A Secret Love (Cynster 5)

"I think we should call on Lady Hertford this morning." Checking the day's invitations, Serena looked consideringly at Mary and Alice. "She's giving an at-home, and I think, if you wear those gowns that were delivered yesterday, it would be a useful venue at which to be seen."

"Oh, yes!" Mary exclaimed. "Do let's start going about."

"Will there be other young ladies there?" Alice asked.

"Naturally." Serena turned to Alathea. "And you must come, too, my dear, or else I'll have to spend all my time explaining your absence."

That was said with a sweet but determined smile; Alathea smiled back. "Of course, I'll come, if nothing else to lend support."

Mary and Alice brightened even more. Amid serious discussion of ribbons, bonnets and reticules, they all retired upstairs to prepare for the projected excursion.

It was, indeed, very like a military sortie. An hour later, standing at the side of Lady Hertford's drawing room, Alathea hid a grin. Serena had led the metaphorical charge into her ladyship's arena, positioning her troops with keen eye and shrewd judgment. Mary and Alice were engaged with a group of similarly young and inexperienced damsels, chattering animatedly, all initial shyness forgotten. Serena was sitting with Lady Chelmsford and the Duchess of Lewes, both of whom also had under their wings young ladies making their come-outs. Alathea would have wagered a tidy sum that the talk had already veered to which gentlemen might be expected to unearth handkerchiefs to drop this Season.

For herself, she stood quietly at the side of the room, although she knew she'd been noted by all. As Serena had remarked, if she hadn't appeared, her whereabouts would have been questioned, but now that the matrons present had confirmed that the earl's eldest daughter-unmarried, which was a mystery, but quite an ape-leader now-was in no way out of the ordinary and was quite comfortable with her stepsisters and stepmother-well, with no grist for the gossip mill to be found, she'd been dismissed from their collective consciousness.

That suited her very well.

Finishing her tea, she glanced around for a table on which to set her cup. Spying one beyond the chaise on which her hostess sat chatting to one of her bosom-bows, Alathea glided along the wall, passing behind the chaise to set her cup down. She was about to retreat when the words "Central East Africa Gold Company" froze her where she stood.

She stared at the back of Lady Hertford's frizzy red head.

"An absolutely certain return, my cousin said, so naturally I told Geoffrey. I gave him the name of the man in charge, but Geoffrey's been hemming and hawing, dragging his feet." Leaning closer to her friend, Lady Hertford lowered her voice. "You may be sure I pointed out that what with the unexpected costs his heir has incurred at Oxford, he should be eager to better his current standing-I told him plainly that this year, Jane would need not just better gowns but more in her portion as well. But would he be moved?"

Lady Hertford sat poker straight, disapproval for her errant spouse in every line. "I'm convinced," she hissed, "that it's only because my dearest cousin Ernest suggested it, and Geoffrey's never liked Ernest."

Her friend murmured sympathetically, then turned the conversation to their offspring. Alathea moved away. Clearly, Lord Hertford shared her reaction to the Central East Africa Gold Company-in his case, if her ladyship was to be believed, because of who was "in charge."

From across the room, a turbaned dowager beckoned; Alathea obeyed the summons. With a serene smile firmly in place, she withstood an intensive inquisition on her obsession for the country and her spinster state. Not, of course, that the words "unfashionable recluse" or "husband" ever featured in the conversation.

Invincible serenity and an adamant refusal to be drawn finally won her her release from Lady Merricks, who snorted and waved her away. "Unconscionable-that's what it is, miss! Your grandmama would have been the first to say so."

With that observation ringing in her ears, Alathea gravitated back to the side of the room, and wondered if she dared broach the subject of the Central East Africa Gold Company with her hostess. One glance at Lady Hertford's round and ruddy countenance put paid to that idea. Her ladyship was unlikely to have any information beyond what she'd already divulged. More to the point, she would be amazed by Alathea's inquiry. Ladies of her ilk, young or otherwise, should have no interest in such matters-ladies of her ilk were not supposed to know such matters existed.

Which was a definite hurdle, for she could not, on the same count, beard his lordship, either.

Alathea glanced at the door. Did she dare slip out and search Lord Hertford's study? She debated the likelihood of finding anything helpful; if learning the name of the man behind the company had been enough to cool his lordship's interest, it seemed unlikely he would have needed to write it down.

The probable return did not seem worth the risk of getting caught searching Lord Hertford's study. She could just imagine the scandal that would provoke, especially if her reasons for searching ever came out.

And what if Gabriel learned of it?

No. She'd have to be patient. The very word chafed-she trenchantly repeated it. In the matter of the Central East Africa Gold Company, she was the countess

and the countess had put her trust in Gabriel.

Patience and trust were all very well, but such virtues did nothing to ease her curiosity or allay the conviction that, if she left him too much to his own devices, Gabriel would either solve the entire matter and then present himself before her expecting to claim some impossible reward, or he'd become mired in some distracting detail and lose the thread entirely. Either was possible. If he had always been the leader, she had always been his eminence grise. It was time to reclaim that position.

They were attending an evening party at Osbaldestone House. Standing by the chaise on which Serena sat conversing with Lady Chadwick, Alathea scanned the crowd gathered to celebrate Lady Osbaldestone's sixtieth birthday. For her purpose, the setting was perfect.

Two days had passed since their unplanned meeting at Lincoln's Inn, two days in which Gabriel should have investigated the company's agent and his place of business. It was time for the countess to ask for a report.

Before her, the flower of the ton mingled and met. There was no dancing, just a string quartet installed in an alcove, vainly striving to be heard over the din. Talk-gossip and repartee-were the primary occupations of the evening, activities at which the guest of honor excelled.

Lady Osbaldestone was sitting on a chaise facing the room's center. Alathea glanced her way. The old lady thumped her cane on the floor, then pointed it at Vane Cynster, currently standing before her. Vane stepped back as if taking refuge behind the willowy figure of his wife. Alathea had met Patience Cynster in the park a few days before. Patience curtsied with unruffleable calm before her ladyship.

Alathea wished she had a little more patience-her eyes strayed to the clock for the third time in ten minutes. It was not yet ten o'clock; the party had barely begun. Guests were still arriving. Gabriel was already here, but it was too early for the countess to materialize.

The Cynsters were here en masse, Lady Osbaldestone being a connection. Alathea was watching two beauties presently holding court under Gabriel's oddly unimpressed eye when long fingers wrapped about her elbow.