A Scandalous Winter Wedding Page 10

  Soon enough they would go their separate ways. She might never get the chance to escape reality like this again. Certainly not in the company of this particular man, a little voice reminded her as she began to get dressed. But Kirstin brushed it aside, because that was precisely the point. This situation was a one-off.

  * * *

  She had rehearsed her argument that it would be best if she spoke to Louise Ferguson on her own, but when Kirstin tapped on the door of Cameron’s suite an hour later he pre-empted her.

  ‘I’ve already heard the tale straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak,’ he said. ‘A fresh pair of ears might pick up some undiscovered nuances.’

  It was exactly what Kirstin had been about to say herself. From the moment Cameron had been forced to confide in her through the grille of the confessional he had placed Philippa’s safe return above all else, but it struck her afresh how few men in his situation would have confidence enough in their own judgement, and indeed in hers, to delegate such a crucial task.

  ‘I agree,’ she answered, ‘and I very much appreciate your sparing me the need to say so.’

  He was sipping one of his endless cups of coffee, his gaze fixed firmly on her. It made her edgy, the way he looked at her as if he was reading her every thought, even though she knew that was preposterous. She would not think about that kiss yesterday. She would not allow a kiss to make things awkward between them, especially when it had been Euphemia and Caleb who had been doing the kissing, not Kirstin and Cameron.

  ‘I am also hopeful that Mrs Ferguson may feel she can confide in a woman more easily than a man,’ Kirstin said, trying to keep her mind fixed firmly on business.

  To her relief, Cameron nodded, dropping his gaze. ‘She knows why I’ve engaged your services. I won’t deny she was dubious at first, terrified that you’d be indiscreet, but she made her own enquiries into The Procurer’s reputation and seems reassured. It also helps that you come bearing the good news that Philippa is still alive.’

  ‘As far as we know. I cannot give her any false hope.’

  ‘Though you will not paint the picture blacker than necessary? She is a mother, and her only child—’

  ‘I understand perfectly, I assure you—’ Kirstin cut herself short, curling her fingers into her palm. ‘I will not alarm her any more than absolutely necessary,’ she said calmly, unfurling her fingers before Cameron could notice.

  * * *

  Louise Ferguson received Kirstin in the drawing room of her temporary residence in Mayfair. She was the kind of woman for whom the epithet well-groomed might have been invented. Tall, austere, in a grey-striped day gown. Kirstin could initially spot no resemblance to Cameron in her wide-spaced hazel eyes, fierce brows and rather prominent nose. It was the sensual mouth and the dimple in the centre of her chin which betrayed their common ancestry, as did the thick black hair which she wore in a complicated coiffure high on her head.

  She rose slowly to her feet when the decrepit retainer announced Miss Blair, greeting Kirstin with a look which mingled surprise with trepidation. ‘You will take tea,’ she said, in a voice which brooked no dissent.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Kirstin took her seat on the opposite side of the table by the fire. The other woman’s eyes were tinged with red under her skilfully applied powder. She had worried away at the skin at the side of her right thumb to the point where it was bleeding.

  ‘I am pleased to report that your daughter,’ Kirstin said without preamble, as her hostess began the process of pouring and measuring, ‘is, if not safe, at least still alive, according to my sources.’

  Louise Ferguson gave a little gasp, dropping the silver measuring spoon. ‘How do you know? Are you sure?’

  ‘I am afraid I can’t tell you how I know, but I am as certain as it is possible to be. Philippa and Jeannie have not met an untimely death.’

  Louise Ferguson’s chest heaved. She clasped her hands tightly together, tilting her head back, widening her eyes, but tears tracked down her cheeks untrammelled.

  Kirstin watched helplessly as the woman tried to regain her composure, resisting the impulse to intervene, recognising in the compulsive swallowing, the shuddering breaths, the lips drawn tight into a grimace, all the signs of an iron will tested to its limits.

  She knew implicitly, for she would have felt the very same herself, that Louise Ferguson would not appreciate sympathy. Accordingly, she busied herself with the making of the tea, noting with approval that the leaves were of excellent quality. Silently, she pushed a brewed cup across the table when, with a last shuddering breath, Louise Ferguson gave a little nod, dabbed her cheeks, and wetted her lips.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said.

