“Oh.” Marissa didn’t know whether she should be appalled or grateful. “And how is Lord Kent, Doctor?” she asked tentatively.
Valentine shuffled about at the sound of her voice. “Perfectly well,” he interrupted.
“He will soon recover, miss,” Doctor Arnold assured her. “He is a strong and healthy young man, as fit as a horse.”
George found that hilarious and doubled up with laughter. Doctor Arnold smiled at him with good humor, not at all insulted.
“Is it true it was Baron Von Hautt who struck you?” the doctor asked, and suddenly his smile was gone and the lines on his face deepened.
“Do you know him?” said Valentine.
He gave an unwilling nod. “Always a troubled soul, that one. But he had no one else and I was better than nothing, I suppose, after his grandmother passed on.”
Marissa drew closer. “Is your name Beauchamp, sir?”
“Aye, it is. Arnold Beauchamp.”
“Do you mean Von Hautt is a Beauchamp?” George cried.
“On his grandmother’s side, aye. He used to visit her as a child and she’d tell him all about the family’s past glories. Rubbish most of it, but he believed in it. I think it gave him something to hold on to after his father died at Waterloo.”
Valentine stiffened. “My father died at Waterloo, too,” he said.
“He still comes and stays in the house like it belongs to him. I’ve sat opposite him and listened to him planning to make the place as grand as before, with him king of his little kingdom.”
“Perhaps he will,” Marissa said.
But the old man shook his head. “He has no fortune, his title is a hollow one. After his father died the brother stepped in and took what was left, although he couldn’t take the title. Augustus has nothing but dreams. As I said, he’s a troubled soul.”
More than a troubled soul, thought Marissa, remembering what he had done to Valentine. Whatever his problems Von Hautt could not be allowed to run amok any longer.
And from the expression on Valentine’s face she knew he agreed.
When George went upstairs to take his bath, Marissa broached the subject.
“We must find him and stop him before he causes any more harm,” she said, walking about restlessly in the stuffy parlor. “He’s dangerous, Valentine.”
Valentine was watching her pace back and forth, a frown between his brows, but when he spoke his words weren’t what she expected. “What are you wearing, Marissa?”
She turned to stare at him. “My dress is wet, remember? I’m surprised you would bring that subject up after you broke your promise. The landlord found it for me. It belonged to his mother.”
His mouth twitched but he smoothed it out when her eyes narrowed warningly. “It looks like something from a museum, but a very fetching something, I might add,” he said hastily. “Perhaps they’ll have something similarly museumlike for me.”
“A doublet and stockings? I do hope so,” she retorted. “And those shoes that curl at the toe.”
“I think only jesters wore them,” Valentine said.
“A pity.”
She sank down in the chair beside his and, kicking off the clogs her host had found for her while her shoes dried, lifted her stockinged feet to join Valentine’s before the fire. They sat a moment in companionable silence as a clock ticked on the mantel.
“Do you think Baron Von Hautt will visit Doctor Arnold tonight?” she said at last, smothering a yawn. “He seems to be the only friend he has in Bentley Green.”
“No. I think he will realize we mean to spring a trap on him and he’ll stay away.”
“Or he might think we’ll think that and come anyway.”
Valentine chuckled. “Your mind is torturous, minx, but nevertheless you may be right. I’ll send George to stay with the old man just in case.”