“Yes, indeed, not to mention poets, pedants and passionate pig breeders.”
It surprised a reluctant laugh out of Lucy. “You can blame your nephew for those ones.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. But my point is, your coming to live with me has brightened my life immeasurably. And despite the difficulties—and the blackmail—I’ve enjoyed it more than I would have believed possible. In fact”—she linked her arm through Lucy’s—“I’ve come to love you like a daughter. So I won’t hear another word about yourleaving—unless it’s on the arm of a handsome, thoroughly besotted man. Now, shall we go in and see what Mrs.Tweed is preparing for luncheon?”
“Oh, Alice.” Lucy’s eyes flooded with tears and she hugged Alice tightly. “No one has ever been as good to me as you, and yet you have every reason to hate me.”
Alice hugged her back. “Nonsense. You’ve done nothing to be blamed for, and besides, there’s enough hate in the world. I refuse to add to it. Now come along and wipe your eyes. It’s time for luncheon!”
***
After luncheon, Alice called on her nephew at his lodgings. It was one thing to refuse to allow Lord Tarrant to help her when it was just about the blackmail. But to let Bamber abandon his daughter to poverty and humiliation again? No indeed. She wanted the wretched man tracked down and called to account.
And if that was at the expense of her own dignity, so be it.
“You’ve made the right decision, Aunt Alice,” Gerald said when she explained.
She’d given him her permission to take Lord Tarrant into his confidence and was still feeling quite hollow and a bit sick at the thought of Tarrant’s reaction. But it had to be done. Bamber had left her with no choice.
“When do you think you’ll speak to him?”
“Tarrant? Oh straight away, I should think.” Seeing her surprise, he added, “He arrived in London last evening—I saw his carriage pull up outside Tarrant House last night and three little girls tumble out. He’s had plenty of time to get himself and his daughters settled in.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’ll call on him this evening.”
***
It was well after the dinner hour. James’s girls were tucked up in bed under the supervision of Nanny McCubbin,who’d arrived in London before them and had taken control of not only the nursery but also the whole house, apparently. The servants jumped to her command. The girls were reserving judgment, but as their former headmistress had said, they knew how to follow orders. James had every faith in Nanny McCubbin.
He was in the library sipping brandy by the fire, having a quiet night in, when young Thornton dropped by. Over a brandy, Thornton explained his aunt’s problem, after first swearing James to secrecy.
“And you say this villain is using these letters to blackmail Lady Charlton?” James said.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what’s in them?”
Thornton shook his head. “She wouldn’t say. Just that they were very personal and private, and she would be devastated if they were made public.”
Love letters, then, James thought. It surprised him. She didn’t seem the type to conduct an illicit affair. He couldn’t deny that he felt a little disappointed. It wasn’t the impression he’d had of her.
Still, she was in trouble, and he’d agreed to help.
“What have you done so far to track him down?”
Thornton outlined everything he’d done, ending with, “He’s a slippery damned weasel.”
“And are we sure that Miss Bamber isn’t involved? She’s not hiding her father’s whereabouts, for instance.”
Thornton pursed his lips. “Aunt Alice is convinced that Miss Bamber is as much a victim as she is, but I’m not so sure. What kind of man would blackmail a stranger to take in his daughter and then give her no way of contacting him? It’s not credible. What if something went wrong? Bamber has no way of knowing that Aunt Alice has a heart as soft as butter.”
James nodded. It did seem most unlikely.
“Did you question Lady Charlton’s butler?”
“About any letters posted? Yes, but Tweed said Miss Bamber hasn’t left any to be posted. I suppose she could have posted something herself, but she goes nowhere unaccompanied, so it would be quite difficult to slip away and contact her father.”
But needs must, James thought. His eleven-year-old daughter had managed to get a letter to him, even if she’d been caught doing it. Or maybe, as things stood at the moment, Miss Bamber felt no need to contact her father.
“You seem to have done everything possible to find the man,” James said. “What do you think I can do?”
