people never informed her and never told Mena her own name, then I suppose it won’t matter. She wouldn’t answer my advertisement.”
“Advertisement? You put a notice in the paper?” Corin put more distance between them so he’d not be tempted if Lena started to weep again. Sympathy was quickly being replaced by outrage, a much more typical emotion for him when confronted with Miss Armstead’s freakish starts. He almost forgot how nicely she felt in his arms, how her softness against his chest made up for any number of ruined neck cloths. The woman was a blight, was all. “You invited every orphaned female in England to pop in at Primrose Cottage?”
“How else am I supposed to find my sister? The heir to the Kirkbridge dukedom was a distant cousin who doesn’t know anything and cares less. I think he’s afraid both Mena and I will end up being his dependents, for he ordered his new man of affairs not to let me look through the old papers.” She started pulling at the handkerchief, just thinking of the man’s intransigence. “And Mr. Truesdale hasn’t had any luck tracking down any of the old duke’s retired retainers, either.”
“Truesdale? Nigel Truesdale? What the devil has that basket scrambler got to do with anything?”
“He is a connection of Lady Sophie’s in London who is helping me search.”
“Nigel Truesdale is no such thing. He’s my cousin on my mother’s side, no relation to Aunt Sophie at all. Their only connection was that she used to hand him a coin now and again, which he managed to gamble away in minutes.”
“Yes, when Lady Sophie suggested I hire him, she did mention that he used to be a knight of the baize table. Mr. Truesdale has turned over a new leaf, embarked on a new career of handling just such investigations. He knows everyone in the ton.”
“And everyone knows him and his spendthrift ways. That’s why he hasn’t managed to snabble himself an heiress: no rich papa is going to entrust Nigel Truesdale with his fortune, much less his daughter. The only reason he’s still accepted is because of his family connections.”
“Which are considerable. Who better, therefore, to find out what happened so long ago? Some dowager is going to recall some tidbit of gossip, a cardplayer at White’s might have taken a hand with His Grace of Kirkbridge.”
Corin had to admit that Nigel did have the entree everywhere, and he must be making a success out of this new venture for he hadn’t come to his cousin to pull him out of River Tick in ages. Nigel wasn’t a bad sort, Corin supposed, or he wouldn’t be when he stopped being a useless ornament of Society. “You should have waited, then, if Nigel is making inquiries, to see what he turns up. Servants pensioned off so long ago could be anywhere. Publishing an advertisement was an addlepated thing to do. You’ll have every hungry female knocking on your door, every adventuress and out-of-work actress.”
“Any one of whom might be Philomena. That’s why I cannot leave Primrose Cottage. Not because of the dogs—I could and would take them with me wherever I went—and not to be disobliging. But my sister might read the notice. She could be coming here any day.”
And pigs might fly, but Corin didn’t say it because Penn was wheeling in the tea cart. One look at Miss Lena’s ravaged face and his lordship’s disordered neck cloth and the butler assumed the worst. He slammed the tray down on the table, took up a place near the door, and stood glaring at the viscount. “That will be all, Penn,” Corin said, but the butler purposely looked to Lena for directions. She nodded, so Lady Sophie’s loyal retainer was forced to leave. He didn’t have to leave his new mistress alone with a confirmed rake, however. Until Mavis could be rousted out of the sewing room, the dogs would have to chaperon. Penn sent in three to join Ajax near the plate of raspberry tarts.
While Angelina poured the tea with hands that still trembled,
“Advertisement? You put a notice in the paper?” Corin put more distance between them so he’d not be tempted if Lena started to weep again. Sympathy was quickly being replaced by outrage, a much more typical emotion for him when confronted with Miss Armstead’s freakish starts. He almost forgot how nicely she felt in his arms, how her softness against his chest made up for any number of ruined neck cloths. The woman was a blight, was all. “You invited every orphaned female in England to pop in at Primrose Cottage?”
“How else am I supposed to find my sister? The heir to the Kirkbridge dukedom was a distant cousin who doesn’t know anything and cares less. I think he’s afraid both Mena and I will end up being his dependents, for he ordered his new man of affairs not to let me look through the old papers.” She started pulling at the handkerchief, just thinking of the man’s intransigence. “And Mr. Truesdale hasn’t had any luck tracking down any of the old duke’s retired retainers, either.”
“Truesdale? Nigel Truesdale? What the devil has that basket scrambler got to do with anything?”
“He is a connection of Lady Sophie’s in London who is helping me search.”
“Nigel Truesdale is no such thing. He’s my cousin on my mother’s side, no relation to Aunt Sophie at all. Their only connection was that she used to hand him a coin now and again, which he managed to gamble away in minutes.”
“Yes, when Lady Sophie suggested I hire him, she did mention that he used to be a knight of the baize table. Mr. Truesdale has turned over a new leaf, embarked on a new career of handling just such investigations. He knows everyone in the ton.”
“And everyone knows him and his spendthrift ways. That’s why he hasn’t managed to snabble himself an heiress: no rich papa is going to entrust Nigel Truesdale with his fortune, much less his daughter. The only reason he’s still accepted is because of his family connections.”
“Which are considerable. Who better, therefore, to find out what happened so long ago? Some dowager is going to recall some tidbit of gossip, a cardplayer at White’s might have taken a hand with His Grace of Kirkbridge.”
Corin had to admit that Nigel did have the entree everywhere, and he must be making a success out of this new venture for he hadn’t come to his cousin to pull him out of River Tick in ages. Nigel wasn’t a bad sort, Corin supposed, or he wouldn’t be when he stopped being a useless ornament of Society. “You should have waited, then, if Nigel is making inquiries, to see what he turns up. Servants pensioned off so long ago could be anywhere. Publishing an advertisement was an addlepated thing to do. You’ll have every hungry female knocking on your door, every adventuress and out-of-work actress.”
“Any one of whom might be Philomena. That’s why I cannot leave Primrose Cottage. Not because of the dogs—I could and would take them with me wherever I went—and not to be disobliging. But my sister might read the notice. She could be coming here any day.”
And pigs might fly, but Corin didn’t say it because Penn was wheeling in the tea cart. One look at Miss Lena’s ravaged face and his lordship’s disordered neck cloth and the butler assumed the worst. He slammed the tray down on the table, took up a place near the door, and stood glaring at the viscount. “That will be all, Penn,” Corin said, but the butler purposely looked to Lena for directions. She nodded, so Lady Sophie’s loyal retainer was forced to leave. He didn’t have to leave his new mistress alone with a confirmed rake, however. Until Mavis could be rousted out of the sewing room, the dogs would have to chaperon. Penn sent in three to join Ajax near the plate of raspberry tarts.
While Angelina poured the tea with hands that still trembled,
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