Colin looked at the portrait of his sire, who stood behind his mother, with her small dog, Pepper, seated in her lap. He had always admired this painting, for it portrayed his father in a more jovial mood than the traditional, unsmiling portraits. “I have not heard that story before, Mother.” Neither had he realized the reason for the near smile on his patriarch’s face until now.
“You resemble your father, Colin. He enjoyed the excitement life offered, yet he had a moral sense of duty.” The Countess walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. She looked as if she wanted to say more.
The footman chose that moment to return with the tea and refreshments.
“Place it on the side-table next to the leather chairs, Davis,” Colin instructed, watching his mother move to the tea service.
“There! A small amount of sugar, just as you like it,” she said as she handed the saucer of tea to him. It always seemed to taste better when his mother served the beverage, he thought, taking his first sip.
“I do have a reason for my visit,” she said finally, taking her seat near him and setting her teacup down on the small table between the chairs. “I received a message yesterday that disturbed me. I read it several times and could not imagine its meaning. I believe whoever wrote it intended it for you, although that does not make me feel better.”
“Your house is only a few doors from mine. I suppose it is conceivable someone could have mistaken the address and sent you a message intended for me. Did you bring it?” he queried as he swallowed a mouthful of meat and cheese and chased it with his tea. He was hungrier than he had imagined.
“Yes, I did,” she responded softly. “I saw you leave this morning, just as I was about to bring it to you, so I waited a few hours before calling.”
He cleared his throat and took another sip of tea. “Do you have it now?”
“I do.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a wrinkled paper.
Colin turned the paper over, curious as to why it was withered and dirty. There was a single message with no signature. Whitton!
Return the deed.
“This does concern me,” he started slowly, noticing his mother staring at him as he once more glanced down at the message. She already knows this is connected to me, he thought. “Mother, I cannot imagine why you have received this.” For a moment he debated what to tell her, deciding, in that instant, she could help him.
“I cannot conceive the why of it either,” she returned. “Especially since they tied it to a brick and hurled it through my parlor window.”
Colin fought the fury which mounted in his blood. The blighter must be deranged to throw a brick through his mother’s parlor window, although it was possible the man could have confused the addresses. This was too much. It also seemed to affirm that he was not being held in gaol.
“Mother, it appears to be from Lord Whitton…”
“The man—I will not call him a gentleman—is a wastrel. I cannot imagine any business you might have with him,” she said, cutting him off. “Seriously, though, Colin, you cannot but admit I have been most indulgent with your need for adventure. I have asked little of you and have waited patiently for you to marry.” The last word was almost acerbic. “Pray tell me, what business have you entered with this man that he would do such a thing?”
“Mother, he wagered a deed for a building—that I had not until this morning even seen—on a game of chance. He lost.” Colin decided it would be better to leave out the attempt on his life. His mother knew naught about his business dealings, and he wanted to keep it that way, as much as was possible. “I gave him the opportunity to pay his debt in full, even after losing the deed, and he has chosen this route instead. As it is, I am questioning the validity of the deed itself. It could be a forgery.”
“Mercy! she exclaimed. “His family is of excellent stock. I cannot imagine what could have driven him to such lengths.” She paused. “What more can you tell me about the circumstances of this… debt?”
He never doubted his mother’s intelligence. She was astute. “It is supposed to be a vacant building in Russell Square. Morray, Bergen, and I went there this morning, to scrutinize it. It was not vacant. A Miss Mason has opened an orphanage there.”
How strange. His mother smiled and suddenly, her demeanor changed.
“The Dowager Whitton’s granddaughter?” she queried, yet it seemed she merely wished for confirmation.
“Do you know her? I do not recall ever seeing her at a ton event,” he acknowledged, continuing ruminatively, “Miss Mason was most unwelcoming.”
“Pish! She is a delightful young woman and most intelligent. I met her once at a tea party held by her grandmother. She came with her mother. A beautiful young woman, to be sure,” she added, seeming to have forgotten the message wrapped around a brick and delivered through her glass window. “I did not have a chance to speak with her beyond the niceties.”
He saw where this discourse was leading and struggled to put an end to it. He had no intention of becoming leg-shackled, even though Mother had effortlessly navigated onto her favorite topic—his marriage. Still, this information was useful.
“I will admit the young woman seems to be a diamond of the first water. That being said, I confess to being bemused as to why she has not had a come out,” he probed gently. He would have remembered her, had they
