Page 147 of Oddity of the Ton
She shook her head. “I cannot. I spoke the truth when I said Sir Leonard wouldn’t tell me where she is.”
“Is therenowhereyou can think of?” Monty asked. “Anywhere she might have visited as a child? Sir Leonard referred to somewhere she used to love, filled with dreams and memories.”
Lady Marlow paused, and for a moment, Monty thought she might throw him out. Then Marlow took her hand.
“Lavinia, my love—don’t you recall the pain we suffered when we were parted once? You said you could bear our being apart if you knew I was happy—but my suffering was, to you, as a knife to your heart, because you loved me.”
She sighed, and her expression softened.
“Whitcombe, do you love my friend?” she asked.
“With all my heart,” Monty replied.
“Do you accept that if you harm her in any way, then you should expect to lose your balls if you come within ten feet of me ever again?”
“If I harm my Eleanor, you can not only have my balls, but my head.”
At length, she nodded. Then she crossed the floor to a bureau, drew out a piece of paper, and began to write.
“I’m afraid you’ll have a task on your hands,” she said. “Eleanor told me her family traveled extensively when she was young. Brighton, Wells—she has a beautiful sketch of thecathedral—Sandcombe, York—even as far north as Arbroath. Peregrine—can you think of anywhere else?”
“Didn’t Miss Howard mention visiting France? Or Italy?”
“The family spent some time in Rome when Eleanor was much younger—before Juliette was born, I believe.”
“Sounds like an impossible quest,” Marlow said.
“But it must be done,” Monty replied.
“Count yourself lucky Sir Leonard never took the family with him to the Far East,” Lady Marlow said, continuing to write. “I believe he sailed there several times.”
She continued to scribble names, then handed the paper over.
“Will you visit them all?”
“I’ll begin my quest tomorrow,” Monty replied.
“Then go, with my blessing.”
“Thank you.” Pocketing the paper, Monty bowed, took Lady Marlow’s hand—the same hand that had struck him earlier—and brushed his lips against her skin.
“I shall use this wisely,” he said. “And rest assured, I’ll not do anything to make Eleanor unhappy.”
The footman opened the doors, and Monty stepped out into the street.
“Your Grace.”
Monty stopped and turned. “Yes, Lady Marlow?”
“If you find Eleanor—what if she rejects you?”
“Then,” he said, “my punishment will be complete.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sandcombe, Lincolnshire, March 1816
The parlor atthe inn—the Dancing Sailor, or some such—was quieter than he’d expected. A lone gentleman, consuming a plate of eggs with enthusiasm, sat near the fireplace, and a couple with a young woman were engaged in conversation at a table by the window. The rest of the tables were unoccupied.
