“That is...interesting.”

“My dear India. One of the nicest things about having a title and money—especially money—is that you can do very much as you wish and people forgive you for it. I never once married for position or financial considerations. Derek’s father was a second son with no prospects whatsoever. My second husband, Percival’s father, was a marquess with a sizable fortune but not when I married him. He was not poor, of course—I long ago realized true poverty would not suit me, but I had no idea he was heir to a cousin’s title and wealth. And my husband now, my dearest Stephen, has both money and title—another marquess, which was ever so convenient—and did so when I married him, but I would have married him if he’d had nothing at all.” She smiled in a knowing manner. “Money and position, my dear, are not as difficult to find as a good man. Particularly one who claims your heart. I have been extraordinarily lucky. Love, in this world, is remarkably hard to find. I have been well loved by three wonderful men and I have loved them in return.”

She paused thoughtfully. “If I had known I would lose Henry, Derek’s father, as soon as I did, I would have cherished every moment. I feel the same about Percival’s father, Arthur. But one never knows what one has until it’s gone.” Resolve sounded in her voice. “I will not make the same mistake with Stephen. I make certain he knows, every single day, in words and deed, how much I care for him.”

India smiled. “That’s quite lovely.”

“Yes, well, as I said one hopefully learns something as one travels the path of life,” she said in a brusque manner as if she had said more than she had intended. “I’m not sure why I have told you all this except that I suppose I wanted you to know that the example I set for my sons is not one of concern for the matters that society deems important. Both Derek and Percival intend to marry for love, which is probably why they have not wed.” She sighed. “That’s a problem I have yet to solve. I simply want them to be happy, and the right woman will do that for them. I know the right man did that for me. All three of them.”


CHAPTER TWENTY


“I THINK YOU should tell her everything.”

Derek stopped in midpace and stared at his brother. “Do you really?”

“Well, your other alternative is to tell her absolutely nothing. I’m not sure one option is particularly better than the other.” Val shrugged. “But apparently your Miss Prendergast is especially fond of novels of detection. She might well appreciate the twists and turns the search for her cousin has taken.”

“Do you realize when you sit behind your grandfather’s desk in this imposing library, you look like you actually know what you’re saying.”

“I do know that.” Val planted his palms flat on the desk in an all-encompassing gesture, looking not unlike a king surveying his domain. “It’s why I sit here. I am wise beyond my years, brother.”

“In your eyes only.”

“Come now, I have just given you excellent advice. It’s not my fault that you refuse to take it.”

“You’ve just explained my choices. Choices I am already well aware of. You’ve given me no advice whatsoever.”

“Again.” Val smirked. “Beyond my years.”

“Good Lord,” Derek muttered and resumed pacing.

At least he didn’t need to make a decision at the moment. India and his mother were now in their third day of laying siege to the dress shops of Paris. He’d barely seen her at all, except in passing, since their kiss and subsequent argument. But then he’d been avoiding dinner, and, according to Estelle, so had India. Which was probably for the best.

“As much as I love Mother, as much as I am grateful she is keeping India occupied, the idea of the two of them spending so much time together strikes fear into my heart. They’ve forged some sort of unholy alliance. That union cannot possibly bode well.” He paused and looked at his brother. “What do you think they talk about?”

“Oh, Mother probably goes on about the newest fashions and latest style and what color is de rigueur this season. And your Miss Prendergast undoubtedly loses no opportunity to point out what miscreants Mother’s sons are.”

“That sounds right.” Derek sighed and continued to pace.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was a mistake. Oh, not kissing her exactly but kissing her then and there, although he had apologized even if she did kiss him first. And while not his finest moment, there had been the loveliest sense of promise in her kiss.

She’d been so delightfully tempting with those green eyes and perfect posture and ever-so-earnest manner. He wasn’t sure when she’d stopped being annoying and had become irresistible. Although she did continue to be fairly annoying, which oddly enough simply added to her appeal. Nor was he sure which one of them was responsible for that debacle on top of the world—probably both. But he had been truly wounded that even now, after spending so much time together, after he had told her things he’d never told anyone, she still did not trust him. Bloody hell, he was putting up with her campaign to convince him to give up his wicked ways! What more could a man do for a woman?

