The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Wait.” The butler raised his hand. “His lordship is not due back until the early hours.”

Nicole covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. “Then you must get word to him. Tell him to seek the Earl of Stanton.”

“I know nothing of his lordship’s diary today, but he took a change of clothes and is to attend Lady Chatwell’s ball this evening.”

“And he made no mention of where he would be this afternoon?” Nicole desperately wanted to ask if a golden-haired beauty had called. Were the change of clothes deemed suitable attire for a wedding? “Did he have an unexpected appointment?”

Or had a letter arrived forcing him to leave at short notice? A note with details of a secret rendezvous.

“He mentioned an urgent meeting. Something that required the utmost discretion.”

It took all the strength she possessed not to grab the butler by the lapels of his blue velvet coat and shake more information from him. Had the lord hidden Rose away somewhere while he’d gone to seek a special licence?

“Then let us pray we reach your master before disaster strikes. Good day.” Nicole left the servant trembling on the doorstep and returned to the comfort of the earl’s carriage.

“Well?” he asked not bothering to hide his impatience. “What did he tell you?”

The carriage lurched forward, and Nicole gripped the edges of the gold brocade seat.

“Lord Cunningham will be at Lady Chatwell’s ball this evening,” she said with a triumphant grin, “though I have no notion where he is now. He left suddenly for an urgent meeting.”

The earl’s mouth fell open. “How on earth did you get him to tell you that? The fellow’s lips were drawn so tight I thought the maid had sewn them shut.”

“It was merely a matter of playing to the butler’s weakness.” Her tactics were the same as those used on Baxter. “You suspect Lord Cunningham has a gambling habit. I can confirm that is the case.” The butler’s quivering lip and pallid countenance, at the mere mention of a card game, were a testament to that.

The earl shook his head. “And you expect me to let Rose marry such a man?”

“Only if Rose deems him worth the sacrifice. Only if she truly loves him.” Love was not always perfect. Nicole knew that.

The earl thrust his hand through his dark hair. “Regardless of what you may believe, true love is not enough to conquer all. Particularly when that love is one-sided. Especially when one’s fondness for money outweighs anything else.”

In part, Nicole had to agree. Rowena shared Jeremy’s passion for finery. When the coffers were full, they were affectionate, flirtatious, appeared like any other couple deeply in love. But when the cards fell badly the laughter dissipated, replaced with the sound of crashing plates, slamming doors and a tirade of criticism and abuse.

“I admit one’s attitude to money is a true indication of one’s feelings. I would live in a cottage with a leaking roof, eat nothing but pottage and wear the same threadbare dress for a year if it meant living with a man I loved.”

The earl grimaced. “And have you had these fanciful conversations with Rose during your stay at Morton Manor?”

“Many times.” They had shared their dreams and aspirations. It soon became apparent that they thought the same, had shared the same experiences. Both had been betrayed by their closest family member, by the person charged to protect them. Both agreed never to let bitterness taint their hearts. “What else were we to do when locked in our room for hours each day?”

With a sudden surge of anger, he gritted his teeth. “My father has a lot to answer for. I’m sure he would find the whole situation rather amusing.”

“How could he?” The old earl had done everything in his power to prevent Rose from marrying Lord Cunningham. In that regard, he had failed miserably. “Even after six months of incarceration, Rose may still get to marry the man she loves.”

The earl let out a weary groan and dragged his hand down his face. A lock of ebony hair hung over his brow, and her fingers burned to brush it back.

“Were we discussing any other gentleman, I might feel a sliver of optimism.”

While Nicole desperately wanted to trust Rose’s judgement, the conversation with the butler had roused a nagging doubt. Though she would never admit that to the earl.

Had Rose been duped by a scoundrel?

“But I was speaking of myself, not my sister,” he continued. “The thought of me tearing about Town, feeling utterly helpless, would have pleased my father no end. He was determined to have the upper hand. Determined to win the game at all costs.”

“The game is still in play, my lord.” Indeed, Nicole would do everything in her power to ensure that Rose held the winning hand. “It is not over until the last card is revealed.”

A smile touched his lips. “Is that your way of telling me to pull myself together?”

“Well, we need some sort of plan.”