“Didn’t see ’im. But I spent some time ’anging around the inn. ’E’s a weery rum customer, the African what owns the place. Weery rum indeed. They say he was a slave once, on a cotton plantation someplace in America afore he killed his master and run off.”
“What’s his name? Did you hear?”
Tom nodded. “Carter. Caleb Carter. He come here fifteen years or more ago. Took up with the widow woman what used to own the Norfolk Arms. She had a daughter then, a pretty little redheaded girl named Georgiana. But the girl took sick and died some two years ago, and the mother, she died of grief not long after.”
“And left Carter the inn?”
“Aye. From what I gather, they’re in the trade, if you know what I mean.”
“Smuggling? That doesn’t surprise me,” said Sebastian, remembering the bottle of fine French brandy on the table in the common room. He pushed away from the table and straightened. “You’d best get some sleep. I’d like you to go there again tomorrow.”
“Aye, gov’nor,” said Tom, stifling a yawn.
“Here.” Sebastian held out the book. “Don’t you want to finish it?”
The boy’s glance dropped hesitantly from Sebastian’s face to his outstretched hand.
Sebastian smiled. “Go on, take it. You can bring it back when you’re done.”
Tom turned toward the door, the book clutched to his chest like a rare treasure.
“Oh and, Tom—”
The boy swung around.
“Be back before nightfall this time, you hear? I don’t want you taking any chances. These are dangerous people we’re dealing with.”
“Aye, gov’nor.”
Still faintly smiling, Sebastian stood in the doorway to watch the boy dash off across the hall. Then, the smile fading, Sebastian turned back into the library to pour himself another drink.
THE NEXT MORNING, the Dowager Duchess of Claiborne was lying on a chaise in her dressing room and drinking a cup of chocolate when Sebastian strolled into the room.
She let out a soft moan. “Sebastian? What can Humphrey be thinking? He has strict instructions to allow no one past the door before one o’clock.”
“So he said.” He stooped to plant a kiss on his aunt’s cheek. “I want to know what you can tell me about the Countess of Portland.”
His aunt sat up straighter. “Claire Portland? Good heavens, whatever for?”
Sebastian simply ignored the question. “What do you think of her?”
Aunt Henrietta gave a genteel sniff. “A pretty little thing, obviously. But all bubble and froth if you ask me.”
“She certainly gives that impression. But appearances can be deceiving.”
“Sometimes. But not in this case, I’m afraid.” His aunt fixed him with a fierce stare. “And now, not another word until you tell me your interest in the lady.”
“It appears that at one time, Lady Anglessey thought to marry Claire Portland’s brother, the Chevalier de Varden.”
“Hmmm. Yes, I can see that. Dashingly handsome man, the Chevalier. And nothing piques a girl’s fancy more than a tragic, romantic past.”
“Dear Aunt. One might almost suspect you of nourishing a tendre for the fellow yourself.”
She made a deep rumbling sound that shook her impressive bosom. “I’ve no patience with romantic, handsome young men, and well you know it.”
Sebastian smiled. “Lady Portland. Tell me about her.”
Aunt Henrietta settled herself more comfortably. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. Her father, the late Lord Audley, left her well dowered. She had a successful season and married the Earl of Portland at the end of it.”
“What about Portland himself?”
Again, that genteel sniff. “I’ve heard him referred to as a handsome man, although personally I’ve no use for redheads. But there’s no denying the old Earl, his father, cut up quite warm. And Portland himself’s not one for wasting the ready at the gaming table. Claire did quite well for herself. I wouldn’t say Portland’s one to sit in his wife’s pocket, but then he hasn’t set up a mistress, either, that anyone knows of. He seems to spend most of his time at Whitehall.”
“And the lady Portland? Has she established herself as something of a political hostess?”
“I doubt she has either the inclination or the intelligence to carry it off.”
Sebastian came to take the chair opposite her. “She seems surprisingly close to Morgana Quinlan.”
“Well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it, given the close proximity of their fathers’ estates?”
“I would have said the two women were of starkly different temperaments.”
“Yes. But sometimes friendships are like marriages: the best couplings are between opposites.”
Sebastian was silent for a moment, his thoughts on his own parents’ marriage. That was one instance when a coupling of opposite temperaments had definitely not prospered. But all he said was “Lady Quinlan seems to nourish
