Consternation swamped Felix’s expression. “What?” He fell in beside Julian as he continued toward the side door.
Succinctly, Julian relayed what Hockey had told him.
“I suppose there’s no easy way to find out who did it?”
His expression as grim as Hockey’s had been, Julian shook his head.
After a second, Felix ventured, “After what happened with Papa—”
“Exactly. But sadly, neither you nor I was here at the time, and for all we know, that was an accident.”
“A thorn in your new saddle’s seam isn’t any accident,” Felix countered.
“No, it’s not.” They’d reached the terrace door. Julian gripped the handle and paused. “But no more than I can reconcile that Papa was simply thrown can I make sense of it. I’ve been largely absent for more than a decade. I was in Ireland for eight years before returning, and as far as I know, I’ve made no enemies, before or since. Why anyone would arrange to have me thrown…I have absolutely no idea.”
Worry was written all over Felix’s face. “So what will you do?”
Julian arched his brows. “As far as I can see, there’s nothing—at least nothing useful—I can do. Too many people, including someone sneaking in from outside, could have gained access to the saddle. The stable hasn’t been locked.”
Felix grimaced.
“So”—Julian opened the door—“I’m going to carry on as I’d intended.” He led the way inside. “I’m going to London. I’ve decided it’s time to plunge into the fray and look for a wife who will suit me. A preemptive strike, as it were.”
Felix’s “Really?” rang with stunned surprise.
Cynically, Julian smiled. “Far better that I choose my own wife than have the grandes dames foist their preferred candidate on me.” He glanced at Felix. “You know they will.”
“Well, yes, but…this seems a mite precipitous.”
“Not at all. It’s the start of the Season, and I’m hoping no one will expect me, that they won’t anticipate me being proactive. I’m counting on having the element of surprise, at least long enough to look over the field without interference.” He’d long ago learned that in any negotiation, acting unpredictably never hurt.
The man who had arranged for the thorn to be placed in the Earl of Carsely’s saddle closed the door to his sitting room, then crossed to an armchair angled before the hearth and sank into its comfort. He smiled to himself. He felt entirely confident that no one would ever suspect him of having designs on Carsely’s life.
He drew out the letter with the Wirksworth postmark that he’d picked up from the salver in the front hall earlier in the day. Now that his landlady, as he thought of her, had taken herself off to some ball, he could peruse the missive in peace. Eagerly, he broke the plain seal, spread the single sheet, and read.
“Damn it!” The oath exploded from him, and his expression, which had been radiating eager expectation, contorted into one of petulant anger. He muttered another oath, then crumpled the note, flung it into the fire, and watched it burn.
He stared at the flames.
Gradually, his expression eased. “It was a long shot,” he reminded himself. “An opportunity worth seizing, but in no way guaranteed.”
After a moment, he went on, “At least it seems that the attempt hasn’t harmed his usefulness. In fact, it might have consolidated his position, and that can only help. Another opportunity—a more certain opportunity—will come his way soon enough, and when it does…”
He had his agents in place, primed to take advantage.
“Steady and sure will win this race, and in this case, time is very much on my side.”
This was a complex mission—one far more challenging than any of his previous advances—and he prided himself on being patient in pursuit of long-term gains.
Melissa North stood by the side of Lady Connaught’s ballroom and wished she could have remained at home. For years, she’d been able to use her much prettier sister, Mandy, as a social shield. Where Melissa was tall and willowy, with straight sable-brown hair, very pale fair skin, dark-blue eyes, and a naturally reserved manner, Mandy had bright golden curls, sparkling light-blue eyes, and a peaches-and-cream complexion, and she’d always bubbled with an enthusiasm for life that had guaranteed every gentleman’s eye had fixed on her.
Mandy and Melissa, less than a year apart in age, had made their come-outs together. Mandy, the elder, had insisted on that, and Melissa had been happy to agree. While outwardly, Mandy was socially confident, in reality, it was Melissa who was the calm, collected one able to deal with any drama, and thus it had always been. Mandy was the bright light while Melissa was the anchor.
The sisters had made a pact that they would not make any matrimonial choices during their first Season, when they’d been just nineteen and eighteen respectively. They’d held to that and, instead, had enjoyed themselves learning society’s ropes. Unsurprisingly, in their second Season, Mandy had caught the eye of Rufus, Lord Sedon. Unfortunately, due to the death of their paternal grandmother, they’d missed the subsequent Season entirely, so it was only two Seasons ago that Mandy and Rufus had been able to announce their engagement.
And then Melissa had had two beautiful people to hide behind, which had suited her very well.
Inevitably, however, toward the end of the previous Season, Mandy and Rufus had wed. Consequently, this Season, Mandy, expecting their first child and rather large, wasn’t around to act as a distraction.
