her eyes misting. “I know what ye must be thinking. Why didn't he marry me? Well, the truth is, I ain't at liberty to marry because me 'usband, who abandoned me and the young ones, is still alive though I 'aven't seen 'im in more than six years.”

  The poor woman. “I'm so terribly sorry over your loss,” Daphne said. “Mr. Prufoy must have been a wonderful man.”

  “Aye, he was that.”

  “And I'm sorry that we had to disturb you so late in the night,” Jack added, “but it's very important. If you should ever remember the lord's name, please come to us. I will write down our direction.” His gaze flicked to Daphne.

  “Oh, dearest, I have the cards I had printed with our new address.” She reached into her reticule, extracted one from her mother-of-pearl case, and handed it to Mrs. Hale as she also tucked a guinea into the woman's hand.

  * * *

  They trudged six blocks from Mrs. Hale's to their waiting carriage. She did not want to admit to Jack how weary she was as she nearly collapsed into the carriage. Ever since she had been so dreadfully ill on the ship—good lord, could that have been this same day?—he'd been prodigiously worried about her.

  It had certainly been an eventful day since they'd departed the HMS Avalon early that morning nearly four and twenty hours ago. No wonder she was so fatigued.

  The streets were not so crowded at this time of morning. Their carriage whisked over to Dryden House in just a few minutes.

  “I must show you your wedding present,” she told Jack when they entered their house. “It's located in your bedchamber.”

  They lit a candle and began to mount the stairs. On the top storey, she led him down the corridor to the last room, his bedchamber. It was swathed in red velvet. “I know it's not easy to see at night.” She moved to the chimneypiece and held up the candle to illuminate the portrait of Warrior.

  “By Jove! It's my horse!” An appreciative smile on his face, he strolled up to the painting. “This is my wedding present?”

  She nodded.

  “There is nothing that you could have given me that I would have preferred to this—except, of course, your own likeness. I never thought I'd ever be able to afford to have a fine artist like this paint Warrior—and I must tell you, I've often thought of it.” He moved to put his arm around her. “Before you, he was my most prized possession.”

  “Do you really think I hired an expensive artist to paint him?”

  “Of course. Look at the realistic quality of the painting.”

  She could not repress her smile. “Thank you for saying so. I thought it was my best work ever.”

  “You did not paint this!”

  “Indeed I did!”

  “I had no notion you were possessed of such talent.”

  She shrugged. “As I said, it is my best effort. Ever.”

  He took the candle from her hands, set it upon the chimneypiece, and drew her into his arms. They kissed tenderly. And as the tenderness turned more passionate, she could hardly contain her excitement. Trembling, she drew back and regarded him. “This is our true wedding night, my dearest love. I must go tidy up.”

  His hand gently caressed her face. “I suppose you'll want to put on a frilly night shift?”

  “Oh course! I have been saving an exceedingly expensive one for our wedding night.”

  “And you'll probably douse yourself with spear mint.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Very well. I need to build a fire anyway. I don't want you taking a chill in your already weakened state.”

  She lit his candle, then went to her bedchamber, which was located next to his. Under Cornelia's guidance, this chamber had been decorated in sky blue and white.

  Sitting before her dressing table, she brushed out her bushy head of hair, lamenting that it could not be soft and pretty. For once, she also lamented she had no lady's maid. She would have liked a warm bath. At least the chambermaid had seen to it water was in her basin so she could properly wash.

  After brushing out her hair, she began to remove her clothing, then she scrubbed her face first and washed herself all the way to her toes. A good dousing with spear mint left her with a nice, clean scent. She did not admire the heavy floral scents her sisters favored.

  Her last act was to put on the practically indecent night shift Cornelia had told her was the very thing to ignite Jack's passions.

  She had refrained from telling Cornelia that she was able to ignite Jack's passions without any artifice.

  Once she had donned the gown, she peered at herself in the looking glass under the soft light of her candle. How she wished she were a beauty. Sadly, that was not the case.

  Fortunately, Jack loved her just the way she was.

  Her pulse began to roar in anticipation of what would happen next. She was about to become Jack's wife in every way. Drawing in her breath and picking up the candlestick, she left her room and returned to her husband's.

  She eased open the door and softly padded into the chamber. The fire in the hearth of his bedchamber bathed the room in a buttery glow.

  Then she heard the unmistakable sound of his heavy, even breathing. Her husband had fallen asleep!

  She could not blame him. They had been awake for the past four and twenty hours. She climbed on top his tall tester bed and burrowed herself beneath the coverings, and she, too, quickly fell into a deep slumber.

