Page 45 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

Gathering up the train, Letty retreated, the long lappets stirring oddly against her neck.

Arietta clapped her hands. “You did that very nicely. Do it a few more times, it will give you confidence. I am sure you will make me proud. Afterward, I shall write to your uncle and aunt and tell them how well you did.”

After two more attempts, Letty did feel a little better.

“Go upstairs and have my maid help you out of the dress. You don’t want it crushed.”

Arietta’s warmth and encouragement threw Letty into confusion. The late-night visit from Monsieur Pierse consumed her thoughts. She’d slept badly, and tired, struggled to act naturally while questions flooded her mind. How did they come to know each other? And how well? She tried to recall Pierse’s conversation with Fraughton in the library while she and Brandon hid in the closet, and was fairly sure that neither Arietta nor her husband were mentioned. Surely Brandon would wish to hear of this. He would want to see this Frenchman, perhaps he was searching for him. Brandon might attend the card party tonight.

She bit her lip. Brandon had ordered her not to get mixed up in this affair again. It was plain that he’d prefer her to return to Cumbria. Conflicting emotions warred within her. It hurt that she was nothing to him but a nuisance. But what else could she do? She must tell him and would be greatly relieved for him to take this on his shoulders.

But that evening, Brandon did not appear amongst the guests. Letty searched the busy reception rooms and the card tables where whist and faro were played. She wandered through the townhouse without success. The thought struck her that as he was no longer following Fraughton, he might not come to many parties. Or indeed, he might have left London!

Her suspicion was confirmed when he failed to come to the Jameson’s soiree. Letty became so fidgety, she drew a concerned comment from Arietta. But thankfully, she put it down to her coming presentation.

Letty was at a loss to know what to do next, but as her curtsey to the queen was to take place the following day, the matter would have to wait.

Brandon had spent two days on the hunt for Robert Marston. He had not been seen at any of the haunts he favored in London, so he rode into Surrey to Marston’s country house. Marston’s servant informed him that his master had returned home, packed a portmanteau, and left again on horseback, planning to visit friends in Ireland. The fellow was believable, but whether Marston had told him the truth was another matter. The Irish Sea was a long way from Surrey, and Brandon reasoned that Marston would not have gone all the way to the ferry on horseback.

His frustrating search continued as he inquired at the coaching inns along the road and found no trace. Brandon’s inquiries revealed Marston had a cousin living in the county. There was a chance that William Marston might have some idea of Robert’s direction.

Brandon spent the night at an inn, and the next morning after a fortifying breakfast, rode past farms and water meadows along a road bordered by Windsor Forest toward the village of Addlestone.

It was close to noon when he sighted the famous Crouch Oak, believed to have existed in the time of Queen Elizabeth I. It was said the queen stopped beside it to have a picnic. At the village inn, The Red Lion, he was told the way to William Marston’s property, and more information besides. The loquacious innkeeper expounded on the famous oak tree, which was a great symbol of the town. It had been around since the eleventh century and marked the boundary of Windsor Great Park.

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of Robert Marston in these parts for nigh on a year,” the innkeeper informed him, placing a chicken pie and a tankard of ale before Brandon. “Not to say he hasn’t visited his cousin, though. He resides at Cottleshield Manor, five miles north along this road. You’ll come to Brown’s Lane. Take that, it leads you right to his house.”

William Marston’s square, thatched-roof manor house sat amid a cottage garden. Brandon dismounted and knocked at the door. As he brushed the dirt from his boots, it was opened by William himself, smoking a pipe. There was no mistaking the tall man. He had similar features to Robert, but was of a narrower build and lacked the signs of dissipation which had begun to appear on his cousin’s face.

“Cartwright, sir. I have come in search of your cousin, Robert.”

“He is not here, Mr. Cartwright. But do come in.”

“Will a servant see to my horse?”

William called his groom and gave the order. “May I offer you a

glass of wine?”

Brandon accepted and was taken down a narrow hall into a bookroom where tomes were stacked on every surface. One book lay open on an oak desk. A cheery fire burned in the hearth.

He handed Brandon a glass of claret. “Robert stayed last night with me.” He shrugged. “We don’t have much in common. He found it dull here, I suppose. He left only a few hours ago. What is your interest in him, may I ask?”

“He needs to return to London. An important matter. I’m afraid I can’t say more.”

“Trouble, no doubt.” William nodded and sucked on his pipe. “Robert seems to attract it.”

“Did he mention a trip to Ireland?”

William frowned. “No. He was going to visit friends as I understood it. Wanted to get away from London for a while. Things have not been going well for him of late.”

“Where might this friend live?”

“Reading, I believe. Didn’t say who it was, however.” He frowned. “I thought him in very low spirits.”

Brandon emptied his glass and rose. “Thank you for the wine.”

“I hope the matter can be resolved.” He looked doubtful as he escorted Brandon to the door.

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