voices receded.
Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it. And you?”
“I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”
He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”
Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”
“I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”
“Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”
“That, I believe, is an understatement.”
Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”
This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”
Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”
“I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”
“Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.
He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”
Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”
Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”
Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”
Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.
The next afternoon
After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.
She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.
Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.
The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.
Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his
Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.
“Not if I can help it. And you?”
“I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”
He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”
Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”
“I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”
“Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”
“That, I believe, is an understatement.”
Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”
This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”
Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”
“I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”
“Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.
He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”
Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”
Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”
Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”
Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.
The next afternoon
After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.
She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.
Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.
The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.
Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his
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