Page 74 of Mr. Eastwood’s Match

Avoiding the baronet’s gaze, Lyness tried to smile. “S-something of the s-sort.” Lyness felt heat rise under his collar. How foolish he must sound, how transparent.

Roman’s gaze flickered to him—not cold, not angry, but troubled. He said nothing of it. Duty reclaimed him before brotherhood could.

“We are not here to discuss marriages,” Roman said. “We are here to discuss the future of our party at a time when blame for everything that goes wrong in this city is put squarely on our shoulders.”

At that moment, the older of the Nelson brothers entered the room. Thaddeus Nelson, their father’s heir, and the more outspoken of the two. “What goes on here? What riotous gossip have I missed?” He looked at all the maps. “Is this how we will find Hartwell’s poisoner?”

With a grumble, Sir George sank deeper into his chair, holding the paper he now examined in front of his face.

“No.” Roman rubbed at his forehead. “We are looking at something related to our political goals, Mr. Nelson.”

“Oh, good. Because I would hate to make all the efforts here useless, since I think I have information on the poisoning front.” Thaddeus crossed his arms and swept the room with a bold grin on his face.

Roman’s head snapped up. “Out with it, then.”

“My sisters attended a gathering at the Powells’ home last evening. One of them overheard Mr. Patchett speaking with Mr. Powell, saying the attempt at humiliating ‘the baron’ had ‘failed spectacularly.’”

Lyness felt Roman go still beside him.

Patchett. Loud, wealthy, aggressively Tory. The son of a magistrate, with family members in high positions throughout the county. A man whose disdain for Roman’s reform efforts bordered on obsession. But Emily had suffered because of it. That truth needled Lyness more sharply than any political slight

Though he looked as though he had been pulled into the conversation unwillingly, Sir George scoffed, “Patchett is a fool, but drugging a man⁠—”

“I looked into it. That is why I was late today. He has recently elevated one of his footmen,” Thaddeus said cheerfully. “A thing the other servants are gossiping over, as a more experienced footman was passed over for the job. If the elevated footman is the same one who handed Hartwell the drink, it will be an easy matter of knocking on the door to get a good look at him.”

A chill threaded through Lyness. He and Roman exchanged a look—Roman wanted to see the footman. He rose abruptly. “I must go.”

“To accuse Mr. Patchett?” Sir George sputtered.

“No,” Roman said. “To see the footman.”

Lyness stood as well. “I am coming.”

Something in Roman’s face eased slightly. A silent thank you he did not need to voice. They left the Royal Hotel on foot, walking to Davygate, and reached Patchett’s immaculate town house. The lion-faced knocker, painted gold, gleamed like a taunt.

Roman lifted it.

Before he struck, the door opened.

A footman stood there. Pale-haired. Sharp-featured. Lyness glanced at his brother but could not tell if Roman looked at the servant with any kind of recognition. But the footman had frozen.

Then he bowed his head slightly. “Mr. Patchett is not receiving today, and the rest of the family is not at home.”

“What a shame,” Roman said, tone even and eyes taking in the footman. “I suppose we will have to come again.” Then without warning he leaned closer and the servant went stiff as a statue. “Your face is familiar.”

The footman did not blink. “I have been in Mr. Patchett’s service only a fortnight.”

“I have never been here before, so I would have seen you elsewhere. Any thought as to where that might be?”

The other man’s jaw went tight a moment, but his eyes had widened too. “I do not think that is possible, sir⁠—”

“Lord Hartwell,” Lyness supplied with the tiniest of smirks. “He is Lord Hartwell.”

“My lord,” the man corrected himself with a barely concealed cringe. “If you will leave your card⁠—”

With no regard for proper distance between strangers, Roman stepped forward, voice like Apollo’s lowest growl. “You will tell your master that we know what occurred at the Assembly Rooms.”

The footman swallowed.