A Study in Scoundrels Page 5

  “Oh.” Sophia tugged at the bell pull. “I think this definitely calls for tea.” After taking her chair again, she waited. She’d read enough mystery novels to know that most people wished to tell their truth, and waiting patiently was often all the encouragement they needed to confess their tales.

  “Many have no wish to hire an unmarried lady, so it was a simple fiction to call myself a widow.” Swallowing again, as if she’d taken a huge bite of bread and needed a bit of tea to wash it down, she added, “Not that lying comes easily. I’m generally an honest woman.” She let out a gusty sigh. “Doesn’t make much difference to tell you as much when confessing a fib, does it? The truth is that I have been working since I was fourteen and never had time for suitors. Those who did show an interest weren’t worth my while.” She sighed again, but this time it sounded a good deal like relief. “Now you know I’m both a spinster and a liar.”

  “Please don’t fret. Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Cole. I know what it is to be a spinster, and I understand why a woman would say she’s not.”

  “Oh, I never meant to imply you’re a spinster, Miss Ruthven.”

  “But I am.” The moment Sophia spoke the words, far louder than she intended, a maid entered the room with a tea tray.

  All of them fell into an awkward silence while the girl, one of the gigglers who’d been so affected by the sight of Jasper Grey, unloaded her tray on the table between them, bobbed a curtsy, and departed.

  “That’s part of why I asked about your husband,” Sophia confessed. “I was hoping for your thoughts on matrimony. I’m considering it, you see.”

  “Are you, indeed?” For the first time since sitting down, Mrs. Cole relaxed a bit, letting her shoulders round, easing the ramrod straightness of her back. “Well, what did you tell all of the other gentlemen who’ve asked you?”

  Sophia swallowed her first sip of tea and frowned. “What other gentlemen?”

  “The other men you refused. Must have been dozens who’ve asked for your hand.”

  “None.” Sophia took a second swig of strong black China tea and gulped too quickly, burning her tongue. “I’ve never been asked, nor have I truly had any suitors.”

  “Truly?” Miss Cole pressed her lips together and tipped her head. “I would have expected a bevy of men like the one out front to be nipping at your heels.”

  “Mr. Grey isn’t pursuing me,” Sophia quickly corrected. Heaven forbid anyone imagine she’d allow such a disreputable man to court her. Despite the forward-thinking changes she, Ophelia, and Clary had made to The New Ruthven Rules for Young Ladies, she couldn’t shake the long influence of her father. He’d insisted that she, of all her siblings, must maintain the upstanding reputation he expected of his children. Since Kit and Clary had grown into irrepressible rebels, Father declared her his only hope for carrying on the respectability of the Ruthven name.

  She’d often wished she was less reliable, less prone to propriety, with as much liberty as her siblings. Now that Father was gone, she had her freedom. Marriage to an honorable man, she hoped, wouldn’t put an end to her newfound independence entirely.

  “But you said you’re considering matrimony, so I take it you’re not sure of the gentleman who is pursuing you.” Mrs. Cole was as perceptive as she was efficient at managing the staff.

  Sophia stood and approached her desk. She retrieved the small rectangle of paper she’d clipped from the newspaper and handed Ogilvy’s ad to Mrs. Cole.

  “Oh, miss. You found a man in the newspaper? Is that not dangerous?” Judging by the look on the housekeeper’s face, she certainly thought so.

  “Is it?” Sophia retrieved the clipping and wondered for the hundredth time if she’d been a fool to answer. “I haven’t met him yet. I’ve decided we should correspond for a while first.”

  “But will he be patient?” Mrs. Cole sipped her tea and shot Sophia a dubious look over the cup’s rim. “Seems to me that a man who seeks a wife in the newspaper isn’t one who’s prepared to let courtship take a leisurely course.”

  Glancing at her desk and the overturned photograph of Mr. Ogilvy, she couldn’t disagree about the man’s impatience. And that wouldn’t do at all. Patience, which she often lacked herself, was a characteristic Sophia craved in a spouse. Somehow, she’d always imagined an ideal marriage would be one in which a husband and wife improved each other, filling in the qualities the other lacked.

