“Aye.” John nodded. “I’ll do that.”
Steered out of the Cow & Whistle, Madeline considered protesting Gervase’s usurpation of her idea, but then dismissed the notion. All the better if he was willing to pursue this troublesome subject; she had enough on her plate with her brother’s estate, and her brothers.
And he was the senior nobleman; it was only right and proper that in this she cede to him.
They paused on the pavement; she glanced down the street. They’d tried most of the likely places and had circled back to the center of the town. Sensing Gervase studying her, she glanced at him, then arched a brow. “What?”
He shook his head and retook her arm. “I was waiting for your protest. I expected some snide comment at least.”
She sniffed and elevated her chin as they proceeded down the street. “I decided against it.”
“Ah.”
The gentle humor in his tone robbed the syllable of any offense; indeed, she was rather impressed that he’d realized he’d come close to stepping on her toes.
They turned into Coinagehall Street, the town’s main thoroughfare; Gervase glanced around as they walked. “It’s lunchtime. Why don’t we stop for a bite at the inn?”
He waved at the Scales & Anchor, the main inn in the town, just ahead of them; they’d left their horses in the stable there.
Hungry herself after their busy morning, Madeline nodded. “Alice Tregonning keeps an excellent table.”
“Good. I’m famished.” Ushering her up the inn’s steps, he reached past her and opened the door.
An hour and more later, after a meal as excellent as she had prophesied enlivened by relaxed conversation that neither had had to work to achieve, they left the inn in companionable good humor. Pausing on the pavement, eyes adjusting to the bright sunshine after the dimness of the parlor inside, they looked around, then Gervase touched her arm.
“Let’s go down to the river.” Coinagehall Street dipped steeply to the banks of the Helford. “If I recall aright, there are two boardinghouses facing the old docks. Perhaps our man is staying at one.”
One hand smoothing back her wayward hair, she nodded. “Let’s go and see.”
Unfortunately, no one at the boardinghouses had sighted their quarry. They were toiling slowly back up Coinagehall Street, heading to the inn to fetch their horses, when carriage wheels rattled on the cobbles behind them.
Glancing back, Gervase saw an open landau with a collection of fashionably garbed ladies and gentlemen—escapees from London, if their studied airs of sophisticated boredom were any indication.
The dark-haired lady in the middle of the rear seat, a frilled parasol shading her fair skin, saw him; she studied him for an instant, then leaned forward and spoke to the coachman.
The carriage slowed, then drew in and halted alongside Gervase and Madeline.
They both paused, turned. Madeline was wearing a dark blue riding dress; unlike a conventional habit it didn’t possess a train, but the skirts were still long enough that she’d needed both hands to lift them as they’d climbed the steep street. Consequently, he hadn’t taken her arm, but had been walking beside her as if they were mere acquaintances.
Furling her parasol, the lady leaned forward. Her gaze lingered on him, then shifted to Madeline. The lady smiled. “Good afternoon. I’m Lady Hardesty. And you must be Miss Gascoigne.” Lady Hardesty held out her gloved hand. “I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance, Miss Gascoigne—sadly I missed doing so at the vicarage tea.”
“Lady Hardesty.” Stepping to the carriage’s side, Madeline touched her gloved fingers to her ladyship’s. Unsurprised to see Lady Hardesty’s gaze flick to Gervase’s face, she gestured his way. “I believe you’ve yet to meet Lord Crowhurst.”
“My lord.” Lady Hardesty’s eyes locked on Gervase’s, held as he took her hand.
“Lady Hardesty.” His expression coolly distant, he half bowed, then released her.
She immediately gestured to the others in the carriage. “If you’ll permit me to introduce…”
Madeline exchanged nods and greetings with the other ladies and the two gentlemen, one of whom was Mr. Courtland. The ladies, following their hostess’s lead, fixed their attention avidly on Gervase, leaving Madeline to Mr. Courtland and Mr. Fleming, neither of whom were backward in trying to engage her.
Or, as she cynically suspected, attach her.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Courtland suggested, “I could call on you?”
She smiled the distant smile she’d relied on for years to quell the aspirations of overly enthusiastic males. “My aunt is elderly. She rarely entertains.”
Courtland’s smile developed an edge. “It’s not your aunt I’d be coming to see, m’dear.”