The Missing Heir

She thought of the bruises on Laura Talbot’s arms. No, she could not “throw it in.” “Really, my lord, do you think me so delicate that I cannot withstand a little smoke and the demimonde?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Geoffrey Morgan come through the arched entry to the main salon.

“Why would you want to? That is what I’d like to know,” Barrington muttered. “Never would have suspected you’d have a taste for the low life, Grace.”

Low life? “Do you think I have sunk low just because I wish to play a few games of chance?” she asked as she watched Morgan’s cool gaze sweep the room.

“Er, no, Grace. Nothing of the sort. Just don’t think this is a suitable place for a woman of your…your social standing and exceptional reputation.”

“Perhaps it is just the place,” she said with a little shrug. “I have been thinking, lately, that I’ve become a bit stodgy.”

Morgan glanced in their direction and smiled. Grace wet her lips. He was coming toward them and, by the length of his stride, he would be upon them before Barrington noticed. When Barrington did notice his advance, it was too late.

“Barrington,” Morgan greeted him. “I haven’t seen you here in a while. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Barrington affected a look of surprise. “Oh, Morgan. Nice to see you again. I’ve been keeping busy. Always a war somewhere, you know.”

Geoffrey Morgan laughed and Grace was struck by the sound. Though she suspected it was polite and social, it had the ring of sincerity. Was he enjoying Barrington’s discomfort?

“Well, I am glad to see you back. I’ve always said you are an excellent player.”

“Yes, well…” Barrington paused awkwardly. “I, uh, I suppose you’ve met Mrs. Forbush?”

“A lifetime ago, it seems, although I was simply Mr. Morgan then.” Morgan turned his full attention to her. “It is nice to see you again, Mrs. Forbush.”

“Lord Geoffrey.” Grace smiled in acknowledgment. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Forbush. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.” She smiled, her excitement rising now that she’d finally made the first contact. “I had no idea such exciting entertainments were only moments away from Almack’s.”

He laughed and nodded. “And now that you’ve been here, you are not likely to be invited back to Almack’s.”

“Then, since I will have the spare time, you are certain to see more of me.” She tilted her head slightly and gave him an innocent smile.

He lowered his voice and said, “I pray that is so, Mrs. Forbush.”

Barrington cleared his throat. “Grace is just playing at gambling, Morgan. She’ll soon tire of it and—”

She patted her escort’s arm and smiled up at him. “Lord Barrington is always kind enough to indulge my whims, whether he understands them or not.”

Her escort looked down at her, momentarily confused. “Why, uh, I do my best.”

“As would I,” Morgan said, “were I fortunate enough to have the attention of so lovely a woman.”

Barrington bristled. “But Grace, er, Mrs. Forbush, wants to take more risks than she should. A little reckless, if you ask me,” he continued, just warming to the subject.

“Reckless, eh?” Morgan asked.

Grace could almost see his speculation. Was he assessing her to determine if she’d be an easy mark? Or just wondering precisely how reckless she might be? She felt the need to explain. “Lord Barrington is only out of sorts because I asked him to take me to the Blue Moon tonight.”

Now Morgan laughed outright. “The Covent Garden hells are déclassé, and well beneath your notice, I promise you. They call it the Blue Moon for a reason. Their clients only win once in a blue moon.”

Barrington nodded. “Quite right, Morgan. There, you see, Grace? I told you it wasn’t the place for you.”

She merely returned Barrington’s grin. She’d only wanted o go because she’d heard that it was one of Morgan’s favorite haunts. “Nevertheless, I should like to go there sometime.”

“Perhaps you will be able to persuade someone to take you,” Morgan said. “But come. Have you learned faro, Mrs. Forbush? Allow me to teach you if Barrington has neglected that part of your education.”

“I tried my hand last night, Lord Geoffrey, but I do not seem to have a grasp of the game. I lost miserably.”

He took her arm and led her toward the faro table with Barrington at her other side. Whatever the man was, he was not lacking in social graces.

The afternoon sun was still high when Adam checked the slip of paper that had arrived by messenger that morning from Freddie. He glanced at the gray ivy-covered cottage again. Yes, the St. Albans address was correct if a bit surprising. Retired valets and household servants most often shared quarters in retirement, if not entered a home for the infirm. This small cottage was set back from the street, had a vegetable garden and was well kept and in good repair. He knocked twice, wondering if Freddie had gotten the address wrong.

A balding man opened the door and blinked rheumy gray eyes in surprise. “Mr. Hawthorne! I…we….”

“Thought I was dead,” Adam finished for the speechless valet. He was startled at how much the man had aged since he’d last seen him. He would not have recognized Bellows on the street. “But, as you can see, I’m hale and hardy.”

“Come in, sir. Come in.” The man stood aside to allow Adam to pass. “What a pleasure to see you, sir.”

The main room had a low ceiling and was small but comfortable. Surprised, Adam recognized a few nice pieces from his uncle’s house mingled with other good but worn furniture. He removed his hat and shook Bellows’s hand. “I heard you’d retired, Bellows, so I came to pay my respects.”

The man flushed with pleasure. “Please sit down. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

Adam took one of the chairs by the fireplace and shook his head. “No, thank you, Bellows. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to reassure myself that you are well and happy.”

“Very kind of you, sir.” Bellows sat opposite him and smiled. “Quite a shock, finding you alive all these years, sir. If I was rude, I apologize.”

“Not at all,” Adam assured him. “But you cannot have been more shocked than I to learn that you’d retired. I somehow thought you’d work until you were senile.”

Bellows laughed and rubbed his bald head. “And I would have, too, if Mrs. Forbush had not insisted. But once your uncle was gone, there didn’t seem much point in staying on. He’d already begun to fail but after we had the news about you, well, the end came quickly. He did not suffer, sir.”

Adam nodded and said nothing. Barrington had said Uncle Basil had been ill since before Adam’s last visit. According to Grace, he began a decline after the report of Adam’s death. Now Bellows reported he’d been ill only shortly before the report of Adam’s death. Which was the truth?

“Aye, sir. And when our mourning was done, Mrs. Forbush asked my help in putting Mr. Forbush’s things away. We had nice long chats while we worked, and ’twas when I mentioned that I’d worked for Mr. Forbush for forty-five years that Mrs. Forbush insisted I should retire. Said I done more than faithful service and deserved a rest. I was that shocked, I was.”

“I hope you are not suffering financially.”

“Nothing of the sort, sir.” Bellows straightened in his chair and smiled. “I’ve been pensioned off. First of every month, I get an envelope from the missus. More than enough to pay my expenses, sir. In fact, the ladies in the village think I’m quite a catch. I can tell you, Mr. Hawthorne, that I do not lack for companionship.”

Was the pension a bribe for not talking? Adam wondered. If his uncle’s end had come quickly, perhaps it had been assisted. “Tell me, Bellows, was my uncle ill when I was here last and just neglected to mention it?”

“That was just before you went to the colonies, was it not? No. He’d been fit as a fiddle. He did not decline until just before the news of your death came. Then, of a sudden, he went very quickly, sir.”

“Did you think that odd, Bellows?”

“Odd? No, sir. After all, he was near sixty and five.”

“Then I gather it was not his heart that gave out?”