  Chapter 9

  The first thing Daphne saw when she awakened the next day was the heavy crimson velvet curtain around the bed. Her husband's bed. The memory that she was in Jack's bed was rather like a bolt of lightning for the way it made her come fully awake. She peered beside her but only saw the crumpled linen where he had lain. Where was her husband? Was she to be rewarded with a glimpse of her Captain Sublime getting clothed?

  She sprang up in the bed, her gaze sweeping over the chamber which was now filled with bright sunlight, and their fire had gone cold. Jack was not there. The footed clock on the chimneypiece read four o'clock. It could
not be four in the afternoon! In her entire life, Daphne had never slept until four in the afternoon. She leapt from the bed.

  Then she saw it. Propped on his desk was a sheet of velum. She crossed the room and picked it up. It was a note from her husband.

  My dearest, I waited for some time for you to come awake, but you slept so soundly I did not want to wake you. Yesterday was a physically taxing day, especially on one who'd so recently been so sick. You needed your rest in order to get back your strength.

  I have gone to give a report on our progress to Lord Castlereagh. Since learning that there was a list, I have renewed hope we shall find it.

  Yours, J.

  His note left her inordinately sad. Perhaps it wasn't the note. She could not deny that she was disappointed their marriage had yet to be consummated. She could not deny that she was disappointed he hadn't even seen her in her indecent night shift. Nor could she deny that she was disappointed she had been deprived of the sight of her Captain Sublime undressing. He was such a magnificent creature!

  Dejected, she returned to her own bedchamber, removed her indecent night shift and carefully folded it for another night, then she quickly dressed. While Jack was out of pocket would be a very good time for her to set in motion a little plan of her own—one she did not want Jack apprised of.

  It wasn't that she was deliberately hiding something from him. It was just that she did not want to offend him in any way. And this little plan she'd thought of on the carriage ride home the previous evening/morning would be better executed without Jack's knowledge.

  She hurried from the house and after walking a few blocks was able to hire a hackney. She instructed the driver to take her to Whitehall. Her papa would have apoplexy if he knew his daughter was riding through London in a rented hack, but only one other person ever need know what she was doing this afternoon.

  As she drove to where the seat of British government was located, she thought of her sister Virginia's husband, Sir Ronald. He was just the one to help her, but they both would have to be most discreet. Neither Virginia nor Jack could ever learn that Daphne was sharing her information with Sir Ronald.

  There was the fact Sir Ronald Johnson was completely trustworthy. He was an undersecretary in Lord Castlereagh's office, and most men in government felt sure he would succeed Castlereagh as Foreign Secretary when that man was elevated to prime minister, which no one doubted would eventually happen.

  Sir Ronald was nearly as handsome as Jack, but in Daphne's opinion fell quite short of her husband. The two men were both tall, and now that she thought about it, she realized they were built remarkably alike.

  Unlike her Jack, though, Sir Ronald hailed from an old, well-to-do English family. He'd gone to the best schools and belonged to the best clubs.

  Which is exactly why Daphne needed him and exactly why Jack could not know she needed Sir Ronald.

  The trick was to keep Jack from seeing her, since he, too, was in Whitehall, and he was actually meeting with the only man (besides the king or Regent) who Sir Ronald must answer to. While her hackney coach was crossing the Capital's busy streets at a sound clip, she managed to—not without badly staining her gloves with ink—jot a note for Sir Ronald.

  When they arrived at the building where the Foreign Office was located, she instructed her driver to deliver the note to Sir Ronald Johnson. The vague note merely asked that the baronet meet her in front of the building, telling him that she would await him within a hackney coach.

  A few minutes later, puzzlement clouding his face, Sir Ronald threw open the door of Daphne's conveyance. “Lady Daphne? How can I be of assistance to you? Are you quite all right?”

  “Yes, I am. Perfectly all right. Please, my dear man, do get in the carriage with me.”

  He regarded her from beneath lowered brows as he climbed in. “When did you return from Spain?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Astonishingly hasty trip.” He folded his long legs into the coach, taking a seat across from her, his brows still lowered.

  “Indeed, it was.”

  “And where is Captain Dryden?”

  “Actually, I believe he's in the building you've just left. He needed to speak with Lord Castlereagh. I particularly did not wish for him to see me speaking with you.”

  “Pray, my lady, why?”

  “You'll understand, I think, when I tell you why I needed to speak with you.” She drew a fortifying breath. “First I need to impart some things to you that must never be acknowledged to anyone. One of them has to do with the security of England, the other with the good name of your wife's twin.”

