“Good afternoon, Camber.” Frederick waved the private inquiry agent to his usual chair before the desk. “Take a seat—I have an assignment for you that’s somewhat different from the norm.”
Camber was a middle-aged, neatly dressed, and entirely unremarkable man, all qualities that played well in his line of work. Of heavier than average build, he wore steel-rimmed spectacles, and his gray hair was thinning, but still covered his large head. Camber sat. “I’m always pleased to take commissions from you, my lord. Never a dull moment.”
Frederick usually used Camber to track down old manuscripts on music and the occasional ancient score. “In this case, while the results might well be eye-opening, they might also be distasteful. I give you fair warning.”
Unperturbed, Camber simply nodded and waited.
Frederick leaned back and steepled his fingers before his face. “I want you to unearth absolutely everything you can about the late Marchioness of Raventhorne. Not the current one—don’t go near her or, indeed, any of the family. The lady I’m referring to died several years ago in an accident—but I have no interest in that accident. I already know all I need to about that. What I want you to find out is all you can learn about the late marchioness’s behavior, habits—all aspects of the way she lived—over, say, the last five to ten years of her life.”
Camber’s gaze had grown distant as he took in Frederick’s instructions. “Did she live in London?”
“As I understand it, for the most part, yes. Initially at Raventhorne House in Mount Street and, later, in a town house in Mayfair—I’m not sure where.”
Camber refocused on Frederick’s face. “Quite a bit different from chasing old books and papers.”
“Indeed. One other point.” Frederick had been tossing up how much to reveal to Camber, but without telling the agent of his interest, he risked not gaining the critical information he was seeking. “The focus of my interest is the late marchioness’s only daughter. I’m particularly interested in how and in what way the late marchioness might have influenced and affected her daughter’s view of the world.”
Slowly, Camber nodded. “Very well. The usual rates?”
“Yes. And also as usual, discretion is paramount.”
“Naturally, my lord. How quickly do you need this information?”
Frederick lowered his hands and grimaced. “The sooner the better.”
Camber nodded again and rose. “I’ll get back with a report as soon as I can.”
Frederick half smiled. “And once you do, I expect to have another commission waiting—but it’ll be back to music, I fear.”
Camber returned Frederick’s smile. “I’ll look forward to it, my lord.” With a bow, Camber turned and left.
Frederick stared after him and inwardly acknowledged that, at some point during that day, he’d made one of his impulsive decisions—one that looked set to change his life.
Chapter 8
The following morning, after perusing the notice announcing Lady Eustacia Cavanaugh’s engagement to the Marquess of Albury in his morning edition of the Gazette, Frederick strolled around to Green Street and discovered the Raventhorne carriage, the Raventhorne coat of arms blazoned on the doors, drawn up before Stacie’s house. He halted on the pavement, then decided that Stacie’s sister-in-law was a preferable audience to a group of gossipmongers and continued up
the steps to Stacie’s door.
He was shown into the drawing room to find not only Mary but also Kit’s wife, Sylvia, to whom Frederick had been introduced at Stacie’s event, seated on the chaise.
Stacie came forward to greet him with a smile that declared she wasn’t entirely certain of how the next moments would go.
He smiled urbanely. “Good morning, my dear.” He took the hand she offered and raised it briefly to his lips. “I’m delighted to see you’re not inundated with callers this morning.”
“No, indeed—it’s been something of a relief. Perhaps something else has happened to capture the ton’s attention.”
He heard a soft snort from the direction of the chaise. Presumably, Stacie hadn’t realized her sister-in-law’s carriage stood guard outside. Or perhaps she didn’t register the discouraging effect Mary’s presence would have on the overly curious.
Regardless, he followed her down the room and exchanged greetings with Mary and Sylvia. From behind their pleasant smiles, both ladies viewed him with quiet assessment; he assumed they’d heard from their husbands of his quest to persuade Stacie to the altar and were still weighing whether or not to support his effort.
After greeting Ernestine, rather than sit, Frederick swung to face Stacie, still standing beside him; the movement put them closer than was customary, but he didn’t step away, and she couldn’t, not without appearing flustered. He smiled understandingly—conspiratorially. “I’m due at a meeting in the City shortly, but I hoped to inveigle you and Mrs. Thwaites to join me in my box for the performance at Drury Lane tonight—Charles Kean is reprising his Hamlet for one night only.”
“Oh!” Ernestine raised her fingers to her lips. When the others all looked at her, face alight, she confided, “I’ve always wanted to see Kean in that role.”
His smile faintly triumphant, Frederick arched a brow at Stacie.
She frowned. “I’m not sure…”