Page 122 of From Rakes to Riches

“And why do you think that?” Theodore asked, shaking his head at the twists and turns of the conversation.

“Lady Margaret desired a grand event and Viscount Sidmouth expected a sizable dowry,” Timmons explained, his face pinching with displeasure. “I’m sorry to say…”

“Out with it, Timmons.” Theodore’s patience was worn thin.

“Yes. Right.” Timmons took a deep breath. “I overhead Lord Fremont meeting with his solicitor in his bedchamber one afternoon. I was in the dressing room polishing his Hessians and I suppose his lordship forgot I was there. Anyway, I tried not to listen, but I was otherwise trapped and once the meeting was underway, I couldn’t show myself without both of them knowing I’d already heard part of their conversation.”

“It’s all right, Timmons,” Theodore reassured the valet. “Fremont would never have thought ill of you.”

“Yes. Thank you for saying so, my lord.” Timmons straightened in his chair. “But what I heard exchanged between the two men is the troubling part, I’m afraid.”

Theodore waited, the tip of his boot tapping a fast beat on the wooden floorboards.

“Lord Fremont was selling off his belongings. Personal items and family heirlooms. He referred to a ruby cravat pin and pair of silver candlesticks while talking to his solicitor. Later that day when I checked, the cravat pin was gone from his jewel box and the candlesticks were no longer atop the chiffonier in the hall. I began to walk through the house and take notice of every detail and that’s when I realized other items were gone too. A trio of oil paintings from the guest bedroom, a prized collection of rare coins kept on display, and an imported porcelain vase from the mantel in the sitting room. Little by little, items were disappearing.”

“I can see why you grew concerned and you were correct in your assumption,” Theodore said. “I’ve learned Fremont wasindeed troubled by monetary issues. Thank you for sharing what you’d experienced.”

“I wish I knew more and could be of more help.”

“You may still be,” Theodore continued. “Do you know if Fremont kept a journal? It’s my hope that, if he did, he may have written a detailed accounting of what was happening and therefore help Bow Street and myself piece all these scraps of information together.”

“Oh yes.” Timmons smiled for the first time during their meeting. “Lord Fremont was always one for writing. He kept a leather-bound journal and wrote in it daily. There were times when he’d fall asleep over it and I’d have to wake him gently, the ink pot still in hand.”

“That is excellent, Timmons.” A jolt of adrenaline shot through Theodore and he stood up, anxious to hear more. “Where did Fremont keep his journal? I’ve already been through his bedchambers and haven’t seen anything like it.”

“Oh, that is troubling,” Timmons said, his expression falling back into despair. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that question.”

“Of course, I understand. A journal is a highly personal item.” Theodore paced a few steps before he turned back to Timmons. “Thank you. You’ve brought a greater understanding to this situation. If by chance you remember anything else, please send me a message.”

“I will do that, my lord.” Timmons stood and they made their way toward the door.

“I hope your mother continues to improve and you enjoy your retirement here in Ipswich,” Theodore said before he departed, the valet’s information as troubling as it was helpful.

Theodore rode his horse to the lodging house, anxious to send Margaret a message and travel back to London. He’d neglected his initial intention to ask at the club about ViscountSidmouth and he wondered now how much Margaret was keeping from him considering every conversation he’d had with her revealed new facts.

Pertinent facts.

Yet she wasn’t the only one to blame. He’d become distracted by Lola. Lost in her kisses when he should have been seeking answers to questions. Nevertheless, he couldn’t regret the time spent with her or how anxious he was to see her again. Even though he’d left London, she’d stayed with him.

He was still in the middle of this thought when he entered the lodging house and nearly collided with the loquacious innkeeper.

“You mentioned you’ve lived in Ipswich your whole life, didn’t you?” Theodore asked, sparing a minute to pursue another subject altogether.

“Yes. Since I was a lad.” The innkeeper nodded proudly. “That’s too many years to count.”

“I have a friend who grew up here. Her name is Miss York. By chance do you know her family?”

“Miss York,” the innkeeper repeated, his entire pate furrowed in thought. “No, I’m afraid I don’t recall the name. How curious. I pride myself on being the town historian. It’s not often that I don’t recognize one of the families who has lived here.”

“Never mind. I didn’t mean to trouble you.” Theodore was too eager to write and send his note to Margaret to be caught in another long conversation with the man. “I’ll ask Lola about it the next time we speak.”

“Did you say her name is Lola York?” The innkeeper asked, his expression curious. “I don’t know anyone with the surname York, but I do know of a beautiful young woman named Lola. Long dark hair and eyes that dare you to blink. Such a shame what occurred. So much sadness. I’m sure her family would begreatly relieved to hear from her again if events turned in that direction.”

Theodore waited, but this time the innkeeper fell silent.

“What happened?” He’d expected the man to forge ahead with a long, detailed narrative.

“Are you acquainted with His Grace, the Duke of Leinster?”

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