  “Perhaps you should meet the gentleman,” Mrs. Cole said softly, as if still uncertain whether to offer her opinion. “Might be the quickest way to determine whether you fancy him, Miss Ruthven. Or ever could.”

  The truth was, Sophia craved another woman’s perspective, even more so now that she knew Catherine Cole shared her lot as a spinster. “If you’re going to advise me on such delicate matters, I think you should call me Sophia. May I call you Catherine? At least when we’re speaking privately?”

  “Of course you may. But you might as well call me Cate. Only my father called me Catherine, and he shouted the name more often than not.”

  “Cate,” Sophia started, liking the simple strength of the name. “Must it always boil down to looking upon someone and deciding on that basis alone whether he will suit?” After Derringham, she didn’t trust her judgement on that score. “Shouldn’t I choose a husband based on more than whether I like his face enough to wake up to it every morning of my life?”

  “No, of course, it’s right to want a good man. One who’s clever and honorable and kind.” Cate let out a low chuckle. “Though they say a pretty face can cover a multitude of sins.”

  “Then I might as well choose Mr. Grey,” Sophia teased.

  Cate spluttered a mouthful of tea and retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket. As she dabbed at her bodice, her mouth curved in a mischievous grin. “Now isn’t that a thought?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Hunch. Hint. Premonition. An echo in one’s bones. Call it what you will, an investigator’s instincts are her greatest asset when pursuing a clue.”

  —CASEBOOK OF EUPHEMIA BREEDLOVE, LADY DETECTIVE

  The worst part of playing investigator was revisiting memories and acquaintances he’d been happy to leave behind years ago. Grey dreaded every clash with the four men named on Becca’s list, and so far, the first three confrontations had proven to be pointless ventures down rabbit trails that led no closer to finding Liddy.

  Now there was one more name to cross off: Clive Holden.

  The last time he’d seen Sir Clive, they’d been classmates at university and the man hadn’t yet inherited his father’s baronetcy. They’d been arrogant bucks, full of far too much bravado and very little good sense. Their adventures usually included an excess of drink, which inevitably lead to a round of fisticuffs, ending in bruises, blood, and a draw. He would have been content to avoid Clive for the rest of his days.

  Now, looking back, his chief memory of Clive was how amusing the rogue had found Liddy’s childish infatuation with him.

  “Right this way, sir.” A maid finally retrieved Grey from the parlor, where he’d been waiting for what felt like an hour, and led him into a brightly lit drawing room. The morning light burned his chalk-dry eyes. He’d managed only a few hours of restless sleep before rising early, bathing, and stumbling his way through dressing and shaving.

  Somehow, in the madness of his multiday birthday celebration, the remnants of which still littered his townhouse, he’d misplaced his valet.

  “Lord Winship!”

  Grey spun at the sound of a youthful female voice. “Cecily?”

  Clive’s sister was still as plump and pretty as she’d been as a young girl, and it immediately struck him that Liddy might have come to the Holden’s Cavendish Square townhouse to visit a childhood friend, rather than the young man she’d fancied as a girl.

  “What a surprise to see you after all these years.” Cecily rushed forward and offered her hand in a familiar way. “My goodness, you’re just as I remember. I’m sorry, but Clive isn�
��t at home. The maid should have told you.”

  “Is he returning soon?” Grey had initially planned to speak to his old schoolmate alone, but now he saw the advantage of a moment with Cecily to inquire about Liddy’s recent visits.

  “I’m afraid not. He’s visiting our uncle in Hampstead before departing on a seaside holiday.” She studied him as she spoke, taking in his disheveled clothes and haphazard shave, no doubt drawing semi-scandalous conclusions about what he’d been up to. “Won’t you at least stay for a cup of tea? We must catch up after so many years.”

  “How can I resist?” He only hoped he could keep the liquid down. The alcohol and laudanum had worn off, but he hadn’t eaten more than dry toast since Becca’s visit.

  “Wonderful!” She bounced on her toes and clapped her hands, letting out a giggle that made his chest pinch at how much it reminded him of his sister. “Too bad you didn’t bring Liddy with you. We’ve had such amusing times while she’s been in London. I hope she’s not indisposed today.”

