“Indeed,” Ida murmured.
The waiter brought their food, which looked delicious. Ida proceeded to cut her lamb.
“I don’t understand,” Mr. St. John said. He sounded truly baffled. “Why on earth would anyone wish to harm you, Miss Strong?”
“Perhaps because she’s close to proving her father’s innocence and someone else’s guilt,” Simon suggested. “The other night’s attack is not the only one she’s had to suffer.”
“Heavens,” Mr. St. John said with wide-eyed dismay. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Simon inclined his head. “All that matters now is for us to figure out who might have issued the order.”
“Of course.” Mr. St. John gave his own attention to his plate. “How can I be of service?”
“I was wondering if any of your investors or board members might have been well enough acquainted with Princhet to know he’d be willing to do something like this.”
“You clearly suspect a high ranking individual.” Mr. St. John held Simon’s gaze for a long moment before he finally said, “I might have seen the Marquess of Kirksdale conversing with him on a couple of occasions. The Earl of Elmwood and Mr. Nugent too, now I think of it.”
Ida sighed. “All three of them? You’re sure about this?”
“Princhet knew a great deal about weaponry. He liked to talk and the three men were keen to listen.”
“And would you be willing to testify to this in court?” Simon asked.
“It won’t help in a legal argument,” Ida told Simon, “unless there’s additional information suggesting one of these men hired Princhet to kill me.”
“I know,” Simon told her gently, “but it does help establish a connection which may prove useful along with the rest of the evidence.” He turned to Mr. St. John. “Well?”
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Mr. St. John assured him.
“In that case,” Simon said with a smile, “we’d like to know how much each of these men have invested in your company.”
Mr. St. John’s mouth fell open. He looked at them each in turn while Ida held her breath. “I can’t share that with you. It’s not done.”
“One of these men deserves to hang for what he did. Are you saying you want to protect him?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Good.” Simon straightened himself in his chair. “I’ll have my secretary pick up the records later today. All right?”
Mr. St. John puffed out a breath. “Very well. If it will help see justice served.”
Ida gave her attention back to her lamb. There was something too orderly about this entire conversation – something that didn’t feel right, from Mr. St. John’s coincidental mention of the exact same men she and Simon suspected, to his willingness to help with a situation that could prove disastrous for him as a business man.
“I don’t like him,” she told Simon once they’d left The Red Rose and were walking back to Bedford Street, “and I don’t think we should trust him.”
“Hmm,” Simon muttered. “Do you want to have him investigated?”
“I’m thinking it might be a good idea to do so. After all, we know next to nothing about him.”
“Agreed. I’m just not sure how to go about it without him finding out.”
She bit her lip. “Guthrie is already looking into the Shadwell Gun Works’ employees for us, so I think we should ask him to help with this as well.”
“I don’t know,” Simon hedged. “If Mr. St. John gets wind of it, he won’t want to help us anymore.”
“Guthrie is well connected and discreet,” Ida pressed. “He’ll get the answers we’re looking for without Mr. St. John being any the wiser.”
Simon was quiet for a brief moment before he finally said, “All right. Let’s reach out to him and see what he says.”
“Thank you. It’s possible there’s no cause for alarm, but there was something about the entire encounter with Mr. St. John that felt slightly off.” They reached the front door and entered the townhouse. Ida removed her gloves and bonnet and set them aside on the entryway table. “Shall I ask Miranda to prepare some tea?”
“Please do. I’ll wait for you in the parlor.”
Ida went in search of the maid. She was glad Simon had listened to her. Many men would have dismissed a woman’s opinion on such matters – especially if it was based on nothing more than a feeling and lacked hard facts. But not Simon. And Ida loved him all the more for it.
It was a little after seven in the morning. After spending a restless night in the bedroom across the hall from where Ida slept, Simon had finally forged a plan to win her back. Of course, there was every chance it might not work, but he prayed it would. Either way, he needed to move, needed to rid himself of the anxious emotions crashing through him by submitting to some brisk exercise.
So here he was, tearing across the far end of Hyde Park with one of his favorite stallions. He’d saddled the horse himself with swift movements. Today was not the sort of day where he had the patience to wait for others. He dug his heels into the muscular flank and gave himself up to the thrill of the ride until he was worn out. Yesterday, after sending a message to Windham House, they’d received a response from Guthrie. He’d already started looking into Mr. St. John based on the testimonies he’d gotten from some of the Shadwell workers.
Simon still wasn’t sure what to make of the munitions manufacturer. He’d provided the records Simon had asked for, proving once more that Elliot had the most to gain if the army suddenly placed a large order for weapons. And yet, Simon had to admit Ida had a good point about Mr. St. John. He’d seemed too agreeable, too easily convinced to hand over the information. Or maybe Simon was simply looking for someone else to take the blame. After all, Mr. St. John wasn’t one of the men Ida’s father had named while Elliot was.