  ‘A perfectly understandable reaction. Take some tea.’

  The woman did as Kirstin bade her, adding a soupçon of milk with a relatively steady hand and sipping gratefully. Her cheeks remained pale, but the taut lines of her face softened as she nodded, accepting a second cup.

  ‘Assuming that Mr Dunbar has explained the circumstances of my daughter’s disappearance, Miss Blair, you will understand why I must shoulder the blame.’

  ‘You certainly are partially culpable.’

  A gasp and a small splutter of laughter greeted this remark. ‘You do not mince your words.’

  ‘You strike me as someone who, like myself, prefers her truth unvarnished,’ Kirstin replied coolly. ‘If you had not taken a sleeping draught Philippa would not have found it so easy to sneak out of the inn. Whether she would still have done so had you been awake or sleeping lightly is another matter, and a futile source of speculation. We cannot change what has happened. We can only aspire to repair the damage and get your daughter and her maid back safely.’

  Such blunt talking might easily have estranged her from Louise Ferguson and destroyed any chance that Kirstin had of gaining her confidence, but since nothing could assuage maternal guilt, no matter how irrational, what Philippa’s mother needed most was to feel that she was contributing to finding her daughter.

  Kirstin was relieved to see that her strategy was the correct one. Louise Ferguson straightened her shoulders, clasped her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. ‘What can I do to help, Miss Blair?’

  ‘Please, call me Kirstin. May I call you Louise?’ She waited for the other woman’s assent before continuing. ‘Now, tell me exactly what happened that night, omitting no detail, no matter how trivial or irrelevant you think it may be.’

  * * *

  ‘So you see,’ Louise concluded, ‘whichever way you look at it, I deserve a large portion of blame. I knew that Philippa was not nearly so keen on the marriage as I was, but I was certain that I knew what was best for her. She was, quite naturally, given her tender years, a little anxious about swapping the protection of a parent for a husband, but as I explained to her numerous times, it is the most natural thing in the world and has served society well for generations. I thought she had come to accept it. She was so excited about coming to London, about having a whole new wardrobe of gowns. But clearly I underestimated the strength of my own daughter’s resistance.’

  ‘You seem very certain that Philippa has run off to avoid an unwanted marriage.’

  ‘It is the obvious conclusion, given the facts.’

  ‘Your brother and I—’

  ‘Half-brother.’

  Which intervention told its own tale, and made Kirstin resentful on Cameron’s behalf. But that was another irrelevance, for the moment.

  ‘However you wish to refer to him, the point is that we paid a visit to the Spaniard’s Inn yesterday, where a number of new facts emerged which change things somewhat.’

  She proceeded to recount the salient details of what they had discovered. The effect on Louise was momentous.

  ‘Philippa did not abscond? You are certain of this?’

  ‘Completely.’

&
nbsp; ‘That—that blasted Jeannie!’ Louise jumped to her feet, wringing her hands. ‘That pert chit wields far too much influence over my daughter.’

  Perhaps because, Kirstin thought, Philippa had been starved of any other influence save her mother in her young life. She had never attended school, and seemed to have no friends of her own choosing, reading between the lines of all that Kirstin had heard today. She didn’t question Louise Ferguson’s love for her daughter, but it was clear that her certainty that she knew what was best might feel suffocating.

  Kirstin’s own conscience pricked her. Wasn’t she just as guilty of such certainty? She dismissed this ruthlessly. The circumstances were radically different.

  ‘Louise,’ she said carefully, ‘can’t you see that Philippa acted with the purest of motives, from a desire to protect her maid, who is also her friend, without thinking of her own safety?’

  ‘Would that she had thought first, we would not be—’

  ‘But we are in this situation,’ Kirstin said firmly. ‘And now we must try to remedy it. It seems reasonable to me to assume that the note Jeannie received was not from a lover—unless some man followed her south from Scotland?’

  ‘No, that does not make sense,’ Louise said, frowning. ‘She has been walking out with my neighbour’s second footman for a few months now. It’s a respectable match, and one that I understand from Philippa they are eager to formalise as soon as possible, much to my daughter’s chagrin. Jeannie will most likely not be her maid once she is married.’

