James gave him a sharp look. “Threatening? How?”
“Sent her a note complaining that the girl wasn’t being seen with enough lords—can you believe the fellow’s insisting his daughter must marry someone titled?” He snorted. “He also sent a copy of one of the letters he’s blackmailing her with, threatening to make it public.”
To whom had she written those letters, James wondered again. “Did you see it?”
“No, she burnt it.”
They rode on. James was thoughtful. Why would Bamber send Alice a copy of one of her own letters? To frighten her? It obviously had, if she’d told Gerald about it. But she’d burnt it, so she obviously was too ashamed to let him see it.
“Has Radcliffe’s man—what was his name again?—discovered anything yet?”
Thornton nodded. “Heffernan. He’s good, I’ll give him that. He hasn’t found Bamber—he’s a slippery bastard—but he’s already discovered a number of men who’ve been cheated by Bamber.”
“Cheated? How?”
“All kinds of cheats and swindles. You name it—financial schemes that turned out to be false, counterfeit deeds and certificates, fraudulent share schemes, card cheats, the sale of land he didn’t own. Quite inventive, really.”
“And blackmail?”
Thornton’s mouth twisted. “Harder to tell, according to Heffernan. Blackmail is the kind of thing people are more likely to deny, to hide. Cheat them out of their life savings and they’ll scream the house down, but blackmail them and they’ll deny there was ever anything to be blackmailed about. Understandable, I suppose.”
A breeze sprang up as they were passing under a spreading oak, and drops of water spattered down on them.
“None of the men we questioned knew anything about his daughter, howev—”
James twisted in his saddle to stare at Thornton. “Good God! You didn’t ask them directly?”
“Of course I didn’t,” Thornton retorted irritably. “I know better than to draw the attention of angry, vengeful men to Bamber’s daughter. Lord, they’d have the girl for breakfast.” He brushed water droplets off his coat. “I simply asked whether they knew of any family—as a way of contacting him. None of them knew a thing.”
“And you believe them?”
Thornton nodded. “If they had any way of contacting him, they would have done so, believe me. His victims are out for his blood. The fellow has to be one step away from a one-way journey to Botany Bay, if not a lynching. No wonder he’s so hard to find.”
“All the more reason to keep these inquiries discreet. I won’t have Lady Charlton and Miss Bamber bothered any further by Bamber’s nonsense than they already have been.”
Thornton gave him a quizzical look. “You won’t have my aunt bothered?”
James gave him a level look. “No.”
“Then perhaps I should ask you again about your intentions in that direction.”
“My intentions?” James responded. “Breakfast. My girls will be up and dressed by now. I don’t want to keep them waiting. We always take our breakfast together. ’Morning, Thornton. Thanks for keeping me up to date with the investigation.”
“But I meant—” Thornton began, but James was already cantering away.
* * *
* * *
Gerald’s visit to the Horse Guards had been an eye-opener. He’d found it fascinating working with Heffernan over the last few days, but it had been even more interesting listening to Tarrant and Radcliffe discussing the situation in post–Napoleonic Europe, on which they’d spent quite some time in that initial visit, before moving on to the question of Bamber.
He’d never given much thought to what happened after a war was won—or lost—but it was clear from their talk that a war of a different kind was being conducted on a number of different fronts, only now it wasn’t called war—it was called diplomacy.
Gerald had always assumed diplomacy was a dull kind of career, where dull people attended dull functions and made or listened to endless dull speeches. He hadn’t realized that under that smooth, polite surface appearance, all kinds of exciting things could be happening.
Several times during the discussion he’d felt Radcliffe’s gaze resting on him with a thoughtful expression. Once this Bamber problem was dealt with, he might investigate the possibilities of the diplomatic service. It would be a change from frittering his life away with curricle races and card games and boxing matches, endlessly waiting for his father to allow him some responsibilities.
But first, the hunt for Bamber. It was all very well for Aunt Alice to assure him that the Bamber girl knew nothing about her father’s whereabouts, but Gerald wasn’t convinced. Aunt Alice was a soft touch, and Lucy Bamber—well, she was a tricky, twisty piece. He didn’t know quite what to think of her. She attracted and annoyed him in equal quantities. And she occupied far too much of his thinking time.
He decided to ask her straight-out, face-to-face. He fancied himself a reasonable judge of character: if she lied to his face, he would know.
To that end, he sought out her and Alice in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. His aunt was in her favorite burgundy pelisse, and Miss Bamber was walking on the arm of a large, neatly attired gentleman, smiling up at him with every appearance of interest.
Gerald ground his teeth. What the devil was she doing with that crashing bore Humphrey Ffolliot? And what the devil was he doing to make her smile up at him like that, curse him?
She was looking exceptionally pretty in shades of yellow, a breath of sunshine beneath a flower-trimmed straw bonnet that framed her face charmingly.
This was an investigation, he reminded himself sternly. He was not swayed by charm—hers or any other female’s. He drew up beside them, greeted the ladies, gave a curt nod to Ffolliot and invited Miss Bamber to take a turn around the park with him in his curricle. Her creamy complexion flushed with surprised pleasure and, assisted with pompous ceremony by Humphrey blasted Ffolliot, who acted far too possessive for Gerald’s liking, she climbed up lightly to take the seat beside him.
Part of her dress floated up and settled over his boot. He carefully removed it and shifted his leg so that they didn’t touch. He needed no distractions for this, and as it was, Miss Lucy Bamber was all too distracting for his peace of mind.
“Ffolliot, eh?” he said as the curricle moved off. “Can’t imagine what you could possibly see in that fellow.”
“Can’t you?” she said with a provocative glance. “And yet you introduced him to me as an eligible prospect.”