Page 84 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

Roger wondered if he should object to this plan, but he couldn’t see why. Which was fortunate because he was sure his mother wouldn’t listen to him.

Mrs. Thorpe was duly contacted, invited, and installed at the dower house. The next evening she joined their company at dinner. An impressive lady in her middle years, she carried herself with immense dignity. Her voice was musical, with a note of command that Roger thought must be helpful in her profession. If he hadn’t known she was an actress, he would have assumed she was a grand lady of the neighborhood. Watching her converse with his mother and his wife, Roger for some reason thought of Fenella’s grandmother. If she ever had a set-to with Mrs. Thorpe, the confrontation would rival the epic bare-knuckle match between Gentleman Jackson and Daniel Mendoza, he thought. He wouldn’t want to predict the outcome. And what had put such a bizarre idea into his head?

“Yes, I am rather known for my Lady Macbeth,” Mrs. Thorpe said in answer to Fenella’s question. “I’m past the age for girlish parts.”

The idea didn’t appear to disturb her.

“Indeed, I’m thinking of retiring from the stage,” she added.

“That would be a great loss,” said Macklin.

Mrs. Thorpe smiled benignly at him. “Knowing when to withdraw gracefully into the wings is the mark of a truly great actress. I’ve done more than I ever hoped I could when I was a girl.” She looked pensive. “Though not more than I dreamed.”

“Have all your dreams come true?” asked Fenella in a curious tone.

“The important ones. But then thosewouldbe the most likely.”

“Why do you say that?” Fenella seemed quite interested in the new guest.

“Because that’s where I worked the hardest,” replied Mrs. Thorpe. “Except—”

The others at the table waited, transfixed by her voice and presence. Mrs. Thorpe smiled at them. “Marriage came to me as a gift. When I least expected it and with very little effort on my part. Mr. Thorpe surprised me, I admit. And asked only my whole heart.”

“Perhaps you were a dream of his,” said Macklin. “Indeed, from what I know, I’m certain you were. And are.”

Mrs. Thorpe turned to gaze at him. She looked moved, her perfect facade for once undone. “I like that. Thank you.”

They saw less of his mother and Macklin after Mrs. Thorpe’s arrival, and Roger had the feeling they were having a lively time over at the dower house. He might have envied them, but he had his wife, and they found plenty of diversions of their own as they settled into their partnership. And so Roger was simply glad that his mother had interesting companions to amuse her.

* * *

At a knock on his bedchamber door, Arthur looked up from the writing desk and bade the person enter.

Tom came in, his homely face showing satisfaction. “I’m fairly certain I’ve found out who carried those letters,” he said.

“Good work,” replied Arthur. He set aside the missive he’d been writing and gestured at the armchair by the window. Tom sat down.

“I can’t say for sure,” the lad went on. “Seems there haven’t been any letters just lately.”

“I haven’t heard of any.”

Tom nodded. “So I couldn’t follow the messenger. Had to do a bit of a nose about instead. Talking to this one and that one. Piecing bits together. I found there’s a girl, daughter of the miller, coming up on nine years old. Seemingly she’s been where she oughtn’t to be, and then not shown up where she’s supposed to be, a deal of times this last month. Enough so’s people noticed. And all of them places where she wasn’t meant to be were houses where letters came.”

“A girl,” said Arthur. “Not what I expected. I would have thought a boy less likely to be noticed.” He wondered what this might reveal about the letter writer.

Tom nodded again. “The thing about Lally—this girl—she’s just a bit dim. Or mebbe that ain’t the right word. I don’t know. Folks say she’s generally lost in a daydream, pays you no more attention than a songbird. And she wanders. I reckon someone took advantage of that.”

The earl frowned. “She doesn’t sound like the best choice to carry secret messages.”

“Not who I’d pick. But then mebbe I’d be wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Tom settled deeper in the chair. “I’ve been thinking on it,” he said. “We figured somebody was being paid to take the letters. And that we could give him more money to tell us where they came from. ’Cause that’s what he’d be interested in. The pay.”

“Right,” said Arthur.

“But if the person weren’t doing it for money.” Tom spread his hands. “Then we’d look all nohow.”

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