“I think what you need is practice.”

“Practice?” Derek rolled his gaze at the ceiling. “And what, pray tell, do you think I need to practice?”

“Perhaps practice is not as good a word as, oh, rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?” Derek raised a brow. “Like a stage play?”

“Exactly.” Val leaned back in his chair. “I shall play the role of Miss Prendergast and you shall be you.”

“This is absurd,” Derek said and plopped into a chair.

“I prefer to think of it as brilliant.”

Derek snorted.

“Now then, Mr. Saunders,” Val adopted an overly high falsetto and sat up rigidly straight in his chair. “You scandalous beast of a scoundrel you, tell me what you learned from the detective.”

“She doesn’t sound like that.” Derek bit back a grin.

“Oh come now, you naughty, naughty boy, I sound exactly like this.” Val wagged his finger. “Now, you wicked man, answer my question.”

“Very well.” He thought for a moment. “The detective—”

“What detective?”

“The one hired by my uncle.” Derek had met with him two days ago, seen him yesterday and then again today.

Val gasped in an exaggerated manner. “Your uncle hired detectives?”

Derek nodded. “He wished to help.”

“What a brilliant idea.” Val narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me, you rogue, you?”

“I...” Why didn’t he tell her? Because even at the beginning he’d wanted to prove something to her? Or to himself? “I don’t know,” he said sharply. “Go on.”

“You haven’t answered my question, you wayward reprobate.” Val heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “What did the detective tell you?”

“His investigation showed Lady Heloise never arrived in Paris.” A fact Derek had confirmed for himself by checking the lists of visitors kept at Galignani’s. “Nor was she apparently ever in France at all.”

“Not in France!” Val clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Goodness, how can you say such a thing, you vile creature! I received letters from her from Le Havre and Rouen and Trouville as well as Paris.”

“Letters that were all taken word for word from guidebooks.”

“Poor, dear Heloise has never been very original.” Val heaved another heartfelt sigh.

“You do realize you sound ridiculous.”

“No more ridiculous than I feel.” Val fluttered his lashes. “Do go on, you villainous cad.”

“The letters were indeed written by your cousin but...” This was where the whole thing became rather messy.

“Yes?” Val’s falsetto was even higher if possible.

“But she did not mail them.” Derek paused. “Mademoiselle Marquette, her maid, mailed them for her.”

Derek had spent much of the day accompanying Uncle Edward’s detective to and from the picturesque village of Chantilly, northeast of Paris, an hour or so away by train. According to the investigator, this was the home of Mademoiselle Marquette’s family. It wasn’t at all hard to find the woman, but it took much prodding, appeals to her better nature and threatening to involve the authorities to get the truth from her.

She admitted Lady Heloise had entrusted her to post letters destined for India from various locations in France, including Paris. Mademoiselle Marquette was further expected to continue on to travel throughout Switzerland, Italy, Greece and a number of other places for a full six months, funding for said travel provided by Lady Heloise. The woman was charged with sending the letters Lady Heloise had written back to India from the places she visited. It was an interesting scheme and would have progressed exactly as planned had not Mademoiselle Marquette decided to pay a visit to her home. She was then so overcome with missing her family, she decided it would do no harm to stay for a while. Apparently, it had taken her several weeks to come to the realization that now that she had returned to the bosom of her family she did not wish to leave, and her obligation to mail Lady Heloise’s letters paled in comparison to her own desires.

Mademoiselle Marquette declared she had sent all the remaining letters back to Lady Heloise in recent days as well as arranged to return the funds she’d been given for travel, minus a bit for her troubles, which she insisted she deserved. While her loyalty to her employer did not extend to continuing her ruse, it apparently did apply to revealing why Lady Heloise had initiated this scheme in the first place and where she was currently. The maid assured Derek Lady Heloise was safe and well but adamantly refused to reveal the lady’s present location. She did, however, imply Lady Heloise had never left England. Uncle Edward’s detective was confident, with this information, she would soon be found.