“Ah… so you noticed the beautiful headmistress, Miss Mason,” Bergen taunted, grinning.
“It is futile to bamboozle you, I see.” Colin chuckled, feeling his irritation lifting. Bergen was always good to have about. “I believe I have just suffered checkmate at the hands of a lovely opponent,” he agreed. I noticed her. No woman in memory had caused such inner conflict as this one had. An inconsequential touch over a teacup came to mind and he briefly wondered if it had affected her as it had him. Pulses of pleasure had raced up his arm. He felt more than a sense of annoyance. Surely, it was not attraction … or was it?
“I own that I cannot recall seeing her in any ton events, at least none that I can summon immediately to mind. There must be more to her story than meets the eye. She reminded me of my own Elizabeth,” Bergen persisted, beaming. “She came with a menagerie of children and pets, and never ceases to make me merry!”
“Your wife is a genuine find,” Colin agreed, lost in thought for a long moment before he finally continued, “I shall go to see the Countess tomorrow and make my case.” Once she realizes that I am indeed owed this building, it will be resolved, he told himself.
“Since my family is residing with me in London at the moment, there is no reason whereby I cannot go with you tomorrow, should you so wish. I can bear witness to the events of that night,” Bergen offered.
“A sound idea, Shefford. ’Tis a shame three might be a crowd.” Morray spoke up. “I was just thinking about a loose end… and I hesitate to bring this up, yet have either of you enquired whether the Earl is still being held? I have heard that Sir Edward James, the magistrate, who you mentioned leading Whitton away, held Lord Whitton’s father in high regard. Based on the events of this day, I can imagine Whitton using that circumstance to his advantage.”
“Of course! I mean, no; I have not checked, and you are right. I, too, recall seeing them in company together at White’s before the older Earl passed away,” Bergen said with an exaggerated exhale. “He might gain a measure of protection from his father’s friends, who were not there to see him attempt to kill a peer.”
“Our business is not without its perquisites. I shall consult with some of our connections, including the Earl of Baxter, and see what I may learn about our friend Whitton,” Morray proposed sardonically. “I should look into his sister’s family as well…”
“No, I should prefer to do that myself,” Colin stated, noticing that both friends were smirking at him.
“What?” he demanded, feigning indignation.
“Do not even try to defend yourself, my friend.” Morray laughed. “The lady definitely gained your notice.”
The carriage turned off the road onto the small, semi-circular drive leading to Colin’s house in Mayfair. It stopped in front of a three-story, grey stone mansion with a large, covered portico and tall windows rising from the first floor. A mixture of flowering evergreen shrubs lined the front of the walls, adding a sense of warmth to the home.
“I will take my leave, Shefford. Send a messenger when you decide what time we should meet with the Countess. I can meet you here and we may ride there together,” Bergen said.
“I think I will head to the club. It might be well to let Baxter know what has happened these last few days. He may have information that could prove useful.” Morray tipped his hat and went with Bergen towards the stables, located just behind the house.
Colin handed his greatcoat, hat, and cane to Franklin, intending to avail himself of a brandy in his study and distract himself from thoughts of the vexing meeting with the lovely headmistress.
“You have had a visitor, my lord,” the retainer said, holding out a silver salver on which lay a visiting card. “He was a short, balding individual with, if you will forgive my bluntness, a distasteful appearance and attitude. And Lady Shefford awaits your return in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Franklin.” Colin barely glanced at the card before he stuffed it in his pocket and proceeded down the dimly lit hall to his office. How odd. Franklin rarely remarks about visitors. He was almost to his office when he recalled Franklin’s last words. His mother was here? He wanted to look at that card again, but the sound of his mother’s voice gained his attention.
“Davis, please bring my son and I some tea. I have no doubt he is hungry, so please have Cook add a small plate of meats and cheese.”
“Yes, my lady. Right away.”
Colin turned to see his mother approaching. The footman bowed and withdrew. He opened the door of the study and stood back for his mother to enter. “I was about to join you in the drawing room, ma’am.”
“I thought you might need a little push, dearest, in case you became… distracted on your return,” she said, walking to the fireplace and stretching her hands towards the welcoming warmth.
“By Jove, Mother—!” he protested. “That is outrageous.”
“It is always nice to see this picture of your father,” she mused, ignoring his outburst and looking up at the portrait over the mantel. “I recall that day well. It was the day after you went to Eton. He was so proud of you and could not wipe the smile from his face. If he said it once, he said it a dozen times, that he was glad you enjoyed attending his alma