“I want to host a dinner party tonight,” Simon informed Winthorp when he returned home for a bath and a change of clothes. His shirt was pasted to his back and he probably reeked of exertion. “It is imperative Lady Warwick and her husband are there along with the Duke and Duchess of Huntley and the Duke and Duchess of Windham. Additionally, I want to invite the Marquess and Marchioness of Kirksdale along with the Earl and Countess of Elmwood, and my uncle – he ought to be back on his feet by now. Do you think that can be arranged?”
“It’s very short notice, my lord,” Winthorp said, “I cannot guarantee they will all be able to come.”
“Of course. The Warwicks and my uncle are the most important guests, so please make sure they are invited first. If you believe an incentive is necessary, just tell them I wish to confide in them my plans for the future before I make the information public.”
Winthorp smiled. “The promise of knowing something before anyone else will certainly appeal to Lady Warwick, my lord. I’ll get started on it right away.
Thanking him, Simon exited his study and went to enjoy his bath.
There was no denying that things had changed between them after the arguments they’d had. Ida had hoped the strain it had brought to their relationship would ease within a day or two, but it hadn’t. She no longer felt as though she and Simon were on equal footing but rather like they were standing on opposite corners of the same street. For the tenth time that day, she thought of addressing the issue, then changed her mind once more. What was the point? Her position would not change. Discussing it further was unlikely to help. But there was one thing worth mentioning.
“I’m extremely grateful to you for all you have done to help clear my father’s name.” She feared she might not have a chance to tell him later. Once the case was resolved, she would want to leave him as quickly as possible. She’d not want to linger in order to exchange pleasantries with a man she loved but could not have. Walking away from him would be the hardest thing in the world. “Had it not been for you, I never would have gained access to Elmwood, Kirksdale, or your uncle. The information we were able to find at the Mayfair Chronicle would not have been m
ade available, and I’d not have realized the connection between the three men and the Shadwell Gun Works. Or if I had, it would have taken a lot longer. I might even have gotten killed without you there to protect me.”
His eyebrows dipped together in the middle as he frowned. “Let’s not forget that without me you would have remained safe at Amourette’s until you received the funds allowing you to leave the country and start over somewhere else.”
“And the real villain would have gone unpunished.” She sipped her tea then met his gaze. “I’m glad you forced me back on this path. I’m also glad to have known you.”
He stared at her until she could stand it no more, and she gave her attention back to her teacup.
“I’m hosting a dinner party this evening at Fielding House, and I would like for you to be there.”
Her eyes snapped back to his. “What?”
“In fact, your attendance is imperative.”
The intensity with which he watched her caused her stomach to do a series of cartwheels while her heart fluttered. It was unnerving, this effect he had on her. She wished it would go away since it only made her want to be closer to him, to kiss him and to imagine everything would be all right in the end.
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” If anything, it would only make it easier for her to pretend they still had a future together – that she hadn’t said no to everything he was able to offer.
“Please, Ida. I need you to do this for me – this one favor in exchange for everything else.”
His words cut straight through her. How could she refuse after all the clothes he’d bought her, the house he’d allowed her to use as her own, the help he’d provided? “All right.”
A smile caught the edge of his mouth. “Good.”
Even though he remained where he was, perfectly still, there was no denying the fire that burned in his eyes. Ida sucked in a breath as hot little embers danced over her skin. Oh, how she wished he would pull her into his arms and kiss her right now. She wanted nothing more than to drown in every caress he was willing to give her, and to tell him without words how much she yearned for him, no matter how foolish it might be.
A knock at the door made her flinch. Realizing she’d inadvertently moved toward Simon, she leaned back and made a point of not looking straight at him. “Come in!”
Miranda entered. “A message just arrived for you, my lord.” She handed the note to Simon and left.
“It’s from my secretary, Winthorp,” Simon told her as he scanned the lines. “He says there’s a man waiting to see me – a messenger has responded to our advertisement in the paper. I have to go.”
“Will you be back once you’ve spoken with him?”
“I’m afraid I won’t have time.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “There’s another matter I need to attend to once I’ve finished speaking with the messenger.”
“Of course.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I will see you this evening then.”
“Yes. If you can be ready by six, I’ll have my carriage pick you up then.”
Looking much like a man torn between the desire to stay and the need to go, Simon left without further comment. Ida glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was only a little after two. There was still plenty of time for her to get ready.
With this in mind she resumed her seat on the sofa and topped up her tea before gathering up her knitting. Hopefully, the messenger waiting for Simon would be the right one. She glanced at the clock again. Four hours felt like a very long time to wait before she would find out more.
Chapter Eighteen
Deerford opened the front door for Simon when he returned home. “You ought to know that your uncle is here as well. Arrived ten minutes ago. He’s currently waiting for you in the parlor.”
Simon instinctively glanced toward the formal receiving room. He hadn’t expected his uncle to call on him first. He removed his gloves and handed them to Deerford along with his hat. “And the courier?”
“Has turned into couriers since Winthorp dispatched his note to you. I’ve shown the three men to the benches outside your study since I presume you will want to interview them each individually?”
