The walk gave him time to think. The man who’d tried to murder his wife was most likely dead, killed by an unknown hand.
It didn’t take a genius to realise that someone didn’t want the man to tell what he knew. Maybe his enemy wanted to remain hidden, and a man as distinctive and with a name like Cockfosters wouldn’t elude someone determined to find him.
It also meant Edward Smith could be in danger. Strange how John didn’t consider Edward a threat, but he did not. His investigations had shown him Smith had nothing to gain from the inheritance except a title, which wouldn’t help him a great deal in his line of business. He owned considerable wealth, his life established and happy. Most of all, the man exuded honesty, and his business dealings were above board and fair.
No, not Edward. He was an ally, if anything. He’d send a message to Edward to lie low until the night of the ball.
John had his proofs, except the attempt on Faith’s life, because he had no doubt now that was what it was. Not an extortion threat, but death, with some greed thrown in. Enslaving her in a brothel would have meant death, by the hand of a violent customer, or disease. If Cockfosters could get something else from her, he would, and greed had proved his downfall, since Faith had got away. It had given John, alerted by the footman who’d followed at a distance and kept a discreet eye on her, time to reach her side.
Everything went back to her, to Faith. John took a corner smartly, back to the days when he needed to cover ground quickly.
He wanted to get away from the experience in Seven Dials, preferably change his clothes and wash. Maybe order a bath.
Remove the filth of corruption.
John had time to call on an old colleague before he went home that night, the one he’d decided to call on earlier. This time he found him at home.
Before dinner, he made a brief announcement to the dowager and her daughters. “We believe we’ve found the heir to the earldom.” He gave a succinct account of the proofs and the history of the man. Faith, standing by his side, as always, greeted the news with a visible sigh of relief. Now the succession didn’t depend on her. John pressed her hand and regarded the dowager with interest.
Her expression didn’t change, but he knew by now the lady was processing what he’d told her. “He’s single, you say?” she demanded.
She’d got that far very fast indeed. Yes, her daughter could do worse. Not that John said it. “He is. He has considerable investments and business interests. In fact, he could give the earldom a run for its money.”
“Is he presentable?” she asked of John.
“He seems a good man, and for better or worse he is the heir to the estate. We have formal applications and confirmations to undertake, but the proofs are so compelling I doubt we’ll have any problems.” By accepting Edward Smith as his heir, he was taking some pressure off her shoulders. The title would live on. “I think it best to keep his identity to ourselves for the time being, until we have the proofs legally attested.”
The dowager readily agreed to that.
Edward arrived, dressed impeccably, his manners perfect. The dowager unbent so much as to offer him a gracious smile, before she proceeded to interrogate him on his family and circumstances. She required Edward to take her in to dinner, and he accomplished the feat in stunned silence. By the time they sat at table, his smile resembled a rictus.
One Faith eased by talking to him in a sensible manner, asking about his business and then posing some intelligent but non-interrogatory questions. He answered in such a way as to indicate he had considerable wealth.
“You intend to remain in London, then, sir?”
“Until this matter is cleared up,” Edward answered the dowager, offering a smile. “I have excellent agents and managers, although in the general run of events I prefer to visit my businesses on a regular basis.” He helped himself to the roasted parsnips, which gave him a moment’s respite.
“You do not manage your concerns yourself, then?” The dowager visibly brightened and graciously allowed him to deposit a parsnip on her plate, a sign of respect if ever there was one. A gentleman could have any number of concerns, but it was better if he didn’t have first-hand experience every day. Gentlemen did not get their hands dirty, or ruin the manicures their valets had slaved over.
John suppressed his snort. During the last few weeks he’d met men who answered that description perfectly. He’d soon learned a lack of callouses on the hands didn’t necessarily make a man less able to cope with the more uncomfortable aspects of life.
On the pretext of reaching for the buttered carrots, Faith contrived to nudge him. He must have made a sound when he tried to suppress his inappropriate sound of derision. He turned his head and grinned, so fast only she should see it.
She grinned back, apparently not caring who saw her. He liked that about her.
“I paid an overdue visit today,” he told her. Lady Graywood glanced at him.
“You have acquaintances in London?”
At least John had taken her attention, giving Edward a chance to recover from her interrogation. “Only military ones. This one is the highest. I paid a visit to the Duke of Wellington.”
The dowager raised a brow. “Indeed? I wasn’t aware you knew his grace personally.”
“Yes, he knew me. I had the fortune to exchange views with him on several occasions. The duke preferred to discuss his strategies with his officers in the field, who had reviewed the terrain.”
Belatedly, he realised if he carried on discussing his war years he might become one of those military bores who occupied a corner in his club, desperately engaging the attention of anyone who sat with him. The glory years. Not that John saw them that way. “The duke had heard of my return to London, of course, but he waited for me to come to him. He always said he was available to any of us if we needed him. I should have remembered that sooner.” He regarded Wellington as a brilliant commander and meticulous planner. He’d learned a lot from the man his troops called Old Nosey. “He professed himself glad to see me, and he’s invited me to attend the Waterloo Dinner next month.”
The dowager gasped. The duke invited only thirty-seven or at the most thirty-eight men to the dinner commemorating the battle.
It was an extremely prestigious event, conferring serious favour.
“He says he’ll try to come to the ball and he’ll mention it in a few circles.” He should tell the whole story. “He said he is not looked on highly by the most fashionable.” He paused. “However, with my efforts and with his I can confidently state the ball will not be completely devoid of company.”
“Indeed, sir, men in red coats often attract the highest sticklers.
Although many are younger sons, they are frequently generously endowed with everything a young lady would wish for.”
Faith choked. John decided she’d pay for that later, in the most pleasurable way. Of course she meant the men in question could to take care of fastidious young ladies like Charlotte and Louise. So if Edward failed to satisfy in some way, the dowager would have others in reserve. John expected nothing less.
He showed the dowager a calm countenance and agreed with her judgment. “Sometimes a younger son can outstrip his older brother.”
“As the Duke of Wellington so amply demonstrates.” The dowager heaved a sigh. “Such a shame about his brother! A sad wastrel.”
He actually had a snippet of information. “The duke is buying Apsley House from his brother the marquis. He should be in full possession of the house before too long.”
The dowager raised a brow. “Good news. The house is in an excellent position.” Now she had some useful news to exchange with her acquaintances. Gossip was currency in the circles the dowager moved in.