"I would remind you, sir, that you married one of the members of Pompeia's."
"Precisely. A fact which qualifies me to judge the character of the women who become members, does it not? Let us be clear on this point, Augusta. When I gave you permission to accompany me to London, I told you I would not be able to dance attendance on you or supervise your outings. You gave me your word you would exercise good sense when taking Meredith about the Town."
"I am exercising good sense. She was in absolutely no danger of any kind."
"I did not mean physical danger."
Augusta glowered at him. "Are we talking about moral danger, perhaps, my lord? You see the club members as bad influences on the morals of your daughter? If that is the case, you certainly should not have gone out of your way to marry one of the founders of Pompeia's. That 'damned club, as you call it, was my idea from the start."
"Damnation, Augusta, you are deliberately putting the wrong construction on my words." Harry was furious with himself for having allowed what should have been a simple husbandly lecture on female decorum to turn into a full-blown quarrel. He made a heroic bid for his self-control and his temper. "It is not the morals of the ladies of the club which alarm me."
"I am very glad to hear that."
" 'Tis, rather, a certain streak of recklessness I find in them."
"How many of them do you know, my lord? Or are you, perhaps, generalizing on the basis of what you have learned about me?"
Harry narrowed his gaze. "Do not play me for the fool, madam. I am well acquainted with the names on the membership list of Pompeia's."
That set her back. "You are?"
"Of course. I examined it most carefully once I realized I would very likely be marrying you," Harry admitted.
"This is an outrage." Augusta leaped to her feet and began striding angrily back and forth across the room. "You conducted an investigation of Pompeia's? Just wait until I inform Sally of this. She will be furious with you."
"Who do you think gave me the membership list to examine?" Harry asked dryly. "Between what I knew of the backgrounds of the ladies on that list and what Sheldrake and Sally were able to tell me, I concluded that you were in no serious moral danger. That does not mean that I approve of the place or of you taking my daughter there."
"I see."
"I would order you to withdraw your membership were it not for the fact that Sally is so ill and has so little time left. I am well aware that she enjoys both the club and your visits. Therefore, I will not deny you permission to go to Pompeia's."
"How very kind of you, my lord."
"But henceforth, you will not take Meredith with you. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear," she said through set teeth.
"You will also, in future, leave me a detailed schedule of all the activities you have planned for each day. I did not like coming home this afternoon only to be informed you were simply out with no exact information as to where you had gone."
"A schedule. Yes, my lord. You shall most certainly have a schedule. Will there be anything else, Graystone?" Augusta paced furiously. Her anger was palpable.
Harry sighed and sat back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the desk and eyed Augusta broodingly. He very much wished he had never initiated this confrontation. On the other hand, a man had to take a firm stand when dealing with a woman like this. "No, I believe that will be all, madam."
She came to an abrupt halt and swung around to confront him. "If you have quite finished, my lord, I have a favor to ask you."
Having mentally braced himself for more outrage and another impassioned defense of Pompeia's, Harry was speechless for a few seconds. When he finally found his voice, he reacted quickly, anxious to find a way to be generous now that he had played the heavy-handed husband yet again.
"Yes, my dear?" He put as much warm encouragement as he could into his tone. Hell, he told himself, feeling suddenly magnanimous, what is another new bonnet or a gown if I can restore her good temper?
Augusta came back across the carpet and planted both hands on the edge of the desk. Leaning forward, she fixed him with an intent gaze. "Harry, will you allow me to assist you in your investigations?"
Dumbfounded, he stared at her. "Good God, no."
"Please, Harry. I know I do not know much about that sort of thing, but I believe I could learn quickly. I realize that I would not be of much use to you or Peter, but I could function as an assistant to Sally, could I not?"
"You are quite right, Augusta," he said coldly. "You know nothing about this sort of thing." And as God is my witness, you will never learn, he thought. I will protect you from that kind of knowledge if it is the last thing I do.
"But Harry—"
"Your offer is appreciated, my dear, but I assure you, you would be more hindrance than help."
"But my lord, there are elements of your investigation that concern me as much as they do you and your friends. I want to be a part of your efforts. I have a right to be involved. I want to help."
"No, Augusta, and that is absolutely the last word." Harry picked up his quill and pulled a journal toward him across the desk. "Now, I must bid you good day. I have much to do this afternoon and I will be out for most of the evening. I shall be dining at my club with Sheldrake."
Augusta straightened slowly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Yes, my lord." She turned and went toward the door.
It was all Harry could do not to go after her, take her into his arms, and relent. He forced himself to remain where he was. He had to be firm. "By the way, Augusta."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Do not forget to give me the schedule of your plans for tomorrow."
"If I can think of anything sufficiently boring and therefore unobjectionable to your lordship, I will definitely put it down on the schedule."
Harry winced as she slammed the door on her way out of the room.
He sat quietly for a long while contemplating the gardens outside his window. There was no way he could tell her the real reason he could not give her even a token role in the investigation.
It was bad enough that she was angry about being excluded. But he could deal with her anger better than he could the pain he knew would come if she were to get involved in this situation and thereby learn too much.
Once he had deciphered Richard Ballinger's encoded poem, Harry had known that the rumors that had circulated at the time of the young man's death were founded in fact. The last male in the Northumberland Ballinger line had in all likelihood been a traitor.
Later that night Harry, accompanied by Peter, stepped down from the cab of a hired carriage and into the very heart of one of London's grimiest stews. It had started raining an hour ago and the paving stones underfoot had become slick. Moonlight gleamed dully on the greasy surfaces.
"Do you know, Sheldrake, it concerns me somewhat that you know your way so well around this part of Town." Harry saw a pair of beady red eyes glinting in the shadows and casually used his ebony walking stick to discourage the rat, which was the size of a large cat. The creature vanished into a vast pile of offal that marked the entrance to a narrow alley.
Peter chuckled softly. "In the old days your sensibilities were rarely offended by the notion of how and where I acquired my information."
"You will have to learn to refrain from amusing yourself in places such as this now that you are about to become a married man. I cannot see Claudia Ballinger approving of this sort of outing."
"True. But once I have married Miss Ballinger I expect to have far more interesting things to do in the evenings than dive into the stews." Peter paused to get his bearings. "There's the lane we want. The man we are seeking has arranged to meet us in the tavern at the end of this filthy little street."