“Quite right. Thank you.” Simon glanced around the corner to his left and saw the men waiting. He gave his attention back to Deerford. “Please serve some refreshments for my uncle and tell him I’ll meet with him soon.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And Deerford?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Do you know if Winthorp was able to ensure the attendance of the required guests for this evening’s dinner?”
“I do not know, my lord, since he has not yet returned. As I understand it, he decided to deliver each invitation personally.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Deerford.” Simon turned into the hallway and strode toward the candidates who awaited him. Once he was done, he’d have to face his uncle. Given Mr. St. John’s revelation regarding Princhet along with Elliot’s sizeable investment in the Shadwell Gun Works, Simon knew he had to question him at greater length and try to uncover the extent of his possible involvement.
Reaching the couriers, Simon gave them each a quick glance. That was all it took for him to be sure the man he sought was not among them. They weren’t the right age or height and none had the scar Murdoch had described.
Still, they might be acquainted with the man Simon was after, and they had stopped by to apply for the position he’d advertised, so he decided it was only fair of him to speak with them each in turn.
As he’d expected, he learned nothing new, so he thanked them all for their time, told them he’d get in touch if he needed them, and went to find his uncle. The man was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace when Simon entered the parlor. And he did not look the least bit pleased.
Simon frowned until he was sure his expression was just as stark as the man he faced. He’d not really considered how to pry the information he needed out of him, but he had hoped an amicable conversation over tea and biscuits would provide the opportunity he required.
That did not appear to be the case, however.
Nevertheless, Simon decided to make an attempt at cordiality. “I trust you’ve received the invitation to dinner this evening?”
“I did.”
“And will you attend?”
“Look at me, Simon. I need a cane now in order to stand, never mind walk,” Elliot grated, not answering the question.
“It’s not even been a full week since you were shot, so that’s hardly surprising,” Simon said. “Care for some tea?”
“No.” Elliot crossed his arms. “What I want is for you to explain why you’re still involved with that woman.”
Simon’s jaw clamped shut. His muscles tightened and his heart hardened. “As I’ve told you before, my relationship with Miss Strong is none of your concern.”
“She almost killed me, so forgive me if I disagree.” Red-faced, Elliot spoke with cutting force.
“Do not exaggerate the situation,” Simon seethed. “All she did was defend herself when you, a man she has every reason to treat with caution, posed a threat.”
“She. Shot. Me.”
“Yes. In the leg. Because she hoped to stop you, not kill you. Had she wanted you dead, you would not be standing here right now speaking with me.”
Elliot glared at him. “Good God, Simon, open your eyes.”
“I have, which is why I’ve decided to marry her.”
Elliot’s mouth fell open. He closed it, but it just fell open once more while he seemed to struggle for words. By the time he did speak, his face was almost purple.
“Are you mad? Miss Strong has already had a damaging effect on your reputation and you wish to marry her? My God, Simon. Your continued association with her since the Huntley ball has not placed you in a positive light. People are talking, asking questions, forming opinions.” Elliot narrowed his gaze. “I know she su
spects Kirksdale, Elmwood, and myself of playing a part in her father’s arrest. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let her besmirch my good name in her foolish attempt to prove it.”
Simon stilled. Blood rushed through his veins. His limbs had gone rigid. The air felt too thick to breathe. “How do you know the details of her investigation?”
“Besides the note I received from a friend informing me of her recent actions while I’ve been recuperating, I had her investigated as soon as I learned of her involvement with you. Seemed a little too perfect for my liking – the unknown daughter of a traitor I once called a friend suddenly gaining access to me and the other prominent men her father once knew. Wasn’t hard to piece together once I learned of your meeting with Captain Murdoch and your search for the forger who crafted the seals.”
Simon tried to stay calm. “Elliot, if you had a hand in Matthew’s conviction, you need to tell me right now.”
Elliot crossed the floor until he was so close Simon could see the black flint in his eyes. “Matthew Strong was a traitor who deserved to hang for the crime he committed.”
“I knew him just as well as you, perhaps better. He saved my life when I was in Spain. Hell, I wouldn’t be alive right now if it hadn’t been for him. He was a good man.”
“He was ambitious, determined to be remembered. Matthew wanted another war, Simon. He made no secret of that, and if you don’t stop his daughter from trying to prove the opposite, I will have no choice but to interfere.”
“Perhaps you’ve already tried,” Simon snapped. “Where were you four years ago when Matthew Strong sought your help?”
“Away,” Elliot spat, “at my estate, begging the Lord to spare Sarah’s life.”
Simon sucked in a breath. How could he have forgotten? Elliot had left his wife’s sickbed so he could attend Parliament but had returned when he’d received news of her worsening condition. Unfortunately, Sarah hadn’t gotten better. She’d died one week later, which meant his uncle’s absence from Town during Matthew’s trial was a mere coincidence. Perhaps the same could be said of Elmwood and Kirksdale.
The Formidable Earl Page 23
