So now what? The bad news was that Jonathan was in London, but the very good news was that Henry had not managed to do something so dreadful that the marriage had been called off. Although it still might mean that he was extorting money from the viscount, and if that was the case, then she had to stop it. It seemed, more and more, that she was going to have to approach Jonathan directly, assure him of her good intentions and discover just what her brother had done. The thought of Grant getting in the middle of this unholy mess didn’t bear thinking about. He would be furious, he would call Jonathan out—and then someone might end up a widow.
It was a plan of sorts, but it did not make her feel any better. Hiding the truth from Grant had been bad enough, but now she knew the extent of his affection and trust, it felt like the worst of betrayals. But there was Anna, an innocent child to consider. And the equally innocent Lady Baybrook, and her own sister-in-law, unwittingly married to a blackmailer.
Now all she had to do was engineer a meeting with Jonathan and trust to his good nature and discretion. It seemed an awfully big risk.
Chapter Twenty
Grant did not come home for luncheon, which was not unusual. What was out of the ordinary was the note that arrived from him on Brooks’s Club notepaper.
Today, of all days, when I want to be with you, they ask me to meet the Home Secretary! Goodness knows when I’ll get away, but I’ll tell you all about it at dinner, I promise.
Yours,
G.
Kate rang for Jeannie and for Grimswade. ‘I feel like taking the air with Anna. Lord Brooke is going for a walk with his tutor, I believe. Have the carriage sent round, Grimswade, if you please.’
When the butler had gone she turned to the nursemaid. ‘I hardly know what I hope to achieve by this, but if I see Lord Baybrook, I will try to snatch the opportunity to speak with him. But I do not want him to see Anna, so you must stay in the carriage.’ Jeannie seemed about to say something, but Kate forestalled her. ‘I can’t go out without a maid or a footman, his lordship would be furious. And there is no one else I can trust. But I probably won’t encounter Lord Baybrook.’
‘It’s a nice afternoon,’ Jeannie observed. ‘A gentleman might take a stroll to his club.’
‘Yes.’ And at least it will get me out of the house. I feel like a turnspit dog on a treadmill.
*
Kate gave the coachman a circuitous route that took in a number of shops that she might plausibly want to visit and which brought them via Hill Street to Grosvenor Street. There wa
s no sign of Jonathan’s tall and elegant figure sauntering along, nor when they turned down Berkeley Street towards Piccadilly. ‘It was ridiculous to think I would see him,’ she observed to Jeannie. ‘The number of places a gentleman can be in even the small compass of Mayfair must be countless.’
And then, as the carriage slowed to a crawl in the Piccadilly traffic, she glanced up Dover Street and saw him. ‘He’s there!’
Jeannie tugged on the check string, the carriage pulled over to the kerb and they stared at each other. ‘I cannot accost him in the street.’ Kate watched as he reached the road junction, a polished wooden box under his arm. ‘He’s been to Manton’s, the gunsmiths, I think. Jeannie, look, he’s crossing over to Green Park.’
‘Hurry, my lady.’ Jeannie opened the door and kicked down the step. ‘You can speak to him in the park, there aren’t many people around. I’ll follow along behind, as if I’m not with you.’
Jonathan was held up by a brewer’s dray while Kate, catching the attention of a crossing sweeper, was over the road before him. He went through the gate and into the park, not apparently in any hurry, for he strolled past the reservoir and cut across the grass towards the Queen’s Walk. Kate walked briskly, came alongside him when there was no one close and realised she had no idea what to say.
He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye, for he stopped and raised his hat slightly. And then stared. ‘Madam, do I know you?’ The dawning recognition on his face would have been comical if things were not so serious. ‘Catherine?’
‘Yes. Jonathan—Lord Baybrook, I need to speak with you.’
He had his composure back. His voice was icy, but perfectly controlled. ‘I am sure you do.’ His eyes ran up and down the fashionable outfit she wore. ‘I see you have acquired some expensive tastes on my money.’
‘No, I have not. Is Henry demanding payments from you? It is not with my agreement, believe me.’
‘Believe you? My dear Miss Harding, why should I believe a word you say? The last true thing you told me was that you were innocent of a man and that I did not need telling, for you were a most uninteresting tumble,’ he drawled. ‘Your rat of a brother informed me you were with child. My child. Is that true or have I been paying out every month for nothing?’ The mask of unconcern was slipping to reveal the fury beneath.
Anna. I can’t let him find Anna. ‘Yes, I was pregnant. I thought Henry was going to insist that you marry me.’ She felt the heat rise in her face as Baybrook gave a bark of laughter. ‘I did not think you would. But I thought you would make me a small allowance so I could bring the child up decently. That was all I wanted, all I expected. I had no idea that Henry was…’
‘A blackmailer? Oh, really, my dear. Doing it rather too brown if you expect me to believe you knew nothing of this.’ His anger was beginning to ride him now, overcome his habitual elegant indifference. ‘Well, make your demands, and then I will tell you how I intend to deal with you.’
‘I have no demands. I needed to know what Henry was doing—I haven’t seen him for a year. I’ll stop him, I swear. I’ll do everything I can to stop him.’
‘Do you take me for a fool, my dear?’ He turned to face her fully, his voice a snarl of frustrated fury now. ‘Do you think because I sampled your very rustic charms that I can be cock-led into another compromising situation? Have you any idea what life is like lived at the toleration of a Bible-thumping old bigot who doles out his money like drops of his own blood, always alert for any moral lapse that can be the excuse for a sermon or for withholding funds?’
‘No, but—’
He caught her wrist, jerked her towards him. ‘There are many reasons why I do not drag you down to the nearest magistrate’s office this minute, but there are equally many, many reasons why you should be very afraid of me, my dear. Very afraid indeed.’