  His eyes rounded.

  “Allow me to tell you of the threat to England first. You may or may not be aware of the fact my husband is working with your superior, Lord Castlereagh, regarding a matter of espionage.”

  “I am privy to some of that information, yes. You must understand I am not at liberty to discuss these matters with you or anyone.”

  “This afternoon my husband will have informed the Foreign Secretary that we were able to determine that Captain Heffington did, indeed, pass on the list, and it has been traced to London.” She told him everything she and Jack had discovered on the previous night. “So, you see, we are almost certain the unfortunate Mr. Prufoy was slain by someone who must have gotten that list. The exciting thing to us is that the murderer may not know the significance of the list—that is, if his aim was to get the letters with which to blackmail.”

  “A fine piece of deductive work you and the captain have done, but you must enlighten me about the blackmail.”

  “Actually, I was getting to that. I would like you to do a bit of deduction for us.”

  He gave her a quizzing look. “Anything you ask, my lady.”

  “Since you are so very well acquainted with men of the ton, I thought you would be the very person to help us learn what man has suddenly come into a large sum of money. I believe he's a man of fashion who was a bit down on his luck but has suddenly become flush with funds.”

  “I'm afraid you've rather lost me. Why is the man with the list suddenly flush with money? Have you knowledge he's sold it to the French?”

  “No.” She gathered her thoughts a moment before proceeding. “That's the other clandestine matter, the other thing you must never repeat.”

  “What is?” He looked bewildered.

  “The man who possesses the list is also in possession of love letters that belonged to Major Styles at the time of his death.”

  He nodded, and his eyes lighted with recognition. “I see now. These letters must have been written by my wife's twin.”

  “Precisely. And Cornelia specifically did not want Virginia to know of their existence.”

  “Because my dear wife does not approve of infidelity.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I must also deduce that my wife's twin has been paying exorbitant sums to a blackmailer who holds these letters?”

  “You are brilliant!”

  “Therefore you wish for me to frequently patronize the clubs to which I belong, keeping my eyes and ears open to learn if a fellow member has recently come into money.”

  “That is exactly what I wish!”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Now I understand why you did not want your captain to know about our meeting.”

  She nodded. “He belongs to no clubs, nor does he desire to. It all comes down to that disparity in our stations that seems to bother him.” She paused a moment. “As to the business with Cornelia's letters, I beg that you never mention them to Virginia. Cornelia most especially did not want her to know. And I don't suppose I need to stress to you that my husband is not to know this meeting between us took place?”

  * * *

  As Jack left his very satisfactory meeting with Lord Castlereagh, he could not purge from his mind the vision of his wife lying beside him, in his bed, that morning. He had allowed himself to stare at her bare flesh until he became uncommonly heated. Where in the devil had she
found so indecent a night shift? The duchess must have had a hand in selecting the skimpy piece of fragile lace.

  This was one time he did not object to the duchess's interference.

  He thought he had never seen anything lovelier than his bride with the mellow morning sun bathing her fair slenderness. Her extraordinarily thick hair fanned across the pillows, and her night shift offered him a tantalizing glimpse of her little breasts, which made it most difficult for him to allow her to continue sleeping.

  But when he remembered how wretchedly sick she had been on the ship, he knew there was no power on earth that would allow him to awaken her. She needed to regain her good health—though she was loathe to admit to even the least infirmity.

  Late that afternoon, as he was skipping down the steps from the Foreign Office to the Strand, he got a glimpse of Sir Ronald. It was no surprise seeing his brother-in-law at the Foreign Office. He was, after all, undersecretary to Lord Castlereagh. What was surprising, though, was the fact his wealthy kinsmen would be entering a common hackney coach.

  As he watched Sir Ronald, Jack got a glimpse of the woman in the hack. A woman who was not Sir Ronald's wife. A woman with wildly aggressive golden-brownish curls. A woman who looked suspiciously like Jack's very own wife.

  What in the devil would Daphne be doing in a hack? And why in the devil would she be so clandestinely meeting with Sir Ronald?

  * * *

  Despite his conviction that it had been his wife in the hackney coach secretly meeting with Sir Ronald, Jack had allowed himself to hope he had been wrong. But when he saw Daphne returning to their home in the rented hack a half hour later, his stomach plummeted.

  He swung open the front door to greet her with a scowl. “I did not know Lady Daphne patronized hackneys.”

  Lifting her skirts, she raced up the front steps and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “But, my darling, you had taken off in our carriage—which reminds me, don't you think we should perhaps hire it for another day?”