Page 82 of When the Viscount Seduces
Shefford cocked his head and studied him intently. “You are surprisingly relaxed. What’s going on? Did you learn something new?”
“I have, in fact.” Though, the primary reason behind Lazarus’s not-horrible mood was due to Gwen. “But before I get to that, I will share that as of this afternoon, I am betrothed. I’m afraid you’ve lost another friend to the dreaded parson’s trap.”
Jaw dropping, Shefford paled. “You can’t be marrying Miss Worsley? That makes no sense.”
“God, no! I am wedding Miss Gwendolen Price. I hope her brother won’t find that awkward.”
Shefford sat back in his chair, his shoulders dipping. He almost looked defeated. “Ifind it awkward. But not because of Miss Price. She’s lovely.”
“She is, and I love her beyond measure.”
“I confess I am shocked. I didn’t think that would happen to you.”
“Why not?” Lazarus asked, genuinely curious.
“You never seemed interested in that,” Shefford said with a faint shrug.
“It isn’t that I wasn’t interested, I just wasn’t looking for it, I suppose.” Lazarus contemplated why for a moment and realized it was because until he’d met Gwen, he hadn’t been completely himself. Not even with his friends. He’d opened himself up to her about things he kept secret, and by doing so, he’d apparently made himself vulnerable. He smiled.
“You look disgustingly happy.”
Lazarus laughed. “Quite. But let me tell you the other reason I am feeling relieved. Gwen was with her friends earlier, and Jo had the most interesting piece of information.”
“Jo is part of their set now?” Shefford asked.
“I’m not sure, but she was there.”
“That is baffling.” Shefford gave his head a shake. “I can’t imagine how they even know each other.”
“My fault,” Lazarus said. Becky approached their table, bringing them their usual ale. She exchanged a few pleasantries, but didn’t linger.
Shefford took a long draught before fixing on Lazarus once more. “How is it your fault?”
“Jo arranged for me to attend a literary salon, and I brought Gwen. They met and became acquainted.”
“You took Miss Price to a salon…How?”
“Er, it involved a disguise. She wanted to attend a literary salon, and I wanted to make her happy.”
Shefford blew out a breath. “Youarein love. What is this compelling piece of information that Jo possesses?”
“As it happens, Miss Worsley was in love with her dancing master last fall. His services were terminated, and he was paid not to speak of it. And we know this dancing master is at least somewhat of a libertine because he was employed by Gwen’s mother for a short period recently, and he made unwanted advances on Gwen.” Lazarus still wanted to beat the man.
Shefford stared at him. “How have you not hunted him down yet?”
“Jo said she would seek to confirm whether Tremblay—that’s the dancing master—is the child’s father.” Lazarus paused, mulling Shefford’s question. “You make an excellent point, however. Perhaps we should go find him now.”
“We fucking well should,” Shefford said, taking another pull on his ale.
Lazarus couldn’t wait to interrogate the man. And plant him a facer. Perhaps not in that order. He took a drink from his tankard before rising from the table.
However, he didn’t move toward the door, because Jo had just walked in. He waved at her, and her gaze fixed on him. Nodding, she came straight for their table, the dark skirts of her walking dress flowing as she moved with swift purpose.
“Josephine, is there anything you don’t know?” Shefford, who’d also stood, asked with a crooked smile.
“Plenty, but I can usually find out.” She returned his smile, but hers was slightly mischievous. She sat at the table. Lazarus and Shefford retook their chairs.
“You spoke with Tremblay?” Lazarus asked.
