And Hero had no doubt he would continue to do so in the future.
She said, “Can you think of another man brave enough to marry Lord Jarvis’s daughter?”
At that, her father gave a reluctant laugh. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes narrowing as he studied her pensively. She thought she held up under his scrutiny with remarkable calm.
Then he said, “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Tucking her notes under one arm, she turned toward the door and simply ignored the comment, saying, “Do you go with Mama and me to the reception for the Russian Ambassador at St. James’s Palace tonight? Or will you form one of the Prince’s retinue?”
“I dine with the Prince. Which reminds me: Sir Hyde Foley tells me Devlin is investigating the possibility that the young man from the Foreign Office who died last week—Alexander Ross—was actually murdered. Do you know anything about that?”
She looked back at him in surprise. “Ross? Whatever gave Devlin that idea?”
“He hasn’t mentioned anything to you about it?”
“No.”
“Interesting,” said Lord Jarvis, turning to pour himself another drink.
It didn’t occur to Hero until she was mounting the stairs that he had not in fact wished her happy.
Sebastian took a deep draught of his ale. “It’s possible. The problem is, we’ve no way of knowing exactly when Ross was killed. It could have been long after Madame Champagne had retired for the night.”
“Aye, there is that.” Gibson blew out a long breath. “What about the mysterious veiled woman? Think she was this Miss Sabrina Cox?”
“Gently bred young ladies aren’t generally in the habit of visiting gentlemen in their rooms—even if they are betrothed.”
“Yet some still do,” said Gibson with a wry smile.
“They do. If I could meet the lady, I might be able to judge the chances of that myself. Unfortunately, she’s in mourning, which means she’s gone into seclusion and the only visitors she’s receiving are relatives or close friends.”
“That does complicate things,” said Gibson, draining his tankard.
“Considerably.” Sebastian signaled the barmaid for two more tankards. “Although, frankly, I’m more inclined to suspect the veiled woman—whoever she was—is someone connected to Ross’s activities with the Foreign Office.”
“According to Dr. Astley Cooper, it was Sir Hyde Foley who called him in to examine Ross’s body.”
“Really? Now, that is interesting.”
Gibson waited while the barmaid set the brimming new tankards on the boards before them. Then he said, “What about this French priest—de La Rocque? Sounds like a queer character.”
“He is indeed. And whatever his dealings with Ross, I’ll be surprised if they involved old books.” Sebastian paused, listening to the tolling of the city’s church bells, counting out the hour. He took a quick swallow of his ale and pushed to his feet. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m off to visit the Queen.”
Gibson raised his tankard in a mock toast. “Give her my regards.”
Returning to Brook Street, Sebastian donned the formal knee breeches and tails that were de rigueur for a gentleman attending an official function at the palace.
“I had occasion to ask around about your Mr. Ross,” said Calhoun, holding out a fresh cravat.
Sebastian glanced over at him. “And?”
“I discovered nothing of interest, my lord. From all reports, Mr. Ross was a congenial, warmhearted young man well liked by all with whom he came into contact.”
Sebastian wound the long, wide length of linen around his neck. “Except, apparently, by whoever killed him.”
“So it would seem, my lord.”
By the time Sebastian arrived at St. James’s Palace, the parade of carriages lining up to pass through the ancient brick gatehouse and into the paved courtyard had dwindled and the crowds of curious onlookers were drifting away. The Season was rapidly winding its way to an end. Almack’s had already closed; soon the Prince would remove to Brighton and the vast majority of the great noble families would depart for their country estates— if they hadn’t done so already.
Sebastian could hear the soft strains of a chamber orchestra playing one of Handel’s trio sonatas as he mounted the steps to the vast reception suite. Despite the heat of the summer, the rooms were still crowded, the leading members of society mingling with cabinet ministers, foreign ambassadors, and members of the royal family. The Queen herself, a stout, gray-haired matron splendid in blond satin trimmed in gold lace, presided over the evening from a richly carved and gilded armchair situated between the two main rooms. At her side sat her eldest son, the Prince Regent, and, standing beside him, the Prince’s plump, gray-haired mistress, the Marchioness of Hertford.
Everyone else in the room stood.
“Viscount Devlin,” intoned the powdered footman.
A tall woman in emerald silk who was conversing with a group that included the Foreign Secretary, Castlereagh, looked around at Sebastian’s entrance. Their gazes met across the crowded room, and Sebastian saw his betrothed’s eyes widen with surprise before narrowing speculatively.
“Well, this is unexpected,” said Miss Hero Jarvis, separating herself from her circle and walking up to him. “Whatever are you doing here?”
If she felt any awkwardness at their meeting, she didn’t show it. But then, in Sebastian’s experience, her coolness and selfpossession came close to rivaling her father’s. Sebastian was only just beginning to realize that in her case, at least, all was not exactly as it seemed.
“I received an invitation,” he said, accepting a glass of wine proffered on a tray by a circling waiter.
“London’s hostesses are always sending you invitations. You only accept them when you have some ulterior motive.”
Sebastian gave a soft laugh. From where he stood, he was able to watch the new Russian Ambassador, Count Christoph Heinrich von Lieven, bowing low over the Queen’s hand. “Perhaps I’ve developed an interest in Russia.”
She followed his gaze. “So it’s true, is it? You are investigating the death of Alexander Ross.”
“Word does get around, doesn’t it?”
“When the topic of conversation is murder? What do you expect?” She stood beside him, her gaze, like his, drifting over the assembled company. “I must say, I am relieved to hear someone is looking into it. I personally found his sudden death beyond suspicious.”
Sebastian glanced at her in surprise. “You knew him?”
“He was engaged to marry one of my cousins.”
“Ah. The wellborn but impoverished gentlewoman sold off to the highest bidder by her gamester father. She’s a relative of yours, is she?”
“She was. My mother’s cousin Charlotte. Dreadful woman. I always thought old Peter Cox got far more than he bargained for with that match. Her son, Jasper, is just like her. But I rather like her daughter, Sabrina.”
