Page 28 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

“You should not be wandering around a place such as this on your own without even a duenna to accompany you,” he said shortly. “This is not a ton ballroom or Almack’s. Your patroness is not so caring in my opinion. What’s her game, Miss Bromley? Are you sure it’s a noble one? Think on it if you will.”

With a brief bow, he left her.

Letty looked after him until he was swallowed up by the crowd. Then she hurried back to Arietta. Might whatever Cartwright was up to have some connection to Arietta’s husband? It seemed unlikely when Kendall had been gone for over a year. Cartwright’s criticism of Arietta might be justified, but until there was proof, she had to remain loyal to Arietta, after all she had done for her. No one could mistake the despair Arietta suffered concerning her husband’s unfair treatment, which drove her to uncover the truth. And Letty was firmly committed to aiding her in any way she could.

Arietta waited outside the cottage tent. “Come and have a cup of tea,” she said. “And tell me what you’ve discovered.”

The tent was filled with patrons partaking of tea and the delicious selection of cakes, the air sweetly scented with lemon, honey, and spices. “There is nothing to tell. Cartwright is here to watch a friend’s horse race.”

“Oh? Well, no matter. There’s always next time. Would you care for cake or a strawberry tart?”

Letty followed her to a vacant table with Cartwright’s foreboding message ringing in her ears.

Pretty Miss Bromley reminded him of early spring snowdrops. Fresh and new and filled with promise. He rather wished she didn’t. She was bound to be hurt if she continued in this vein. And he seemed powerless to stop her, without approaching Lady Arietta directly, which would be unwise when he wasn’t sure what that lady’s motive was.

It appeared that Miss Bromley’s loyalty to her knew no bounds. He doubted even his bald suggestion that she was attempting to snare him failed to deter her. She merely raised her chin at him and went on her merry way. Was this how they raised girls in Cumbria? It was his policy to avoid debutantes. If one for some unknown reason cast out a lure for him, he was always careful to distance himself without bruising their tender sensibilities. Miss Bromley was nothing like them, she cast no lures, and it appeared that she didn’t bruise quite so easily.

He took out his pocket watch. Replacing it in his waistcoat pocket, he returned to the men’s convenience, his intention disrupted by Miss Bromley’s appearance. When he emerged again ten minutes later, he was dressed in a groom’s garb. He entered the area where owners, trainers, grooms, and stable hands milled around the rows of horse stalls. The gentlemen he sought stood in front of the stall allocated to Dancer, Lord Elford’s thoroughbred, which had just raced.

Brandon tugged his hat down and found a pitchfork in the empty stall next to theirs. Working swiftly, he ducked his head, breathing in the strong odors of horse manure, urine, and dusty straw, as he transferred hay to a corner where he could better hear their conversation.

“Do you know how the journal came into Lavalette’s possession?” Elford asked.

“Not conclusively. After Waterloo, I asked for it to be sent to me for safe keeping, as our arrangement was at an end, because I feared it might fall into the wrong hands,” Fraughton said in a pained voice. “I inquired after it failed to arrive. Couldn’t get a definitive answer. Napoleon’s man Bouvier assured me it was sent in a diplomatic bag. I finally concluded the only one who could have accessed it was Lavalette. It was he who examined the mail to ferret out any plots against the general.” He sighed heavily. “He must have intercepted one of the mounted couriers and searched the bag. His loyalty to Napoleon prevented him from using it, I suppose, but then the game changed when Napoleon was incarcerated on St. Helena. Then Lavalette’s blackmail letter arrived. I suppose he hoped it would finance his escape from France after others were put to death, and he began to fear for his life.”

“His appeal will be denied, and he’ll face the guillotine like the others,” Marston said. “So, I fail to see why we should concern ourselves with this journal. We need to deal with the change in our arrangements, now that Napoleon is no longer able to support our venture. I’m told he’s a spent force. I doubt he’ll escape a second time.”

A murmured consensus followed this statement.

“Certainly, changes need to be made,” Descrier said. “We will need to think long and hard about it.”

“I have sent Pierse to France,” Fraughton said. “He will deal with the Comtesse Lavalette. If she has the journal in her possession, it shall not be for long.”

“What? You sent that violent fool to attack her?” Lord Elford growled. “We already have a death on our hands which could lead authorities to us.”

“Nonsense. That was some time ago. His death cannot implicate us. My instructions to Pierse were to make another search of her apartments,” Fraughton said coolly. “Not to confront the comtesse.”

“I had Lavalette’s properties searched thoroughly,” said Descrier. “It is pointless and could well expose us. Pierse is about as reliable as a faulty pistol.”

“We shall see.” Fraughton said grittily. “No doubt you will stop complaining if Pierse returns with it.”

Descrier groaned. “But we can’t rely on it. We must come to a decision. We are like headless chickens. Let us talk again at the Moncrief’s ball. We shall organize our journey to your Kent estate, Elford.”

“Good, a decision of sorts a

t last,” Marston growled.

“Very well, we’ll go to Kent and deal with the problem there. But as there’s not a lot we can do about this journal, I vote we do nothing. Just let the cards fall where they may. I have to be careful. The new Lady Elford is a wily woman.” There was a cautious note in Elford’s voice.

“Can’t afford to wait,” muttered Marston.

“Well, if that’s it, gentlemen? I see this has been a complete waste of time, and I need to be elsewhere for the next race.” Elford’s voice faded as he strode away.

After several minutes of silence, Brandon tossed down the fork and emerged. The stall next door was empty. Outside, a groom raised his head from bandaging the legs of a glossy-coated chestnut. He glanced at Brandon with mild curiosity before going about his business.

Brandon walked swiftly away. The one thing he took from that meeting was the likelihood that these men were mixed up with smuggling. What interested him most was in what way they’d been in cahoots with Napoleon. It was no secret that Bonaparte turned a blind eye to smugglers. He had associations with some Englishmen, because he benefited from the information sent across to France during the war, which helped shore up his empire. It was a piece of the puzzle perhaps, but not the whole.

If these men incriminated themselves during the Moncrieff’s masquerade, he’d alert Willard and organize the customs and excise men in Kent, and with a bit of luck, catch them red-handed.

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