Fiona’s eyes widened again. “He was unfaithful to her?”
“Among other things.” Lorelei shook her head, remembering the times she’d used her tree-climbing ability to hide from his lecherous friends. “The Earl of Woodhaven was a vile man. Emily married him only because we were destitute after our parents died and he was willing to provide all of us shelter in exchange for…for Emily.”
Fiona gave her shoulder a gentle rub. “Women do what they have to do to survive, nae?” She looked at the elegant house. “Just like here.”
Lorelei hadn’t thought of it that way, but Fiona was right. How many of the courtesans who worked here actually liked what they did? Even if they were in luxurious surroundings? She wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to do what Emily had done or what these women did, either, even to survive.
Just then a door opened in one of the other houses down the street. A young girl—she couldn’t have been any older than Fiona or herself—emerged, holding the hand of a child that might have been three or four. The girl was dressed in a plain, serviceable gown, her hair simply braided and she wore no paint. Of course, this was not the time of day any “gentlemen” would come seeking services.
“Isshea courtesan?” Fiona asked.
“She must be. These are not boarding houses, and a maid would not have a child with her.” Lorelei frowned as she watched the mother go down the street—clearly she was the mother from the way she was talking to the child and slowing her pace to adjust.
“It is a pity that a man will not take responsibility for his own child,” she said.
“Aye.” Fiona nodded. “I had best never hear that Alasdair has visited this place.”
Lorelei’s frown deepened. She hoped she’d never hear that, either, but for a different reason. One she shouldn’t even bethinkingabout.
…
“They are out shoppingagain?” Alasdair asked Belton after the butler let him in.
“It appears so.” Belton hesitated. “You might consider leaving a calling card in the morning if you intend to come around in the afternoon.”
He managed to bite back a retort. Fiona was hissister, for God’s sake. Why in the world should he need to make the trip over here in the morning and place a card on the silver salver inside the foyer to let her know he intended to come by in the afternoon when he was already here? Of course, most aristocrats would send one of their footmen over to put the damn card on the tray, but he didn’t feel comfortable instructing one of Mount Stuart’s servants to do that when he was perfectly able-bodied. The English had far too many rules to follow. In the Highlands, if a neighbor stopped by, he was shown hospitality. But then, he was in London, wasn’t he?
Alasdair sighed. “I will have to have some cards made.”
The butler gave a slight nod, his only indication that there had been any kind of exchange between them. “Would you care to wait in the parlor? The ladies usually return home about this time.”
“Aye. I’ll do that.”
“Very well. I will send some tea in and let Miss Fiona know that you are here when she arrives.”
“Thank ye.”
It wasn’t exactly Fiona who he wanted to see, although there was no need to share that. Not that he did not intend to keep an eye on her. He did. He’d already asked some discreet questions about who Erik Taylor was, but no one seemed to know much about him other than he owned a small shipping line.
But today, Alasdair wanted to try to determine what Lorelei’s feelings for Westwood were. Since the conversation he’d overheard the females plotting last Sunday, he’d done some checking into the marquess’s reputation and found it to be near sterling. He was known to be conscientious and honest and certainly no rake. Alasdair hadn’t caught a whiff of any kind of scandal, although the men at White’s were no doubt the marquess’s friends and would not betray him. The barest hint of anything precarious was a comment or two that Lady Melissa was too flighty for him, even if she was a duke’s daughter. Based on his own interactions with her, he wouldn’t argue the point, and it dovetailed somewhat with the scheme he’d overheard.
Since this was a week in which there hadn’t been a ball at Almack’s and the invitations to other events were just starting to trickle in, he decided the best thing he could do was come here today and see what he could uncover.
As he waited, the clock on the mantel chimed the half hour and then the hour. Where in the world were his sister and Lorelei? He hadn’t heard Louisa come in, either. How many hours could women shop? The day was warm and maybe they had gone to that place that had started selling ices. It was on Berkeley Square close to Mount Stuart’s.
He had about decided to walk home when the knocker sounded. A minute later he heard a male voice at the door and then footsteps leading toward the parlor. A gentleman caller? One who’d left a calling card this morning? Well, he’d be cooling his heels as well. If it were Westwood or Taylor, Alasdair would use the time to his benefit.
But it was neither of them. When he looked up, it was Gavin Campbell entering the room.
…
Louisa was running late. Her bluestocking meeting had grown into a heated controversy over Edmund Burke’sA Vindication of Natural Society.It was nearly five o’clock when the three of them left the Pot and Pineapple and walked the few blocks home.
Belton met them at the door, a look of relief flashing across his usually impassive expression. “Lady Louisa. I am so glad you are home.”
She glanced at Lorelei and Fiona and then back at the butler. “Is something wrong?”
“Your mother is not home and I was not quite sure what to do.”
