“No, Mother, that is not what I want. And we are far from destitute. I’m doing my best to restore our fortune.”
“Your best.” She sneered at him. “What an oxymoron.” She strode toward the doorway, and Stephen rose and went after her.
“Mother, all I want from you is Grandmama’s address. At least give me that.”
Without pausing, she said, “Ask Phillips. In fact, from now on, if you have something to say to me, say it to him. I am certain he will relay the message.” She opened the door and Stephen closed his eyes when it slammed closed again.
“Sir,” came a small voice from the corner with the tea tray. “May I show you out?”
It was Phillips. Stephen rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you.”
The stiff-necked man led him down the stairs and opened the door. Before Stephen could replace his hat, though, Phillips leaned close. “The Dowager, your grandmother?”
Stephen raised his eyes to meet Phillips’s. “You know her address?”
“Twenty-eight Swallow Street, my lord. Just south of Hanover Square. The house is green and brown, my lord.”
Stephen nodded. “Thank you.” He replaced his beaver hat and turned to go.
“My lord, one more thing.”
“Yes, Phillips.”
“Her ladyship, sir, your grandmother, is not at home. We had a letter from her last week, and she won’t be in Town for another month or more. Your mother’s eyes are weak, my lord, and I read the letter to her. Pardon me, my lord, but I thought you might like to know. In case you”—he glanced behind him—“needed the journals soon.”
Stephen smiled. Phillips wasn’t half bad. Now if only the old butler could teach his mother some civility. “Thank you, Phillips.” Stephen pressed a crown into his palm. “Let me know if you come across any other interesting information.”
“Yes, my lord,” Phillips said, pocketing the five shillings and closing the door.
“IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH,” Stephen said, stepping out of the shadows between his house and the Hales’.
Josephine jumped and whipped to face him. “You frightened me,” she chided.
He’d just watched her shimmy down the trellis and the tree outside her bedroom window. He was finally able to breathe again, and he didn’t really care if she ever did so again. She’d scared him half to death.
As usual.
But he’d be damned if he’d let her know that. He wasn’t the liberal egalitarian she seemed to want in her bed—nor did he want to be—but he could at least spare them further arguments, if he kept his mouth shut and allowed her to think he was somewhat unconventional.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you.” He took her arm. “I’m taking you on an adventure.”
“Adventure?” She gave him a curious look but didn’t resist as he led her to the front of the house, where he’d had a hack waiting for the last hour. He paused in the shadows, looking up and down the street. Again, he was reminded of his time in India—felt dark eyes on his back, heard the hiss of whispered words—and yet he saw no one. Still, he hurried Josephine across the way and handed her into the carriage.
He gave the jarvey the directions, then sat back and smiled at his companion. She was wearing an old shirt, trousers, and a coat tonight. Her red hair was pinned under a boy’s cap. Anyone who saw them would think she was a lad, unless they came close enough to see the delicate cheekbones or the long, thick lashes of those sparkling green eyes.
“So what is on Swallow Street?” she asked when they were underway.
“My grandmother’s house. I read my father’s journal today—”
There was a cry of protest from the other side of the carriage.
“—and when I finished, I realized there must be other journals.”
“You read the journal. Without me?”
“I went to my mother’s house and asked her about the journals. As usual, she was singularly unhelpful, but another friend was kind enough to give me this tip. My grandmother is not at home, so we will have to sneak in. Your favorite pastime.” He finally paused and looked at her.
