Montague grimaced. "After last time, Crowley's not going to explain his plans to you."
"Not that he explained them to me last time." Gabriel returned to the window. He and Ranald Crowley had a short but not sweet past history. One of Crowley's first ventures, floated in the City, had sounded very neat, looked very tempting. It had been poised to draw in a large number of the ton, until he had been asked for his opinion. He'd considered the proposal, asked a few pertinent but not obvious questions, to which there were no good answers, and the pigeons had taken flight. The incident had closed many doors for Crowley.
"You're probably," Montague observed, "one of Crowley's least favorite people."
"Which means I can't appear or show my hand in any way in this case. And nor can you."
"The mere mention of the name Cynster will be enough to raise his hackles."
"And his suspicions. If he's as cunning as his reputation paints him, he'll know all about me by now."
"True, but we're going need details of the specific proposal made to investors to secure their promissory notes in order to prove fraud."
"So we need a trustworthy sheep."
Montague blinked. "A sheep?"
Gabriel met his gaze. "Someone who can believably line up to be fleeced."
"Serena!"
Together with Serena, seated beside her, Alathea turned to see Lady Celia Cynster waving from her barouche drawn up beside the carriageway.
Waving in reply, Serena spoke to their coachman. "Here, Jacobs-as close as you can."
Spine poker straight, Jacobs angled their carriage onto the verge three carriages from Celia's. By the time Alathea, Mary, and Alice had stepped down to the grass, Celia and her girls were upon them.
"Wonderful!" Celia watched her daughters, Heather, sixteen, and Eliza, fifteen, greet Mary and Alice. The air was instantly abuzz with chatter and innocent queries. The four girls had the years of their shared childhoods to bind them in much the same way as Alathea, Lucifer, and Gabriel. Celia gestured at her offspring. "They insist on coming for a drive, only to become bored after the first five minutes."
"They have yet to learn that social chatter is the… comme ca va?-oil that makes the ton's wheels go around?"
"Oil that greases the ton's wheels." Celia turned to the speaker, a strikingly beautiful older lady who had strolled up in her wake.
Alathea curtsied deeply. "Your Grace."
Serena, still seated in the carriage, bowed and echoed the words.
Smiling, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, put out a gloved hand to tip up Alathea's face. "You grow more attractive with the years, ma petite."
Through her frequent visits to Quiverstone Manor, the Dowager was well known to the Morwellans. Alathea smiled and rose; the Dowager's brows rose, too. "Not so petite." Catching Alathea's eye, she lifted one brow even higher. "Which makes it even more of a mystery why you are not wed, hein?"
The words were uttered softly; Alathea smiled and refused to be drawn. While she was used to such queries, the intelligence behind the Dowager's pale green eyes always left her with the uncomfortable feeling that here was one who suspected the truth.
The carriage rocked as Serena rose, clearly intending to join them. Helena waved her back. "No, no. I will ascend and we can chat in comfort." She gestured at Celia and Alathea. "These two must stretch their legs in the service of propriety."
Alathea and Celia looked in the direction of Helena's nod; the four girls, heads together, arms linked, were already strolling the lawn.
Celia sighed resignedly. "At least we can stroll together and chat."
Leaving Helena settling in beside Serena, Alathea and Celia followed the four girls, but with no intention of joining them. They only needed to keep the girls in sight, leaving them free to talk without reserve.
Celia immediately availed herself of that freedom. "Have you spoken to Rupert since coming up to town?"
"Yes." Alathea mentally scrambled to recall the meeting-the one with Rupert, not Gabriel. "We met briefly while the girls and I were out walking."
"Well, then. You'll have seen. What am I to do with him?"
Alathea swallowed the observation that no one had ever been able to "do" anything with Rupert Melrose Cynster.