A Daring Liaison(50)
She did not know how long she’d sat there, trying to think of anything Hathaway might have wanted, but she started when Clara touched her shoulder.
“Madam? That Finn fellow said you’d gone to the attic, but here you are in the library. I came looking for you to get you ready to go to the dressmaker. Finn says he’ll be escorting you today.”
“Oh, yes. I just forgot something here. Could you get the key to the attic and lock it for me? I won’t have time for it until tomorrow.”
“Aye, madam. How long is Mr. Finn going to be with us?”
“Not long, I think.” She noted the flash of disappointment that passed over Clara’s face. “I do not believe ‘footman’ is his usual occupation, Clara. He will likely leave when the danger has passed.”
“Danger? What danger, madam?”
Georgiana stood and went to the library door. “Mr. Hunter seems to think Hathaway could come back to cause trouble. Finn is here to prevent that from happening.”
“He’s a bodyguard, madam?” Clara asked in wonder.
“Something of the sort.” She gave her maid a wry smile. After the discovery of Hathaway’s thorough search in the attic, she was suddenly very glad Finn was here.
* * *
Charles paged through the betting book at his club and sighed. Yes, there it was. Hunter—Huffington Nuptials. Odds were not favoring his surviving marriage to Georgiana Huffington, née Carson. The long odds were giving him a week. On the short end, someone had bet he wouldn’t arrive at the altar. Only three had taken odds for survival—Lord Lockwood, Andrew Hunter and James Hunter. His brothers. He hoped he’d make them rich.
But, of course, the engagement and pending marriage were a farce. No one would win. Well, maybe Georgiana if they found the killer.
“I vow, I do not know which odds to take,” Wycliffe spoke over his shoulder.
“The only right wager would be no wager.”
Wycliffe grinned. “I’m not so certain of that, Hunter. I’ve seen the way you look at her. And the way she watches you.”
Sir Harry Richardson joined them with a hearty smile. “You look to be in a good mood, considering the odds against you.”
Charles gave them both a quelling glance and headed for the parlor. They gathered three chairs in a conversational circle with a low table bearing a coffee service in the middle. He poured himself a cup and prayed it would be strong. He’d gotten very little sleep last night between listening for Hathaway’s return and thinking of Georgiana. The only new plan he’d been able to conceive was so shocking that he could scarcely believe he’d thought of it. And yet there was a certain logic to it. Nothing else would answer all their needs.
Actual marriage.
He could move Georgiana’s household to his, thus thwarting any plans Hathaway might have and enabling him to better protect her. The killer would be forced to act quickly or forfeit his game. Georgiana would be compelled to stay in London. With him. He would have free and unhindered access to her. It was madness. And yet...he would acquire a special license to marry. Whether he’d use it or not remained to be seen.
“So pensive, Hunter?” Richardson asked as he and Wycliffe sat.
“I have a lot on my mind. None of which has to do with the matter at hand.”
“And what is that?”
“Richardson, how quickly can you be to Cornwall and back?”
“Where in Cornwall? St. Ives?”
“Mousehole.”
“Why in God’s name—”
“That is where Lady Caroline finally located Georgiana after her parents’ deaths. I want you to find out anything that might have a bearing on this matter.”
Wycliffe narrowed his eyes. “What is it that you suspect?”
“Nothing. Everything. I am becoming more convinced that the answer to this problem lies neither in who Georgiana is, nor whom she married, but in her identity before Lady Caroline took her in. Lord Carlington gave me a possible link to her father—a Captain George Carson of the Royal Navy. Carlington said he’d look into it, but see what you can find out about him or his wife. And why Georgiana was abandoned in Mousehole. Find out, too, who cared for her during that time.”
“Mousehole,” Richardson repeated. “The end of the earth.”
“Well, England, at any rate,” Wycliffe contributed. “Appears as if someone wanted her lost.”