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Authors: Miss Lockharte's Letters
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course."
"Yes, but Locke makes a great many hats and some have the same initials."
The valet drew himself up to his full height, nose twitching. “Mr. Hayes has never and would never put on another gentleman's hat."
And he would never betray his country or his friends, Wynn was willing to swear. He'd be the perfect match for his peagoose of a sister, if only she could be made to see Tripp's sterling qualities. The only thing that nagged at the viscount—and it truly was a small thing, he told himself—was that Tripp's mother lived in Bognor Regis, along the southern coast where smugglers were known to ply their trade with France. It was also along the same coast as Brighton, as a matter of fact.
Tully Hadfield wasn't at home at the run-down rooming house where he boarded. Seeing a squad of bailiffs at the door, Wynn was not surprised Hadfield had done a flit, but he was not happy either to see that the rake was in such dire straits. Punting on tick, a man could grow desperate.
Wynn checked the stable where he knew Hadfield kept his cattle. As he'd expected, they were missing, too. The ostler hadn't seen Tully leave, else he would have called for the bailiffs himself. Now he'd never be paid. Wynn tossed him a coin for his troubles. Blast, there'd be no finding Tully's direction now. He could be halfway to France with Wynn's handiwork and Old Humidor's hat.
Wynn's last stop was at White's, in search of Townsend Haverhill. To the doorman's surprise, the baron hadn't been in yet today. Lud, the viscount did not want to call at the baron's house. He might as well put his head in the lion's mouth as pay a call on Clarice Haverhill. The baron was his last chance of recovering Lord Hume's hat, though, with whatever secrets it contained.
Fortunately, he did not have to go into Haverhill House. In the doorway he asked the butler if he might speak with the baron.
"Milord is not in, Lord Stanford. May I take your card up to the ladies?” He held out a white-gloved hand for the ritual calling card, one corner turned down to show that the viscount had called in person. The butler would carry it up the stairs, ask his mistress if she was receiving, then stand back lest he be trampled in Miss Clarice's eagerness to snag the eminently eligible lord. Wagers among the footmen were two to one in Miss Clarice's favor.
Wynn placed a pound note on the butler's palm instead. “Forget I even stopped by, will you?"
The butler noted that his lordship wasn't carrying a nosegay or a box of bonbons. There was no ring-box-size bulge in the coat stretched across a broad chest. Jamison nodded. He'd back the winner, and Miss Clarice could lead apes in hell. The pound note disappeared discreetly.
Wynn had a second one ready. “Perhaps you could tell me where I might find Baron Haverhill? Another of my guests last evening mislaid a personal item and I was wondering if the baron had seen it."
Jamison eyed the paper money with regret. “I am sorry, my lord, but Baron Haverhill has gone out of town on a family matter. He expects to return from Worthing within a sennight."
Worthing, on the seacoast between Brighton and Bognor Regis? The same Worthing where Wynn's sister had gone to school, where that female was dead or dying? Impossible! Ridiculous! Out of the question.
Dash it, Wynn swore as he made his way back to Grosvenor Square, he might have to call on Miss Lockharte after all.
Chapter Seven
When the viscount returned to Stanford House, he handed Wilkins his hat and gloves. The butler handed him more headaches.
"Mr. Stubbing asked to be notified immediately at your arrival, my lord. He is in the office. Lady Stanford requests you attend her in her chamber, and Miss Susan is waiting for you in the morning room. Also Lord Hume has called. I put him in the library."
"What, Cousin Lenore doesn't want to talk to me?"
"I regret to say that Mrs. Dahlquist is ailing. She has not come out of her room today."
"Has the doctor been
"Yes, but Locke makes a great many hats and some have the same initials."
The valet drew himself up to his full height, nose twitching. “Mr. Hayes has never and would never put on another gentleman's hat."
And he would never betray his country or his friends, Wynn was willing to swear. He'd be the perfect match for his peagoose of a sister, if only she could be made to see Tripp's sterling qualities. The only thing that nagged at the viscount—and it truly was a small thing, he told himself—was that Tripp's mother lived in Bognor Regis, along the southern coast where smugglers were known to ply their trade with France. It was also along the same coast as Brighton, as a matter of fact.
Tully Hadfield wasn't at home at the run-down rooming house where he boarded. Seeing a squad of bailiffs at the door, Wynn was not surprised Hadfield had done a flit, but he was not happy either to see that the rake was in such dire straits. Punting on tick, a man could grow desperate.
Wynn checked the stable where he knew Hadfield kept his cattle. As he'd expected, they were missing, too. The ostler hadn't seen Tully leave, else he would have called for the bailiffs himself. Now he'd never be paid. Wynn tossed him a coin for his troubles. Blast, there'd be no finding Tully's direction now. He could be halfway to France with Wynn's handiwork and Old Humidor's hat.
Wynn's last stop was at White's, in search of Townsend Haverhill. To the doorman's surprise, the baron hadn't been in yet today. Lud, the viscount did not want to call at the baron's house. He might as well put his head in the lion's mouth as pay a call on Clarice Haverhill. The baron was his last chance of recovering Lord Hume's hat, though, with whatever secrets it contained.
Fortunately, he did not have to go into Haverhill House. In the doorway he asked the butler if he might speak with the baron.
"Milord is not in, Lord Stanford. May I take your card up to the ladies?” He held out a white-gloved hand for the ritual calling card, one corner turned down to show that the viscount had called in person. The butler would carry it up the stairs, ask his mistress if she was receiving, then stand back lest he be trampled in Miss Clarice's eagerness to snag the eminently eligible lord. Wagers among the footmen were two to one in Miss Clarice's favor.
Wynn placed a pound note on the butler's palm instead. “Forget I even stopped by, will you?"
The butler noted that his lordship wasn't carrying a nosegay or a box of bonbons. There was no ring-box-size bulge in the coat stretched across a broad chest. Jamison nodded. He'd back the winner, and Miss Clarice could lead apes in hell. The pound note disappeared discreetly.
Wynn had a second one ready. “Perhaps you could tell me where I might find Baron Haverhill? Another of my guests last evening mislaid a personal item and I was wondering if the baron had seen it."
Jamison eyed the paper money with regret. “I am sorry, my lord, but Baron Haverhill has gone out of town on a family matter. He expects to return from Worthing within a sennight."
Worthing, on the seacoast between Brighton and Bognor Regis? The same Worthing where Wynn's sister had gone to school, where that female was dead or dying? Impossible! Ridiculous! Out of the question.
Dash it, Wynn swore as he made his way back to Grosvenor Square, he might have to call on Miss Lockharte after all.
Chapter Seven
When the viscount returned to Stanford House, he handed Wilkins his hat and gloves. The butler handed him more headaches.
"Mr. Stubbing asked to be notified immediately at your arrival, my lord. He is in the office. Lady Stanford requests you attend her in her chamber, and Miss Susan is waiting for you in the morning room. Also Lord Hume has called. I put him in the library."
"What, Cousin Lenore doesn't want to talk to me?"
"I regret to say that Mrs. Dahlquist is ailing. She has not come out of her room today."
"Has the doctor been
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