Page 48 of Scandal of the Season

“Good Lord, Ellie!” exclaimed Rowena, who was waiting for her in the foyer. “Your boots are likely wet through. What in heaven’s name were you doing lingering out there?”

“Saying good-bye to Sir Yarborough.”

Rowena’s brow shot up at her sour tone. “Go and get out of those wet things at once,” she ordered softly. “And then you can tell me everything over a hot pot of tea.”

It felt so good to be warm and dry that it was hard to imagine venturing out again into the chill air, but Sorin was determined not to delay. There were preparations to make that he hadn’t been able to see to while in Somerset, and there were certain people he needed to speak with as well.

Happy was the chance that had made him look back at Eleanor. Had he not, he wouldn’t have seen Yarborough still sniffing about. Considering the conflict between Eleanor and Lady Yarborough, he’d thought that perhaps the fellow had decided to leave off pursuit. Not so, apparently.

It wasn’t that the blackguard represented any sort of romantic threat—Eleanor could hardly stand the fellow—but rather the trouble he might stir up that worried Sorin. Yarborough was up to something, and whatever it was it couldn’t be good for Eleanor.

Rising, he called for his valet to bring his other boots and ready the light carriage. Rain or not, some things simply couldn’t wait. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly. His mother came in just as he was preparing to leave.

“I take it you’re going to see Stafford?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” he said, frowning. “Lord, woman. Were you not my own mother, I’d swear you were a Gypsy fortune-teller. One day, I’ll have to figure out how you do that.”

A thin smile was her only acknowledgement of the

compliment. “It was merely a logical assumption on my part. You’re suspicious of Yarborough. Stafford possesses the means to confirm those suspicions or lay them to rest. You being the decisive person that you are, I would not have expected you to wait a moment longer than necessary to seek out his services.”

“I could just be going out for an evening’s entertainment, you know.”

“On your first night in London after a six-day journey and in this biblical downpour?” she scoffed. “And with that look on your face? You look like you’re either going to attend a funeral or planning to cause one.”

“Stafford should hire you,” Sorin grumbled good-naturedly. “I think I’ll just tell him to come ’round with some of his cold cases and let you have a peek. You’d probably solve the lot of them over tea.”

“What nonsense,” she replied, but her expression was smug. “I myself began to seriously wonder about Yarborough when you told me of his reluctance to pay his bill that first night. And then there was that whole ‘Irish land sale’ business Eleanor told me about. He brags and makes a show of prosperity, but begrudges an innkeeper a measly crown. Something is not right.”

It was uncanny how similar they were in nature. “I know it. But John will ferret out the truth,” he assured her, pulling on his gloves.

“And what will you tell her?”

“Eleanor?” he asked. “Hardly necessary to let her in on it, I should think. I might tell Charles, though. Just so he can keep an eye on her when I’m not around.”

Her mouth thinned. “Yes, well tell him to be sure that Rowena goes with Eleanor’s little redheaded friend whenever she visits them so as to prevent her becoming a source of information. I would not put it past that pair to attempt extortion.” Moving to the chair he’d vacated, she sat with an indelicate grunt and stretched her feet out before the fire.

The trip had taken a heavy toll on her joints, Sorin knew. He was thankful they’d arrived before this cold snap had fully settled in. He’d stop by the apothecary along the way and bring back something to ease her discomfort. “Rowena will want to throttle me if she finds out I’m interfering, you know.”

“If it prevents a disaster, I’m sure she won’t mind. If you’re going, you had better do so now before it grows too late in the day,” she said, waving him off and closing her eyes. “Wait,” she said suddenly, opening them again.

“Yes?”

“On your way out, have Jacobson bring up some of that cognac I know he’s hidden away, will you? Quietly.”

He fought back a grin. “Of course, Mother.” The liquor was probably far better than any apothecary’s tonic. As a rule, ladies weren’t supposed to drink hard liquor, but when her joints pained her his mother was apt to bend the rules a bit. At least she would sleep peacefully and pain-free tonight. With a short bow, he departed.

“Take me to Bow Street, George,” he told the driver, a man who’d been in his family’s employ since early boyhood. A man he could trust to keep quiet. Boarding the carriage, he sat back and rapped twice on the roof, signaling his readiness to depart. He could have sent for John to come and see him tomorrow, but he didn’t want the household servants getting wind of such a visit. There were no secrets in London—or at least they were damnably hard to keep. Better that everyone think him off to Covent Garden for a bit of fun.

The streets weren’t very congested. A good portion of London’s population preferred to remain indoors when it rained like this, but even so it took him a bit longer to get to Bow Street than he’d have liked. It didn’t matter. John’s door was always open, whether at the office or at home.

An hour later, the two of them were talking over a pint at the Dove and Duck. John had agreed to put eyes on Yarborough, and they’d moved on to more pleasant matters.

“So you’re on the market this year,” said John, lifting his glass. “Good. About time you put on the shackles. My sister would want you to be happy.”

Sorin knew the time for mourning Jane was long past, but the mention of her name still elicited a pang of sadness. Her death had extinguished the light in his world for so long—but not anymore. His spirits rose at the thought of Eleanor. “I’ve not been completely unhappy. I’ve travelled the world and come home a far richer man than when I left, and I have a great many friends.”

“It’s not the same as having a family.” John’s knowing eyes watched him over the rim of his glass as he took another swallow. “Believe me, I know. I waited far too long to do it, myself. Should have done it ten years ago rather than waiting until this old pate started showing through,” he said with a laugh as he reached up to pat his thinning hair. “Still, my Winnie never seems to mind, bless her. She says I’m still of some use.”

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