Page 85 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“My uncle is generous with his praise,” Charles said.

“Heywood is looking for an introduction to Elias Catmull,” Gilbert told Sir Lawrence. “He’s had the devil of a time pinning the fellow down.”

Sir Lawrence sat down in a vacant leather chair next to him. “That’s Catmull to a T. Slippery as an eel when he wants to be. Is it the canal scheme you’re interested in?”

“Are you seeking new investors?” Charles asked.

“Can’t have too many,” Sir Lawrence said. “It’s a long-term investment. We’ve seen no earnings as yet, but those of us who have the fortitude to persevere will reap the benefits in the decade to come. Success is all but guaranteed. Catmull assures me of it.”

Charles wondered. “Have you known him long?”

“A year or two,” Sir Lawrence said. “He was abroad before then.”

“In the Navy?” Charles asked, still trying to place the man.

Gilbert choked on a laugh.

Sir Lawrence chuckled along with him. “Catmull?” He scoffed. “Not him, sir. Catmull isn’t a fellow who can stomach the front lines. Prefers to work behind the scenes. That’s where his strength lies.”

“Does it indeed,” Charles murmured.

“He’s a dab hand at finance,” Sir Lawrence said. “Not entirely out of the top drawer, but worth keeping in one’s pocket. Be happy to introduce you tomorrow evening at the Chesham’s ball. You will be in attendance?”

“I’m planning on it,” Charles said. “Though it’s late in the day to expect an invitation.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Lawrence replied. “If her ladyship won’t oblige you, then his lordship will. Chesham!” he called to the small gray-haired gentleman dozing beneath a nearby potted palm. “The Earl of Gordon’s grandson is in town. You must see he’s invited to the ball.”

The little gray-haired gentleman snuffled awake. “Excellent notion,” he said. “Capital, capital.”

“Deaf as a post,” Gilbert confided in a low voice. “But I’ll see his secretary gets your particulars. Can’t have you missing the ball.”

Charles had no intention of doing so. “Incidentally,” he said, before either gentleman could depart. “I understand Catmull claims a viscount for an uncle.”

Gilbert laughed. “He mentions it enough!”

“Is he anyone of note?”

“Viscount Darly,” Sir Lawrence said. “An amiable chap. He’s married to Catmull’s aunt.”

“Viscount Darly?” The intelligence hit Charles like a thunderbolt. “Are you telling me that Catmull’s mother is Elizabeth Townsend?”

“Don’t know his mother,” Gilbert said. “She doesn’t come up to London.”

“She’s here now,” Sir Lawrence informed them. “He’s brought her to town for the ball. I reckon he means to introduce her to Lady Katherine.”

Charles stood. He scarcely knew what he said in taking his leave. The next moment, he was back on the street.

The pieces began to fall into place. Not the note—that much was still a mystery. And not the breaking of the entail. But all the rest of it.

Charles now understood why his offer on Satterthwaite Court had been denied. Why Catmull had refused to receive him here in London. Charles even knew why someone might have stooped to take a shot at him beneath that oak tree in Devonshire.

His father had said gossip lived forever. So did grudges, apparently.

Elias Catmull was Edgar Townsend’s grandson.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Later that evening, Charles dressed for the theatre. Kate had mentioned that Sir Lawrence was escorting her and Miss Mattingly to the Adelphi. Charles hadn’t been formally invited to join their party, but he was determined to be in attendance. At the very least, he could pay his respects to Kate. It was past time he made a public show of his interest in her.