Follow My Lead by Kate Noble Page B

party wearing a scarlet dress, and another wearing a blue ensemble. She was asked to come and speak at a number of literary salons. And heaven help any of those more traditionally minded ladies, for if they dared to cut Miss Crane, they cut Phillippa, too. And Phillippa knew how to cut back.
    He had actually run into Miss Crane at some affair or another. She was dressed far nicer than she had been when they last met, her all-brown ensemble replaced with a lovely lavender silk-something-or-other that brought out her startling hazel eyes. He was later told that Phillippa—having had two sons—was aching for a girl to play dress-up with, and was directing her attentions and monies toward Miss Crane. And there she was, resplendent, admired, and being hulked over by her formidable cousin at all times.
    She looked utterly miserable.
    “Yes, she is receiving a great deal of attention. Although I cannot say if she is courting it, or not,” Jason replied.
    “I don’t believe she is courting all of it, for not all of the attention she is receiving is kind,” Lord Forrester replied. “There are countless numbers who would like to see her fail. Now, Mr. Bambridge has informed me that he will be going with his cousin on this journey—”
    “Then Miss Crane has an escort in place,” Jason concluded. “I certainly don’t see how I would be of any more use.”
    Lord Forrester took a quiet moment to regard Jason, rubbing his chin in thought.
    “What is your opinion of Mr. Bambridge, Your Grace?”
    “I do not know him well—I honestly doubt we exchanged more than five words altogether before that auspicious day when Miss Crane marched in here.”
    “But a day like that can show a man’s character. So, what opinion did you form of him?”
    “That he’s a politician,” Jason said simply.
    Lord Forrester threw back his head with laughter.
    “An excellent way to put it. I know him to be a man of certain ambitions. And before that auspicious day, I thought he had the talent to back up those ambitions.”
    “You said you thought that he had been C. W. Marks,” Jason remarked, pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
    “Indeed. Without those C. W. Marks papers to his credit, Mr. Bambridge is sadly under-published for an Oxford don. Looking at him with new eyes, I can see that while he is dedicated to his career, I doubt his dedication to academics. Under the new guidelines for admission to the Historical Society, I wonder if Mr. Bambridge is a good fit at this time.”
    “Sir.” Jason cleared his throat. “While I agree completely with your assessment of Mr. Bambridge”—being a Duke he could recognize sycophants at an easy distance—“I have little idea what it has to do with Miss Crane.”
    Lord Forrester leaned in conspiratorially. “Out of all those people who would like to see her fail . . . who do you think would top the list?”
    George Bambridge. No question about it. He would view Miss Crane’s advancement in the field as a hindrance to his own career. However . . .
    “While Mr. Bambridge may not wish her to succeed, do you actually see a gentleman of his station doing harm to her?” Jason asked, alarmed.
    “Of course not. It would be unconscionable. But Miss Crane is the daughter of one of my oldest friends. And one of the things men do for their friends’ daughters is try to keep them as safe as possible. And having a neutral party on the trip is the best protection I can offer.”
    “Sir,” Jason began, his brain finally catching up with the conversation, “I am honored that you would think of me, but I cannot abandon London to journey across the Continent. I have made promises to my family and have obligations here.”
    “Settle down, young man.” Lord Forrester waved Jason’s concerns away. “I have a friend ready to meet her once she reaches France. I merely ask that you provide escort to her ship in Dover.”
    “Dover?” Jason asked. “That’s all?”
    “I must think also of the