Page 25 of The Detective and the Baroness

“I’m not certain. Try and salvage this unfortunate start, perhaps? See if the rift can be repaired. Or do I obtain a divorce?”

Jeffery grabbed a sandwich wedge from the plate. “And is the crippled man who escorted you home the reason you are contemplating divorce?” her brother asked quietly.

Corrine glared at her brother. “You watched through the window.”

“Yes. Your parting appeared—intimate.”

“First, I cannot abide that word—crippled. I never liked it. The man is Detective Sergeant Mitchell Simpson, and he was heroically injured in the line of duty. He is on medical leave while he recovers the use of his leg. I met him through mutual acquaintances. And if you mean we acted friendly, I suppose it was intimate. I consider Mitchell a friend. That is all.”

“No need to become annoyed. I’m merely worried for you. The word you dislike has been around since the 10th century. See? My train painting education was good for something.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Corrine’s mouth. She never could stay annoyed at Jeffery for long. “Nevertheless. Apart from that, it is none of your concern who I’m friends with or how I spend my time.”

“Forgive me for prodding in your life, but I’ve missed you these past months. I was and am concerned. I do not want gossip hounding your every step. Especially when it becomes known that Addington is living elsewhere. You know how the tattle spreads and how vicious it can be.” Jeffery stood, then gathered up the pile of invoices. “I meant what I said, Corri. I will take on this responsibility for Father. Will you come and see us soon?”

Corrine placed her cup on the saucer and stood. “No. I cannot. Not for a while. If I come face-to-face with our father, I will lose my temper. I love him; he is my father, after all. But it’s best I stay away from him for now.”

Jeffery strode toward her and then affectionately kissed her cheek. “I understand. But let us keep in touch.”

“How about we meet for luncheon? I know just the restaurant. I will send the particulars to you at the bank. Is that all right?”

“More than all right. Goodbye, Corri. Be well.”

Corrine walked him to the sitting room entrance and watched as Thomason escorted her brother to the front door.

“Shall I take the tray away, my lady?”

“No, thank you.”

“You have some correspondence, my lady. I placed it on the desk.”

“Thank you, Thomason.” Corrine closed the door and then strolled toward the desk. She sat and, taking the letter opener, slid it under the seal. The note was from Althea Galway-Cranston, the newly married duchess and co-owner of the Galway Investigative Agency.

Good day Corrine,

We have an assignment for you! Our client, The Duke of Barnsdale, is convinced his much younger wife is having an affair. The Duchess will be attending an afternoon tea charity fundraiser at the home of the Duchess of Gransford. I contacted Doctor Drew Hornsby since the Duchess of Gransford is his aunt, and he checked with the guest list. You were already sent an invitation. Let us know if you can attend. We ask that you observe and gather any information as subtly as possible.

Wait. The Duchess of Barnsdale? Selena Seaton? Corrine had read of the marriage in the paper. How long ago? Eight years or more? Corrine had attended Miss Langston’s Finishing School for Girls with Selena. They had been close. However, when Corrine’s mother died, Corrine had no choice but to leave school and had lost all contact with her friends.

Corrine opened the desk drawer on her left and pulled out a handful of unopened correspondence. Since the upheaval with Travis, she had not bothered to read any of these invitations, let alone reply to them. She rifled through the pile until she located the one in question. After opening it, she quickly read it. The tea would take place five days from today.

Pulling out a pen and stationery and uncapping the ink bottle, she hastily scribbled a reply to the tea invitation, saying she would be pleased to attend. Then she wrote one to Althea, letting her know that she’d accepted the invitation to the tea and would discover what she could.

It had been several weeks since Corrine had attended a social function, not since the tea party at the Duchess of Watford’s residence. Other than her brother, she hadn’t had any callers either. That had to change.

Wait. She’d forgotten about the strange man in the cloak looking for Travis. Corrine placed her hand on her forehead. She had been so upset over her conversation with Travis that all thoughts of that man had left her mind. So much for her investigative skills—or lack thereof. The next time she saw Mitchell, she would inform him of the short but bizarre happenstance. In the meantime, the prospect of an investigative assignment filled her with excitement. It was time she started moving on with her life.

*

After several days of lurking about Camden Town, Jedidiah Danaher was no further ahead in discovering where Addington lived. Although he preferred to keep the world at large believing his demise, he’d have to come out of the shadows to discover more about the new baron and the barony itself. And he’d need help.

Jedi had just the person in mind: William Buckingham, the Earl of Darrington. Billy Buck, as those in Jedi’s criminal circle called the sly earl, had his fingers in numerous illegal schemes. He and Jedi had done business together many times, and as recently as five months ago. Besides smuggling in hard-to-get cheap French wine, he also ran a profitable thieving ring. These unlawful acts funded his aristocratic lifestyle and that of his pampered arse of a son, Troy Buckingham, Viscount Shinwell.

Having full knowledge of Darrington’s vices and predilections, Jedi waited outside the La Fleur Blanche, called such after the famous Paris brothel of the same name. It was nowhere near as lavishly decorated as the one in Paris, but all the workers came from France. Its location in Hampstead was close to a posh flat Darrington rented, where he coordinated his illegitimate business and no doubt entertained his hired ladies. Standing in the alley, Jedi watched the comings and goings.

Darrington’s corpulent form was not easy to miss. There the man stood, puffing on a cigar, looking satiated and arrogant. He was looking around for a hansom cab when Jedi grabbed his arm. “Come with me, Billy Buck. We have much to discuss.”

Darrington’s eyes darted about, as if to make sure no one heard the name. Once in the alley’s shadows, Jedi pulled the hood down and faced the earl.