Not any more. His father’s appalling actions had ruined his son’s name and left him penniless and disgraced, whether entirely by proxy or because he’d been somehow involved, the Duke wasn’t sure. He’d been abroad at the time. Then there was the scandal that Charnage had had on his own account a year or so ago. The Duke couldn’t recall the details if he’d ever known them – an elopement, he vaguely thought – but Leo had shaken his head. Either way, Charnage had disappeared from good society and now moved in decidedly less elevated circles, attending the sorts of parties that theDuke of Severn would never grace with his presence even if anyone had invited him.
And, it seemed, he cut profiles in public houses to pay for his lodgings. That was horribly sordid for a gentleman, or at least a man born a gentleman, and Charnage had doubtless decided to end the conversation before he could be snubbed. He probably received plenty of snubs, and indeed the Duke would probably have snubbed him. Severn could not risk letting an encroaching mushroom grow on the fringes of his ermine robes.
He wasn’t currently the Duke of Severn. He was the unknown, unrecognised Mr Cassian who could talk to anybody he pleased, and he was lonely, and he remembered Daizell Charnage so well as that bright young god at Eton.
‘So what are you doing?’ he asked.
Charnage glanced up from his book. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘At the moment. I mean to say, are you, uh, travelling somewhere?’
Charnage didn’t make the obvious point that they were in a coaching inn. ‘Not urgently. Dawdling on my way to an engagement. And yourself?’
‘I’m currently struggling with rather a challenging task, which is what brings me here.’
Charnage’s eyelids drooped. ‘A challenging task. Really. Does that involve the placing of horses before a race?’
The Duke didn’t understand for a moment, and then he laughed with surprise. ‘Not at all, no, and I am not going to suggest a game of chance or skill, either.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
He didn’t enquire further. The Duke was used to people showing rather more interest in his doings. He pressed on. ‘The fact is, I was recently robbed.’
‘Sorry to hear it,’ Charnage said, with no effort to sound sincere. ‘Unfortunately, I will not be able to tide you over with a small loan.’
This was entirely unfamiliar ground. As one of the richer men in England, the Duke had never had to fend off accusations of breaking shins, nor had he ever had to work to make people speak to him or feign interest, his family excepted. ‘I don’t require one,’ he said. ‘Actually, I was robbed of a certain item of sentimental value and I’m trying to discover where the thief went.’
‘Good God.’ Charnage gave him an examining look. ‘Are you a Bow Street Runner?’
‘Me? No.’
‘Thief-taker?’
‘Again, no. I have no experience in this at all.’
Charnage’s brows tilted. ‘I suppose there’s a reason you are doing this yourself rather than calling in someone competent?’
The Duke’s cheeks heated. ‘Yes, but – the thing is – well, it’s rather a delicate matter. For reasons I prefer not to disclose,’ he added, feeling the weakness of it.
‘Naturally. Naturally.’ Charnage waved that away. ‘And you are in this caravanserai to lay hands on the thief?’
‘I wish I were. I have been trudging across Cheltenham trying to pick up his trail without success. I don’t know he’s anywhere near here, to be honest.’ He was blurting out more than Charnage wanted to hear, probably, but it had been a very solitary and disheartening few days. ‘The robbery happened in Gloucester and the only clue is that the fellow took a stage going north rather than south.’
‘Does your thief have an eyepatch? A dramatic scar?’
‘Nothing. He looks quite the gentleman, but without anyvery distinguishing features. A perfectly pleasant ordinary sort of man.’
‘You can’t just ask at every inn if they’ve seen an ordinary sort of man recently,’ Charnage said. ‘Or rather, you could, but not to any effect.’
‘I realise that. I do have his name, but it’s probably false. John Martin,’ he added in response to a questioning look.
‘Oh, certainly false.’ Charnage put down his book and pulled his chair round to face the Duke more squarely, as though he’d decided the conversation was worth his interest. The Duke found himself absurdly flattered. ‘It’s a strangely common habit among the false-name-giving fraternity to resort to Christian names as an alias for a surname. A man who calls himself Mr Martin or Mr Peter or Mr George is never to be trusted.’
The Duke would have liked to query such a sweeping statement, and might have done so if he hadn’t currently been using a Christian name as an alias for a surname. Thank goodness Cassian was such an obscure name as to be unfamiliar to most Englishmen. That could have been embarrassing.
‘In any case, I can’t rely on him using the same name,’ he said. ‘I need to . . . To be honest, I don’t know what I need to do. I hoped I would cross his tracks.’
Charnage made a face. ‘If I were you – did you say this item was of actual value, or merely sentimental?’
