She’d come prepared to argue, persuade, plead. “You believe me?”
“Of course I do, my dear.”
“And…” She paused to suck in a breath. Her heart raced with wild hope. “And you’ll help free Lord Sheene?”
“By God, yes. This villainy must end. But it won’t be as quick as you’d like, Grace. I’ll need to gather evidence and place what I know before the authorities.”
“Isn’t there enough here?” she asked urgently.
“No. Although you were clever to bring this material.”
“How long will you need? Time is of the essence.” She hardly cared that she badgered a duke of the realm much as she’d have haggled with a neighboring farmer over a ewe.
Even Kermonde looked slightly startled at her directness. “Months, probably.”
“Months.” The rioting happiness in her heart eased to a limping trot. In six months, Matthew’s promise to her ended. Then he’d wreak revenge on his tormentors and break his captivity the only way he could. With his own death.
Compassion filled the duke’s face. “Patience, my dear. Lord John has friends in high places, although not as many as he thinks. The case must be unassailable before I proceed officially. This will be Sheene’s only chance. If we foul it up, he’ll be held as a madman the rest of his life.”
“I couldn’t bear that,” she whispered, then hoped her uncle didn’t read anything significant into what she said. She’d tried to give the impression that her friendship with the marquess hadn’t proceeded beyond the bounds of propriety.
“Lord John’s greed is understandable if far from laudable. The Lansdownes were always confoundedly plump in the pocket. We do this right or it’s not worth doing. At present, we know where the marquess is and we know what Lord John is up to. If we signal our intentions, he could steal Sheene away, lock him in a public asylum under a false name. Then we’ll never find him.”
“Lord Sheene has suffered so long.” Grace rose on trembling legs and stood before her godfather’s desk like a petitioner. Why not? She was. She’d go on her knees if it would help. Love had crushed her Marlow pride to dust.
That clever vulpine face took on a thoughtful expression as he considered her. Perhaps her advocacy had been too passionate. But any delay stung her like needles piercing flesh.
Oh, Matthew, stay alive for me, her anguished heart cried while the laden silence extended.
Kermonde gave her a faint smile. “I remember Sheene’s father. Fine fellow. Clever as a tree full of monkeys. Not surprised his son inherited his brains. Very sad day when he and his marchioness died. Went to the funeral. Remember the boy spoke bravely at the service. He must have been ten or eleven, I’d say. Nice-looking youngster. He’d be about twenty-five now.”
He paused to send Grace another speculative glance. Clearly, she hadn’t concealed her personal interest. How could she? She was on fire with love and fear. Still, her reputation was at risk and she wanted no hint of scandal to prejudice Matthew’s case. Nobody must ever know how joyfully Grace Marlow had whored herself to a madman.
“Uncle Francis, I’m doing this because I hate to see someone abused and imprisoned,” she said stiffly. “My husband died only a few weeks ago.”
“But your husband was much older, wasn’t he, my dear?” Kermonde’s lips twitched. She’d told him little about Josiah, but obviously enough for him to guess much she hadn’t said. “Dashed bad show this happened to young Sheene. I should have taken an interest but I hadn’t heard anything against his uncle. Then news circulated that the boy was out of his head and I haven’t given the poor chap a thought since. I was proud to call the late Lord Sheene a friend. If I save his son further torment, it’s the least I can do.”
“So what are Your Grace’s plans?” Vere asked from behind her. She’d almost forgotten her cousin was present.
“I go to London where I’ll put qualified men on the case. Discreet men who can ferret out information without alerting Lord John we’re onto him.”
“So when do we leave?” she asked eagerly.
Kermonde frowned. “Grace, I can’t take you with me.”
“But I’m the one…”
The elegant hand he held up was weighted with the ducal signet. “If everything you’ve told me is true, and I believe it is, you’re in grave danger. Lord John has already threatened your life. You can’t swan around London under his nose. If you’re seen in my company, he’ll know the game is up. I gather he has no idea of your connections.”
She allowed herself a grim smile even while her heart protested that she and only she could save Matthew. “Lord John believes I’m a prostitu
te who works the docks at Bristol.”
Her uncle looked shocked. She supposed he was unused to such free speech from a woman. Or at least from a woman he considered a lady. He remembered her as a sheltered young girl. How could he know the ways life had changed her since?
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it’s imperative he has no idea where you are or who you’ve spoken to. I’ll keep you informed. But I insist upon you remaining here.”
“At Fallon Court?”