  “She is, I’m afraid,” he said, to stem more questions, “but I’ll be sure to tell her you asked after her.” He took a spot on the settee across from where she’d seated herself and swallowed down the bile that rushed up his throat. Lying to acquaintances, he was learning, came far less easily than a performance on stage.

  “And I’ll be sure to tell Clive of your visit too.”

  “You were practically in leading strings the last time I saw you, Miss Holden.”

  “Nonsense. I was at least twelve.” The tea arrived just as her cheeks began to bloom in a fearsome blush.

  The girl had professed a crush on him years before, just about the time Liddy, who was a couple of years older than Cecily, had developed a soft spot for Clive Holden. Girlish fancies had once seemed as plentiful and easy to ignore as dandelion fluff blowing across one of Longcross’s fields.

  “Back then, Liddy took quite a liking to Clive, didn’t she?” Now he wondered if her affections had turned to something more during the handful of days she’d spent in London.

  “Did she?” Cecily poured tea for both of them, averting her eyes. Whatever the girl’s fate, she had no future on the stage.

  The tea tasted minty and eased into his belly with a soothing warmth. He waited until she’d taken her first sip and looked a bit less anxious. He wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He’d confronted every other gentleman on Becca’s list directly. Now he needed to find a way to discover the truth from Cecily obliquely.

  “What sorts of amusements have you and Liddy got up to in the last couple of weeks?”

  Her eyes ballooned and she waved at him in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, the usual sort. A bit of shopping and a few rides in the park.”

  “Liddy is afraid of horses.” After one bolted during a childhood lesson, she’d refused to give the beasts a second chance.

  “Is she? Clive gave her a few lessons, and she’s become quite a horsewoman.”

  “In ten days?” Holden must have been awfully persuasive. “Did he take her out alone?”

  “Never.” Cecily shook her head so emphatically that a blonde curl came loose from her coiffure and bobbed across her forehead. “The three of us went riding together,” she insisted as she swiped at the strand. “Ask Liddy. She’ll tell you so herself.”

  Grey smiled to reassure her. “I will.” If only he could. He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask his little sister.

  “Biscuit?” Her lip trembled as she offered him a digestive from a piled plate. There was more—perhaps much more—the young lady wasn’t telling him.

  Grey reached for a biscuit and swept his fingers across the edge of Cecily’s hand. When she gasped, he offered her a practiced smile. “Thank you, Cecily.”

  Rather than take a treat herself, she gnawed at her index finger awhile and finally blurted, “They went riding together without me. But only a handful of times.”

  “When?” Grey cast the plate aside and edged forward on the settee. “Where is Clive now?”

  “I told you, Lord Winship. He’s gone to Hampstead.” She flicked a stray hair from her cheek and crossed an arm across her belly, hugging herself, as if she preferred to keep her secrets. “Liddy hasn’t done anything wrong. I promise you that.” A look of real fear came into her dark eyes. “Has she said something to the contrary?”

  A buzz of anticipation set off a humming in his ears. He sensed that whatever Cecily Holden knew might lead him to Liddy.

  “Cecily, please. I promise you won’t cause Liddy any trouble.” Moving to kneel in front of her chair, Grey made sure he held her gaze. He let his walls down for a moment, tried to let her see the worry in his heart. “But I need you to tell me everything.”

  “I have a list of sights to see, and we’ll send you a postcard from each one,” Ophelia promised as she clasped Sophia in a warm embrace for the second time. “But you must enjoy London while we’re gone. Take in a play or visit a museum. Don’t spend too much time indoors, and don’t work yourself to the bone decorating this house.”

  Sophia chuckled and gave her sister-in-law’s hands a squeeze. “You needn’t fret about me, Phee. You and Kit have only to worry about enjoying yourselves. Come back with wonderful stories to tell.”

  “You know we will,” Kit assured, leaning forward to place a kiss on Sophia’s cheek while wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders to maneuver her out the front door.

  The carriage had arrived to deliver them to the train station fifteen minutes earlier, but Ophelia was finding it difficult to depart. She was an inveterate worrier. At moments like these, Sophia remembered that her sister-in-law had helped raise her younger sister, Juliet, and, when the day arrived, that she’d make a wonderful mother.

