No. He stood, cutting off that line of thinking.
Damnation.
“Enjoy your shopping, Miss McNamara.”
She sat back, watching him with a brow raised.
“Please tell my mother that I had an urgent matter to attend to. Good day.”
He left the house, stamping anger, panic and frustration into the pavement. This, this at last seemed too much to ask of him.
For a long time, he wandered. It rained a bit. People pushed past him, eager to get in out of the weather. He couldn’t think. His mind had gone numb. When he bothered to look up, he found himself on Fleet Street.
An idea bloomed.
Lady X. Her gossipy tidbits were current—and they were printed daily. And here was the largest gathering of printers in London. Surely the lady would not deliver her pieces to the printer herself, but she must have a regular system set up.
He could find her. He could. He longed to confront her and he needed something to occupy his mind beyond his intolerable situation—and he needed an excuse to be from home.
What had that name been? The printer who was friendly with Lord Westmore?
Childers.
He set out, reading all the signs of the printers, pubs, booksellers and mapmakers along the way. He found them, at last, in Ludgate Hill. Childers & Son, Lithographers, Printers & Engravers.
Standing outside the shop, he considered the matter. A clerk pushed by him to enter. He couldn’t follow every person who made a delivery to the place, but it was a daily sheet. There would be a pattern. He just needed to discover it. Looking around, he spotted a coffee shop across the way, several doors down.
Perfect.
Watching the traffic, he set out for the place, his resolve firming as he went.
* * *
Three days later, Tensford was still seated in the coffee house. He’d barely been home, returning only to sleep, to fetch paper, ink and quills, and to sort through his mail.
He’d made friends with Mrs. Fitz, the gregarious, comfortable lady who ran the coffee house. He’d become somewhat addicted to her special spiced café au lait, rich with Eastern flavor. He’d shared with her Mrs. Agnew’s recipe for scones. And he’d kept copious notes on the comings and goings at Childers & Son.
It was a slow period at the moment, so he’d also started making a list.
Queen Anne chifferobe
Sevres Ormolu vase
Silver chafing dish = 2
The bell over the door rang. He didn’t look up until a shadow fell over the paper in front of him.
“Sterne!” He blinked up at his friend. “How are you?”
“Exasperated. I’ve been looking for you for days.”
“I received your notes. That’s why I sent a message to let you know I am fine.”
“Yes, and I had to bribe the boy who delivered it to tell me where you sent it from.”
Tensford straightened. “That worked, did it?”
“Obviously. Here I am.”
He frowned, thinking.
“Tensford?”
“Yes? Oh, sorry. I have considered that route, but it stands to reason she’s thought of that already and taken measures against it.”
“What are you going on about, man?” Sterne looked around. “Why are you hiding here? Who is she?”
“Not hiding. Spying.” He explained his mission. “And I’ve narrowed it down to two likely messengers,” he said with excitement. “I’m favoring the three o’clock boy over the early morning lad. It gives her time to decide what to write and to make it . . . jaunty. Would you say that’s an accurate description of her style?”
Sterne frowned. “Good God, you’re really going to expose Lady X?” He gazed over at the printer’s shop. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The whole thing could turn against you.”
“That’s what Lady Hope said,” Tensford muttered.
“Yes, and she’s another who has been wondering where you’ve disappeared to. She asked me to give you a message, should I see you.”
“Well?”
“She hopes you’ll be available to drive her in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
Tensford heaved a sigh. “It wouldn’t be wise.” He should avoid the temptation. But he had given her his word.
“Why not?” Sterne asked.
He ignored the question and pulled his list closer. “I’m glad you are here, Sterne. I need to ask a favor of you.”
His friend waited expectantly.
“Will you ask your uncle if he might be interested in my sea urchin fossil? The one I keep on my desk? It is an unusual piece. No one else has one like it, that I’ve seen.”
“I know the one. Of course, I will ask. He will likely be interested, but Tensford—I know that fossil is special to you. Your father—” He stopped. “I know what it means. Why would you wish to sell it? Are things so bad?”
“Bad enough, though likely not in the way you are thinking.” He told Sterne about his mother and her candidate for his marriage.
“She sounds cold.”
“That’s an understatement. And my mother is as bad. She left a note on top of the stack of my mail. It said one thing. Forty thousand pounds.”
Sterne dropped into the seat across from him. “Forty thousand . . . hell and damnation.”
“Yes. It gets worse. The pair of them lay in wait for me last night, ostensibly enjoying a late cordial and discussing their night at the theatre. The outrageous McNamara chit took me aside and told me that she’d heard the rumors about me and didn’t care a snap for them.”
“Well, that’s promising.”
He shuddered. “She said I could be Lord Terror with her, if I so wished,
