The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

Sir John rose slowly, very slowly, because his hip pained him badly, nearly all the time now, and there was no reason for it, was there? None that his physician could find. It was just age, just bloody age. At least his blood was pumping strongly through his body, he could feel it pounding in his neck. “My son is dead, long dead. Wed Miss Mayberry with my blessing, Lord Beecham.”

“I shall, sir. I shall also do whatever I can to ensure that he is indeed dead.”

When the three of them were on the street in Whitehall, in front of the Admiralty, Lord Beecham was shaking his head. “That old man is wily. I don’t trust him an inch.”

Ryder said without hesitation, “He is also lying.”

“Trust Ryder,” Douglas said when he realized that Spenser was unsure about this. “He has always been excellent at seeing through people.”

Lord Beecham stepped closer to the iron fence surrounding the Admiralty as a carriage came careening around a corner. “You mean he knows his son is still alive?”

“Oh, yes,” Ryder said. “He knows. But the strange thing is, he doesn’t want anyone else to know. Now why is that, do you think?”

“Yes, and do not forget that Gerard was a hero,” Spenser said. “He would have followed his father into the Admiralty if only he had lived. Well, hell and damnation. If he truly is alive, then I can’t very well marry Helen. What will we do?”

“We will have to wait,” Ryder said. “Just wait for the moment. Let us put announcements in all the newspapers.”

“This is curious indeed,” said Douglas. “Yes, we will have to wait.”

Spenser didn’t like it, but there was simply nothing he could do about it. He had prayed that Gerard Yorke was indeed dead. But now?

The three gentlemen adjourned to White’s to ponder this more thoroughly and to ask every man who strolled by if he had heard from, remembered, or had seen Gerard Yorke after 1803. They knew that by morning Gerard Yorke’s name would be on everyone’s lips. While at White’s, Lord Beecham wrote betrothal announcements to every London newspaper. The one he wrote for the Gazette was indeed splendid, filled with detail. Then he wrote inquiries for each newspaper requesting any information about the whereabouts of one Gerard Yorke, son of Sir John Yorke of the Admiralty. That should really please the old man, he thought. He offered a fifty-pound reward. He was rubbing his hands together, grinning like the devil himself after collecting a tidy number of souls.

Douglas and Ryder added their ideas. Everyone was pleased when all the announcements and inquiries were sent all over London by messenger.

When they returned to the Beecham town house, it was to meet Lord Hobbs in the drawing room—sitting much too close to Helen, Lord Beecham thought, his jaw clenching. I am jealous, he thought, and that amazed him. He saw Helen again in that incredible red-silk confection, saw Lord Hobbs trying to see her too, and it made him so furious he nearly attacked the man on the spot. Jealousy—what a very strange thing it was.

Lord Hobbs was once again dressed all in gray, and Helen, to Lord Beecham’s eye, looked much too interested in what he was saying, the poaching bastard. He got hold of himself. He was being ridiculous. Jealousy was fine as an experiment, but he didn’t want any more of it.

Lord Hobbs rose and was dutifully introduced to Ryder Sherbrooke.

“I understand you just took the seat for Upper and Lower Slaughter. My congratulations.”

Ryder nodded. “I like all the gray,” he said.

Lord Hobbs looked quickly over at Helen, and Ryder would have sworn that he flushed just a bit.

Helen said immediately once everyone was settled, “Lord Hobbs tells us that Ezra Cave believes Lord Crowley to be guilty.”

“Yes,” Lord Hobbs said. “I was fascinated to hear that Lord Crowley rode to Court Hammering to see you, Lord Beecham, to plead his innocence.”

“Yes, he did.” Lord Beecham looked directly into Helen’s incredibly beautiful blue eyes, “Trust me on this. And I hate to say it, but I believe him.”

Douglas Sherbrooke cursed.

Lord Hobbs didn’t look happy. “He is a wicked man. Everyone I have spoken with confirms that.”

“Yes, I know. But do you know, my lord, he told me he didn’t think Reverend Older did it because he hasn’t the guts. However, about Reverend Mathers’s brother—Old Clothhead—it turns out that not only did he argue with Reverend Mathers, he also has a young wife who wants jewelry and such. Is it possible that Old Clothhead stole the scroll after he killed his brother because he thought he might be able to make money off it?”

“I don’t know. I will look once more at the brother and his young wife. Who else is there, then?”

“Lord Hobbs,” Helen said, handing him a cup of tea, “perhaps there is someone we don’t know about who is overseeing all of this? Someone who is directing all this from the shadows, who is watching all of us, waiting to see where we will go to find the lamp?”

Lord Hobbs gave Helen a melting smile that made Lord Beecham grind his teeth, something that Ryder heard. He smiled at his wife, who immediately ducked her head so no one could see the grin on her face.

“That is an excellent suggestion, Miss Mayberry. A shadowy evil that directs and plans, that watches and waits.”

“Yes,” Helen said, “that’s it exactly.”