Miss Hart flinched at Daventry’s blunt reply, heightening Evan’s frustration.
“I speak of the fact my grandfather was a privateer, not a pirate. The fact I’ve been lied to my whole life.” He had been made to feel like an outcast, a misfit. Perhaps that’s why he admired Miss Hart. He’d been made to feel inadequate, too, hence his valiant attempts to save the innocent, to approach everything he did with skill and finesse. “I intend to ensure people know the truth.”
D’Angelo leant forward in his seat, his hands braced on his broad thighs. “And what of you, Miss Hart? Despite his heritage, there are women in the ton who would cut off an ear to marry Sloane. Most find it impossible to resist him. What if you make a dreadful mistake and accidentally fall in love with your husband? What if the decision to marry brings a lifetime of regret?”
Miss Hart cleared her throat. “You’re right, Mr D’Angelo, your colleague has a way of stirring excitement in one’s chest. I expect the more time I spend in his company, the more I will grow to like him.”
Evan gripped the top rail of her chair as a rush of euphoria swept through him. Why did it matter what this particular woman thought? Why did he care for her good opinion?
“You’re remarkably honest, madam,” D’Angelo countered.
“Falsehoods are for fools, sir.”
Pride filled Evan’s chest. Few women would withstand the scrutiny of these men. Indeed, he touched her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “Honesty is an excellent foundation for marriage. Would you not agree?”
A smile tugged on Ashwood’s lips. “So it would seem.”
“And as for regret, Mr D’Angelo,” Miss Hart said. “Those who count their losses live in a constant state of disappointment. I’m more inclined to count my blessings, and shall be forever grateful to Mr Sloane.”
A darkness passed over D’Angelo’s features. Miss Hart’s words struck a chord. He had spent his life reflecting on his losses, using every form of pleasure to numb the pain.
Daventry spoke, breaking the silence. “Well, as you’re intent on marrying, and we cannot persuade you otherwise, there must be a way we can help you find this masked fiend.”
At the prospect of assisting in a dangerous venture, D’Angelo dragged himself from his melancholic mood. “Now we have overcome our initial shock, explain all that has happened so far.”
With considerable input from Miss Hart, Evan gave a detailed account of recent events.
“You had to kiss the lady in front of the lawyer?” Cole’s frown deepened. “Did you research his background before agreeing to his farcical demands?”
“Golding is acting on behalf of our grandfathers,” Evan reassured. “Of that, there is no doubt.”
D’Angelo grinned. “So you had no issue convincing him of your mutual affection?”
Evan firmed his jaw. “No. No issue.”
“I think my lack of experience helped,” Miss Hart said, “coupled with Mr Sloane’s skill in that department. Mr Golding seemed more than pleased.”
Evan inwardly groaned. D’Angelo would make jests about this until the end of his days. “And so now we need to marry and have Mr Golding bear witness.”
“What happens then?” Ashwood asked.
“I assume our wedding gifts will provide the clues to finding our legacy. In the meantime, we intend to investigate all suspects. Namely, Mr Wicks, Mr Ramsey, Charles Sloane and Lady Hollinshead.”
Evan knew the last name on the list would prove unpopular with Miss Hart, but he did not expect her to gasp and jump up from the chair in open challenge.
“Why have you added the countess to the list?”
“Because it’s likely she knew about the contract, and you used her carriage to visit Mr Golding on the day the intruder broke into the lawyer’s office. She persuaded your mother to move to town. She’s visited Silver Street and knows when no one is home.”
Miss Hart shook her head. “What motive would she have for wishing to steal our legacy? Surely you don’t believe she rode through the fields of Little Chelsea wearing a plague mask?”
“Why not? Perhaps you’re not the only woman to don breeches or ride astride.”
“I might have been killed in the carriage accident.” She touched Evan’s chest lightly as she made her plea—an action that captured the notice of Evan’s colleagues. “The countess swore an oath to
protect me. As my mother lay groaning in her sickbed, the countess gripped her hand and promised to give me the life I deserve. Every ball gown I’ve worn since belongs to her. She has been nothing but generous and kind.”
Evan might have offered an opposing opinion, but the comment about the ball gowns tugged at his heart. He scanned Miss Hart’s plain blue pelisse, worn for warmth not style, observed the simple poke bonnet fixed with new lilac ribbon and a sprig of lavender. When he considered the state of her furnishings at home, it was evident the lady hoped their legacy amounted to a king’s ransom. While Evan had inherited a vast sum from his father, who had inherited his wealth from Lady Boscobel, Miss Hart had been less fortunate.