Tate’s lips thinned. “This is a wholly inappropriate conversation. I will not discuss such matters with a lady. No matter how unconventional she may be.” He continued, “I read The Gazette, Miss Hardcastle. I know all about your ridiculous columns.”
She didn’t care what he thought of her writings with Kate, but his use of propriety to keep from speaking about Effie annoyed her.
“I can assure you, Lord Tate,” she said, “there is nothing you can say to Lord Wrackham that you can’t say to me.”
“Oh, I very much doubt that.” The earl laughed cynically.
Val, who’d seemed willing to let Caro handle things up to now, spoke up while giving her arm a warning squeeze. “If Lord Tate is more comfortable speaking of such matters with another gentleman, my dear, perhaps it would be best if he and I stepped out into the garden for a few moments.”
She wanted to argue, but after looking at Tate’s flushed face, she realized Val was probably right in thinking Tate would speak more freely if the two men were alone. This wasn’t about her own desire to fight back against silly societal restrictions but about finding Effie. If Tate confiding in Val alone would get them information, then she should not object.
“Fine.” She nodded. “Go.”
“I’ll ask the kitchen to send up some tea and cakes, Miss Hardcastle,” Tate said, almost pleasant now he’d gotten his way. “Please enjoy the refreshments. We shouldn’t be too long.”
The two men stepped out of the room, leaving her alone with only the cat figurine for company.
Chapter Ten
What Val really wished to discuss with Tate was his abandonment of Caro to that drunkard Harrison, but that would have to wait for another day. Now he needed to find out what the man knew about Effie.
The Tate garden was pleasantly laid out with a meandering path that led to a small but impressive conservatory with a majestic glass dome pointed at the gray London sky.
The earl’s agitation was clear from his inability to remain still.
“What’s the meaning of this, Wrackham?” Tate’s expression was tight with annoyance. “You know better than to bring questions about a man’s paramour into the sanctity of his home. I have a wife who deserves to be shielded from such indignities.”
Val was well aware of the frequency with which men of their class kept mistresses their wives knew nothing about. Even in those marriages where the infidelity was known to the wife, a polite fiction was maintained for propriety’s sake. It was a silly practice to Val’s mind. He knew well enough that any number of marriages were contracted for reasons other than affection. But once the knot was tied, he intended to remain faithful to Caro for so long as they both lived. So, Tate’s belated concern for his wife’s feelings was particularly grating.
“When Miss Hardcastle and I arrived,” he pointed out, “we passed your lady wife leaving. Unless she is able to hear conversations in her home when traveling elsewhere, there is no danger of her learning the reason for our visit.”
“She’ll bloody well want to know why Miss Caroline Hardcastle was in her parlor,” Tate said sharply. “She adores that silly newspaper column. Forever banging on and on about Lady Katherine this and Miss Hardcastle that. I’m surprised she hasn’t murdered me in my bed so she can be made famous in the demmed thing.”
So Tate did have reason to be overset by Caro’s presence in his house, Val thought with reluctant amusement. Still, recognizing that he needed the man to calm down and confide in him, he tried for a placating tone. “Tell her we had a business matter to discuss and I stopped by with my betrothed before escorting her to the park. It has the advantage of being true.”
The earl’s eyes widened at the disclosure of their engagement, but he didn’t comment on it. “I suppose I can do that,” he said reluctantly.
“Now,” Val said briskly, “despite what you might have assumed last evening, Miss Warrington did not miss the performance because of illness. She is missing. I was told you were seen arguing with her in the theatre last week on one of the nights my cousin wasn’t there with her. Can you tell me what that was about?”
But Tate had apparently stopped listening halfway through. “What the devil do you mean she’s missing? Where’s she gone?”
The man’s eyes were wide, and his concern seemed genuine enough.
“I’m afraid I can’t say.” He watched the other man’s face for any slip in his mask. “Miss Hardcastle is a dear friend of Miss Warrington’s, and she and my cousin are desperate to learn where she’s gone.”
“You should ask your cousin what’s become of her.” He sneered. “He’s not as sure of her as he claims. She’s been putting out lures for me for weeks. I daresay she’s looking for a more experienced man. I can give her things that he can’t. I’ve already found a little house and will set her up in a style your cousin can never match. Why should she settle for a younger son when she can have an earl, I ask you?”
Perhaps because she’d be marrying the younger son for love rather than making a business arrangement to sacrifice control over her own body with an earl who was already married? Since Tate didn’t seem willing to share the subject of his argument with Miss Warrington—which, given the man’s boasts, Val suspected might have been her rejection of his advances—he decided to change tactics. Sympathizing with the man had certainly gained him no new information. Perhaps an accusation would prod him into talking.
“Do you know anything about a pair of men who were seen attacking Miss Warrington’s carriage near her home in Half Moon Street yesterday?”
Tate gaped. “What? Is that what happened to her? She was taken from her own carriage? Of course I know nothing about that. What do you take me for?”
“A man who might have been rejected by the beautiful actress he’d been pursuing.” Val shrugged. “Rejected in favor of a younger son who’d recently begun to curtail her interactions with admirers who were used to seeing her whenever they wished.”
“I had nothing to do with Miss Warrington’s abduction,” Tate said coldly. “Besides, I was in Brighton with my wife yesterday visiting her sister. I almost didn’t return in time for the theatre, though in the end it didn’t matter, since Miss Warrington wasn’t there.”
This last he said in a morose tone, like a child denied a treat.
If the earl was telling the truth about being in Brighton the day before, then he couldn’t have been the man with the refined voice Frank had heard during the abduction. That didn’t rule Tate out, of course, since he could have hired the other man. But if Val were kidnapping the woman he’d been obsessed with for months, he’d want to be there when taking her. Especially if it would offer an opportunity to get in a few blows at his rival. Anyone else, Val supposed, would have stayed as far away as possible.
Tate was just arrogant enough to think his story about Brighton enough to evade suspicion.
Val asked, “Can you think of anyone who might wish to harm Miss Warrington?”
At the very least, if the earl had been observing the actress for a while, then he’d surely seen who else might have been watching her, too.