Page 49 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
The man’s face lit up. “Yes, indeed, I did. Although that one nearly drew itself, so amusing it was to see the pair of you, feet dragging on the ground while the ponies trotted on and you sang so loudly—and so badly.” He shook his head. “Ah, that one sold so many copies,” he said with fond remembrance. “I also did the one of you last summer, with your friend Sterne, chasing a stone crocodile across London.”
“Oh. I must have missed that one.” He folded his arms. “Perhaps we might work out a bargain.”
“Would that we could,” the man said mournfully.
“We know you have information on Perette.”
Laspar shook his head. “I don’t.”
Chester moved closer, his large form further blocking the light.
“I cannot,” the man whispered.
“No one would know we heard anything from you,” Whiddon assured him. “You have our word on it, as gentlemen.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, sir.”
“We would make it worth your while.” He held up a gold guinea.
Laspar thought about it. “Would you give me exclusive access to the next prank the pair of you put together?”
“No.” Whiddon nodded his head toward the man’s rooms. “But if you have copies of the broadsheets you’ve done of me, I will sign them. They will fetch a decent price from certain collectors.”
The man looked tempted.
“You won’t even need to do anything with them, straightaway. Save them. Put them back against a time when your sales run dry. Or when I make a bigger fool of myself,” he said wryly.
Laspar narrowed his eyes. “And you will not say you heard anything from me?”
“We will not.”
The artist scrambled from his seat. “Wait here. I’ll find the copies.”
Whiddon shared a glance with Chester as the man disappeared. Chester leaned in to examine the illustration on the easel. “He’s not that good, is he?”
“He’s no Cruikshank, but that one has pledged not to mock the King, further.” He shrugged. “If he knows something . . .”
Laspar emerged with a fistful of papers and a well of black ink.
“I’ll sign two each,” Whiddon told him. “The scarcer they are, the more valuable they will be.”
Laspar nodded and watched avidly while Whiddon affixed his signature. He looked nervous gain, though, when Whiddon held the papers up. “Tell us,” he reminded the man.
The older man looked around furtively. “Look to Perry Brothers Printing and Engraving,” he said, his voice low. “Ask for Perry. Go early, while he is in a good mood. And remember—you heard nothing from me.”
Whiddon gave him the papers and a nod of thanks. The man stood and watched them go. He raised a hand as they passed back out onto the street.
“This one sounds as if he might be a challenge,” Chester ventured as they made their way to where the carriage waited.
“Go early,” Whiddon mused. “That’s what he said. I suppose we’d be foolish not to listen.”
“Yes. It’s growing late. I should get home, in any case. I told Julia I would be home for dinner.”
“I’ll drop you off, then.”
“And we’ll meet for breakfast, tomorrow, and head out together?”
Whiddon agreed. He scowled once his friend climbed out in front of his home. In the old days they would have gone to a chop house for a meal before heading out to make a night of it. He thought about searching out Tensford, but he likely had plans, too, and he would question him about why he wasn’t at home with his new wife.
