Apparently, at Lady Penny’s request, she’d given the guests a private performance, and he’d have paid a thousand pounds to have seen it. He’d been in the audience in London several times when she’d been on the stage there. She was just so beautiful, and it was thrilling to watch her. He was fascinated and not about to abandon his quest to obtain an interview.
A housemaid was approaching, and it was a girl he’d strolled with twice as she’d completed errands for the housekeeper. She was a lazy, sullen creature who wasn’t very bright. His attention made her feel important, so no effort had been required to befriend her.
She was quite greedy too, and he always slipped a few pennies into her palm when she finished gossiping. He wondered if Millicent Pendleton knew how much she liked to talk about her betters. If her tendencies were ever revealed, he doubted she’d be employed very long.
“Ho, ho, Miss Peggy!” he said, and he waved. “Are you off to the village again? May I accompany you?”
“I’m not walking there this afternoon. I just had to tell you something.”
He removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “You were thinking of me? I’m flattered.”
“If I don’t share this with someone, I might bust from holding it inside. I can’t mention it to any servants at the manor, so I thought of you.”
“My goodness! I’m all ears.”
“You can’t ever admit how you learned of it.”
“I never would. I promise.”
“And you have to swear you’ll protect Lord Roland. He’s a kind man, and I won’t have him hurt by swindlers and frauds.”
“Who would want to hurt him?”
“I can hardly believe it, but it’s that Miss Carstairs. The whole time she stayed with us, she seemed so nice.”
“Libby Carstairs, behaving badly? No! I don’t believe it either.”
“Mostly, it’s that cousin of hers. Mr. Falcon?”
“I know him well,” Periwinkle said. He’d been attempting to confer with Miss Carstairs for weeks and Falcon had been a staunch barrier, preventing it.
“They have cooked up a scheme whereby Miss Carstairs will claim she is Lord Roland’s long-lost daughter, Little Henrietta.”
Periwinkle blanched with astonishment. “She’ll claim she’s Little Henrietta? Oh, oh, oh, this is shocking!”
“Mr. Falcon told her it was a brilliant plan. That was his exact word: brilliant.”
“How did you stumble on this information?”
She hesitated and her cheeks flushed. “I can’t say, but they were very clear.”
Which meant she’d eavesdropped when she shouldn’t have.
“Why tell me about it?” he asked. “I work for a newspaper. There’s no way I’ll keep this a secret.”
“What if they go to the newspapers? I’m convinced they will, and if you have advance warning, you’ll be able to send them packing. You can print that it’s a lie.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
The more likely scenario was that she loathed Lord Roland and was anxious to stir trouble for him, while acting as if she was being noble. Periwinkle wouldn’t try to decipher her motives, but he was delightfully glad that he’d curried her favor.
“Now then,” she said, “I have to get back.”
She didn’t head off though, and he realized she was waiting to be paid. He sighed, reached into his pocket, and withdrew his purse. As he slapped the coins into her palm, her avaricious eyes gleamed with glee.
“Thank you for confiding in me,” he said.
“The minute I heard them conspiring, I was sure you’d be eager to know.”
“If you discover any other outrageous tidbits, find me at once. My purse is full, and you’re welcome to empty it.”
She grinned and strutted away. He watched her until she vanished down the lane, then he blew out a heavy breath.
“Little Henrietta,” he mused to the quiet forest. “Home at last. What an exciting tale this will be.”
He didn’t waste any energy debating whether it was true or not. Libby Carstairs had intrigued the nation from the instant she’d been found on that deserted island. And Lord Roland was a tragic figure with whom the whole kingdom had grieved when his mad ex-wife had disappeared with his tiny daughter.
It was the perfect ending for both of them, and he, Howard Periwinkle, would be the man to share it with the world.
“Millicent, will you come in here please?”
She halted, gnashing her teeth, and desperately wondering if she dared to continue on, but it was Charles who had summoned her. She had no idea how to ignore him.
He was in his library, sitting behind the desk where he’d been when they’d quarreled earlier. If she’d suspected he might still be there, she’d have walked down another hall.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I won’t shout at you from across the room. Come in here!”
She stomped in and pulled up a chair, but she was perched on the edge of her seat, ready to march out at the least provocation. She glared silently, not inclined to make the conversation easy for him. He was the one consorting with a trollop while they had a house full of impressionable young people. He could spit it out or not. At the moment, she was beyond caring.
After a bit of dithering, he said, “I have asked Miss Carstairs to leave for London, and she’s agreed she would. She’ll depart first thing in the morning.”
“Good. I won’t be sorry to see her go. Will that be all?”
“Miss Fishburn will go with her.”
Millicent wouldn’t touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. “Fine.”
“I’ve instructed Miss Fishburn to speak with her about the rumors she’s keen to spread. Miss Fishburn will advise her that there will be dire consequences if she defames me.”
“I’m certain that will scare the daylights out of her.”
“I think it will too,” he concurred, not noting her sarcasm.
“What about her cousin?” Millicent inquired. “That odious Mr. Falcon? He’s in the thick of their plotting.”
“I’d completely forgotten about him. I suppose he’ll accompany them, won’t he? Why would he tarry at
