A Secret Love (Cynster 5)

Charlie and the earl did the same. The earl smiled at his womenfolk. "I'll take these two off for the afternoon."

"I'm going to learn to box!" Jeremy danced around the table, thrusting his fists through the air, dealing summarily with invisible opponents. Laughing, Charlie caught Jeremy's fists, then half-waltzed, half-wrestled him out of the room. Jeremy's piping protests and Charlie's deeper amused taunts faded as they progressed in the direction of the front door.

Mary and Alice rose to follow. "We'll get our bonnets." Mary looked at Alathea. "Shall I fetch yours?"

"Please." Alathea rose, too.

The earl stopped by her side, his fingers light on her arm. "Is everything all right?" he asked quietly.

Alathea looked up. Despite his age and the troubles resting heavily on his shoulders, her father, two inches taller than she, remained a strikingly handsome man. Glimpsing shadows of pain and regret in his eyes, she smiled reassuringly; she caught his hand and squeezed. "Everything's going well."

He'd been devastated when he'd learned about the promissory note. He'd thought the sum pledged was much smaller-the wording of the note was such that arithmetic was required to determine the total sum. All he'd intended was to gain a few extra guineas to spend on the girls' weddings. She'd spent some time comforting him, assuring him that although the situation was bad, it was not the final end.

It had been hard for him to carry on as if nothing had happened so the children wouldn't suspect. Only the three of them-he, she and Serena-knew of the latest threat or, indeed, of the perilous state of the earldom's finances. From the first, they'd agreed that the children were never to know that their future hung by such a slender thread.

Despite the fact she had spent all her adult life putting right the problems her father had caused, Alathea had never been able to hold it against him. He was the most lovable, and loving, man-he was simply incapable when it came to money.

No

w he smiled, a sad, forlorn smile. "Is there anything I can do?"

She hugged his arm. "Just keep doing what you've been doing, Papa-keep Jeremy entertained and out of mischief." She drew back. "You're so good with them-they're both a real credit to you."

"Indeed," Serena agreed. "And if Alathea says there's nothing to worry about, then there's no sense worrying. She'll keep us informed-you know she always does."

The earl seemed about to speak, then muffled cries and thumps came from the front hall.

The earl's lips twitched. "I'd better get out there before Crisp hands in his notice." He touched his lips to Alathea's temple, stooped to kiss Serena's cheek, then he strode out to the hall, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head as he crossed the threshold.

With Serena, Alathea followed more slowly. From the dining room doorway, they watched the melee in the hall resolve itself under the earl's direction. "He's really a wonderful father," Serena said as the earl ushered his sons out of the front door.

"I know." Alathea smiled at his departing back. "I'm really very impressed with Charlie." She glanced at Serena. "The next earl of Morwellan will hold a candle to all comers. He's an amazing amalgam of you both."

Pleased, Serena inclined her head. "But he's also got a very large dose of your commonsense. Thanks to you, my dear, the next earl of Morwellan will know how to manage his brass!"

They both laughed, yet it was true. Not only was Charlie handsome, unruffleably good-natured, never high in the instep, and always game for a lark, but he was, largely due to Serena, thoughtful, considerate and openly caring. Thanks to the earl's influence, he was a gentleman to his toes and, as he also spent at least one session a week with Alathea in the estate office, and had for some years, he was at nineteen in a fair way to understanding how to successfully manage the estate. While he still did not know the level to which the earldom's coffers had sunk, Charlie now knew at least the basics of how to keep them filling up.

"He'll make an excellent earl." Alathea looked up as Mary and Alice came clattering down the stairs, bonnets on, ribbons streaming, her own bonnet dangling from Mary's hand. Augusta had slipped out earlier; Alathea glimpsed her littlest stepsister heading out to the garden, her hand in Miss Helm's.

Charlie, Jeremy, Mary, Alice, and Augusta-they were the ultimate reasons she'd invented the countess. Even if he discovered her deception, Alathea couldn't believe her knight would disapprove of her motives.

"Come on!" Alice waved her parasol at the door. "The afternoon's winging-we've already ordered the carriage."

Accepting her bonnet, Alathea turned to the mirror to settle it over her top knot.

Casting a critical eye over her daughters, Serena straightened a ribbon here, tweaked a curl there. "Where do you intend going?"

Alathea turned from the mirror as the clop of hooves heralded the carriage. "I'd thought to go to Lincoln's Inn Fields. The trees are tall, the grass green and well tended, and it's never crowded."

Serena nodded. "Yes, you're right-but what an odd place to think of."

Alathea merely smiled and followed Mary and Alice down the steps.

Gabriel discovered the bronze plaque identifying the offices of Thurlow and Brown along the south face of Lincoln's Inn. Surrounding a rectangular cobbled courtyard, the Inn housed nothing but legal chambers. Its inner walls were punctuated with regularly spaced open archways, each giving access to a shadowy stairwell. On the wall beside each archway, bronze plaques bore witness to the legal firms housed off the stairway within.

After consulting a book listing the solicitors of the Inns of Court, Montague had directed Gabriel to Lincoln's Inn, describing the firm as small, old, but undistinguished, with no known association with any matter remotely illegal. As he climbed the stairs, Gabriel reflected that, if he'd been behind the sort of swindle it seemed likely the Central East Africa Gold Company was, then the first step he'd take to lull gullible investors would be to retain such a firm as Thurlow and Brown. A firm stultifyingly correct and all but moribund, unlikely to boast the talents or connections that might give rise to unanswerable questions.

Thurlow and Brown's rooms were on the second level, to the rear of the building. Gabriel reached for the knob of the heavy oak door, noting the large lock beneath the knob. Sauntering in, he scanned the small reception area. Behind a low railing, an old clerk worked at a raised desk, guarding access to a short corridor leading to one room at the rear, and to a second room off the reception area.