“The necessary appearances every engaged couple are expected to make. For instance, tonight, everyone will expect us to attend Lady Hartington’s soirée.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the major event tonight, and so they can congratulate us, watch us, analyze and dissect, assure themselves it will be a good match, and so on.”
“And this is obligatory?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She didn’t misunderstand. “Because if we don’t give them that chance, it will fix unwarranted—and quite staggeringly intrusive—attention on us. We won’t have a moment’s peace. They’ll call constantly, and not just within the accepted hours; if they’re in the neighborhood, they’ll drive down the street and peer out of their carriages. You’ll find a couple of giggling girls on the pavement every time you step out of your house, or your club next door. And you won’t dare appear in the park, or on Bond Street.”
She fixed him with a direct look. “Is that what you want?”
He read her eyes, confirmed she was serious. Shuddered. “Good Lord!” He sighed; his lips thinned. “All right. Lady Hartington’s. Should I meet you there, or call for you in my carriage?”
“It would be most appropriate for you to escort my aunts and me. Mildred and Gertie will be here by eight. If you arrive a little after, you can accompany us there, in Mildred’s carriage.”
He humphed, but nodded curtly. He didn’t take orders well, but in this sphere…that was one reason he needed her. He cared very little for society, knew both enough and too little of its tortuous ways to feel totally comfortable in its glare. While he had every intention of spending as little time in it as possible, given his title, his position, if a quiet life was his aim, it would never do to thumb his nose openly at the ladies’ sacred rites.
Such as passing judgment on newly affianced couples.
He refocused on Leonora’s face. “How long do we have to pander to prurient interest?”
Her lips twitched. “For at least a week.”
He scowled, literally growled.
“Unless so
me scandal intervenes, or unless…” She held his gaze.
He thought, then, still at sea, prompted, “Unless what?”
“Unless we have some serious excuse—like being actively involved in catching a burglar.”
He left Number 14 half an hour later, resigned to attending the soirée. Given Mountford’s increasingly risky actions, he doubted they’d have long to wait before he made his next move, and stepped into their snare. And then…
With any luck, he wouldn’t have to attend all that many more of society’s events, at least not as an unmarried man.
The thought filled him with grim determination.
He strode along purposefully, mentally planning his morrow and how he’d extend the search for Martinbury. He’d turned into Green Street, was nearly at his front door when he heard himself hailed.
Halting, turning, he saw Deverell descending from a hackney. He waited while Deverell paid off the jarvey, then joined him.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“Thank you.”
They waited until they were comfortable in the library, and Havers had withdrawn, before getting down to business.
“I’ve had a nibble,” Deverell replied in response to Tristan’s raised brow. “And I’d swear it’s the weasel you warned me of—he slunk up just as I was about to leave. He’d been keeping watch for about two hours. I’m using a small office that’s part of a property I own in Sloane Street. It was empty and available, and the right sort of place.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted details of the house at Number 16 for his master. I ran through the usual, the amenities and so on, and the price.” Deverell grinned. “He led me to hope his master would be interested.”