  Finally, they stepped onto the pavement, and Sophia followed behind, carrying a hat and gloves Ophelia had forgotten and a satchel they’d packed with reading material for the journey.

  After watching their carriage roll away and waving until the vehicle was out of sight, Sophia drew her letter to Mr. Ogilvy out of her pocket.

  “I can have a maid deliver it for you, miss,” Catherine Cole called from the front step.

  “Don’t trouble yourself.” The morning air was crisp and fresh, and now that Kit and Ophelia had departed, Sophia craved a bit of the outdoors before returning to the house that would feel so much emptier without them. “It’s a short walk.”

  There were only a few ladies and gentleman in Bloomsbury Square this morning, so no one noticed Sophia’s hesitation. A few strides forward and she slowed as doubts filled her mind. Despite his request, she’d included no photograph for Mr. Ogilvy. Would he tolerate a slow courtship or wish to rush matrimony, as Cate suggested? Perhaps it was dangerous to meet a man from the newspaper. He could represent himself as anyone, designing his character and personality to suit her preferences. As someone who wrote fiction, she understood how easy it was to create a character out of whole cloth.

  “Miss Ruthven?” A lady’s voice emerged from a carriage slowing near the pavement. A moment later, a gloved hand waved through the open window, and the coachman pulled the horses to a stop. Lady Vivian emerged in a smart turquoise blue traveling suit, a warm smile curving her lips. “I’m glad to see you looking so well. Our housekeeper said you took a bad turn yesterday. We all missed the treat of hearing you read from your book.”

  “I’m much better now, thank you, Lady Vivian.” Sophia prayed her cheeks weren’t flaming and giving her away, but she was grateful for a chance to make amends. Ruthven Publishing sales were still struggling, and new titles, like the revamped New Ruthven Rules for Young Ladies, needed all the support they could muster. “I hope you’ll forgive my hasty departure. Perhaps we can schedule another reading.”

  “Of course. In fact, I was planning on being impertinent and calling on you this morning, Miss Ruthven.” She strode forward and reached out to pat Sophia’s arm. “I wish to apologize.”

  “There’s no need, my lady. I am the one who left w
ithout an explanation.”

  “You were ill. Goodness knows the megrims strike me at the most inconvenient times.” Lady Vivian pressed two fingers to her forehead as if reliving the pain of her last headache. “As it turned out, you were lucky to depart early. My brother returned home unexpectedly, and we had an eventful visit from Lord Winship.”

  “Lord Winship?” The name Lord Westby had called Mr. Grey. The role, he said, that he did not wish to play.

  “An old friend of my brother’s.” Lady Vivian leaned forward and looked over each shoulder before whispering, “He’s an actor now and an utter rogue. Quite scandalous. There was a time when my mother wouldn’t even let my brother and me speak his name.”

  Rogue? Scandalous? Mr. Grey? Imagine that. Sophia had no difficulty ascribing every sort of sin to the man. Yet sins had been ascribed to Lady Vivian’s brother too. The noblewoman had to know of his reputation. He was a scandal-rag darling, and based on his behavior while alone with Sophia in his study, she believed every scurrilous word she’d ever read about the man.

  “You should meet Winship’s sister, Miss Ruthven. Phyllida is a great proponent of women’s independence, and I know she’d love your book.” The lady stuck a finger in the air and then tapped her bottom lip. “I know what I shall do. Would you fancy a dinner party? They’re much more fun than afternoon teas, and we’ll make sure to keep my brother and his friends away. Ladies only. I’ll expand the invitation list to include Winship’s sister and her friend, Miss Holden.”

  Apparently Lord Westby had kept his word and mentioned nothing of Lady Phyllida’s disappearance. But how would Mr. Grey—or Lord Winship, if that was his name—ever keep his sister’s disappearance a secret when her friends would keenly feel her absence from social engagements? Sophia still suspected one of them might know precisely what had caused her to slip from her family’s oversight in the first place.

  “I’ll look forward to meeting them both.”

  “Why not now?” The young lady turned back and waved her hand in the air toward the coachman. “The Holdens are just off Berkeley Square. I was planning to pay a visit this afternoon, but we can have the carriage take us now.”