Page 30 of The Lyon Rampant

“You have something to say, Mr. Starveling?”

“I wanted to apologize for importuning you the other day, but I was grateful that you listened, and I got my own thoughts clear.”

Piers inclined his head. “I’m glad to hear it. And no offense taken. I would do anything to assist one who has been involved in keeping the French from these shores.”

“Well, I seem to be on the right path now, sir. The lady in question will let me court her.”

“So, she’s decided to trust you—and now all you have to do is prove yourself trustworthy. I can understand her concerns—you must see so many women passing through these doors, including members of the demi-monde. She probably imagined you consorting with all of them. I know how women’s minds work.”

He pressed his lips together—it simply wasn’t true. As his recent experience with Miss Bellamy had proved, he had no idea how women’s minds worked. Charlotte had confounded him as well. It was a pity that a gentleman’s education did not include a whole curriculum of lessons on how to deal with the fairer sex.

“On second thought, I don’t have a clue. But I’m happy for you.”

“It took a leap of faith for me as well as her, sir. I’m an unforgiving sort, and having once been burned, I wasn’t keen to try again. But that’s cowardice, isn’t it? I’ve proved myself on the battlefield, I’ve stared down the muzzles of rifles and looked those murderous French in the eye—so why be afraid of marriage? I’ll take my chances. Or my second chance, so to speak.” Starveling held the door open. “Shall we see you this evening, sir?”

Piers’s smile faded. No. He wouldn’t dine here tonight—the soup would be average at best. Nor did he feel like gambling. If the last few days were anything to go by, luck was not on his side.

“Not this evening. Good day to you.”

He buttoned his overcoat right up to the collar and twined his scarf around his neck. It was a grim day for May, dark and windy enough to chill a man through to the bone. At least there’d be some shelter in between the buildings on the walk down toward Drury Lane and the river. He pulled on his gloves, put a hand on top of his high-crowned hat to ensure the wind couldn’t steal it, and set off toward the Old Forum theater.

It had been an interesting conversation with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. How odd that she’d spoken so kindly of Miss Bellamy! It had been said that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had eyes and ears everywhere, but she could have no idea what had happened the other night, or she would not think so well of the chit. Miss Bellamy was a walking disaster who destroyed other people’s dreams. He had to agree she was a good cook and exhibited a certain amount of girlish charm, but that was the end of it.

It was forgiving of Mrs. Dove-Lyon to speak any good of Miss Bellamy at all, considering her scandalous behavior. Dash it—he didn’t want to think about Miss Bellamy! Nor did he wish to acknowledge the tiny seed of doubt, the little jab of conscience that told him he’d been too hard on her.

Nothing must distract him from his renewed efforts to find Charlotte and the boy. He’d been mulling ideas over but had yet to finalize his decision. The first option was to have the lawyer’s office watched again, to see if Charlotte—or an envoy—would lead him to her new location. Alternatively, he could leave his businesses to his deputies, and ride from town to town looking for traveling theater companies. Or—and this was very much a last resort—he could stop sending the payments to Charlotte.

The latter option risked depriving Oliver of the lifestyle he’d become used to. It was also dangerous because driving Charlotte into penury might also drive her into making some foolish choices—like finding a new male protector. Then he’d have a competition on his hands, and who knew how that might end?

The best outcome would be that cutting off the money would drive Charlotte into the open. She’d come to the lawyer to find out what was going on, or she would contact him to complain. Even though it was potentially the most dangerous action he could take, it would yield results far quicker than any other option.

For a moment, the clouds parted, and the street was flooded with watery sunlight. The brightness changed his mood from melancholy to hopeful, and in that moment, his decision was made. He’d forget about the Old Forum for the moment; instead, he’d head for the lawyer’s office at Lincoln’s Inn.

The payments would be stopped.

He just had to trust that Lady Luck would change her mind and be on his side for once—or he stood to lose everything he truly cared about.