  Louise set her cup aside. ‘I’ve informed Kenneth—that is Philippa’s betrothed—that Philippa has been somewhat under the weather and cannot write, in case you were wondering. Heaven forfend that I should force her into a marriage she truly does not want, but nor do I wish to close down the option should she change her mind. It is an excellent match. No matter what you think of me, I only...’

  Louise’s voice trembled. Kirstin allowed herself to touch her hand in sympathy. ‘I am here to help you, not to judge you. If you could concentrate on what else you know about Jeannie, any connection at all with London...’

  Kirstin sat quite still, her face a careful blank as Louise did so. Following a series of frowns, nods, and little shakes of the head, she finally looked up. ‘Heather,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Heather Aitken.’

  * * *

  ‘Who the devil is Heather Aitken?’ Cameron demanded, as Kirstin recounted her conversation with Louise some hours later.

  ‘According to Louise, another cocky chit of a maid with ideas above her station. She and Jeannie started work for the Ferguson family on the same day. They are the same age, and bosom buddies, it seems. Heather had not the patience to gain the experience that would earn her promotion, so about a year ago she left Edinburgh for London. “In this city, demand is such that any servant, no matter how lazy, may easily be elevated”—I use Mrs Ferguson’s own words here, you understand.’

  ‘And she thinks that this Heather Aitken and Jeannie might have kept in touch?’ Cameron said eagerly. ‘Does she know where we might find her?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, but that is of no consequence. If she is in London, I will track her down easily enough.’

  He looked suitably impressed. She treated him to The Procurer’s trademark enigmatic smile, hiding the absurd little rush of pride his admiration gave rise to. She didn’t need anyone to tell her how good she was at what she did, her reputation spoke for her. There had, over the years, been grateful letters thanking her, but she never permitted her clients or the women she matched with them to meet her once a contract was completed.

  All the same, it was pleasant—very pleasant—to have her unique set of skills acknowledged face-to-face, as it were. Provided she did not become complacent or, worse, vain! And provided she remembered that this particular situation was unique and could never be repeated, for it contravened all The Procurer’s well-established rules.

  ‘Heather Aitken is, according to Louise, an ambitious young woman,’ Kirstin said brusquely, dragging her eyes away from Cameron’s answering smile. ‘She will have set her sights on what is known as a superior household, and one therefore likely to use a well-established and respected employment agency. That will be my starting point. The world of domestic service is a close-knit one, even in a city as large as London. I have already set enquiries in motion.’

  ‘How long...?’

  ‘Impossible to say, but a day...two at the very most. My assistant is aware of the urgency of the matter, I assure you, and is making use of every resource at my disposal.’

  ‘And there is nothing more to be done in the interim?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Kirstin replied. ‘This is our best—our only—lead.’

  ‘I’m impressed with your efficiency. I take it, then, that you arranged all this with your assistant immediately after your visit to Mrs Ferguson? Presumably you have an office nearby?’

  Cameron’s tone was offhand, but Kirstin was not going to fall into the trap of revealing any details of her business. Many had tried to discover them and failed in the past.

  ‘Until we can speak to Heather I’m afraid there seems to me very little else we can do to progress matters, other than have someone interview this under-footman whom Louise says is courting Jeannie.’

  ‘Leave that with me. You are not the only one with contacts. What’s more, mine happen to be in the right part of the country. I’ll have an express sent to one of my men in Glasgow. I know it will take time,’ he added as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘but we can’t leave any stone unturned. He’s just the man for the job. His name is Tommy Devine. I have known him since we were boys. You could say he is the closest thing I have to a brother. We went our separate ways for a wee while, for he has no head for figures and was sent to work in a shipyard while I was learning to be a ledger clerk. But when I went into business for myself I sought him out, and he’s been my right-hand man ever since. Is there anything else you’d like to know about him?’

  ‘I only need to know that he has your trust and complete confidence,’ Kirstin said stiffly.

  ‘I’m offering you the opportunity to indulge your curiosity about me without needing to reciprocate.’

  ‘I know you are. It’s very magnanimous of you. Is this Tommy Devine taking care of business, then, while you are here?’

  ‘As much as I allow him to,’ Cameron answered wryly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust his judgement, I simply prefer to make my own decisions.’

  ‘Now, that is something I do understand. When one has grown a business from the start, nurtured it, cared for it, it is very natural, I think, to be protective of it.’

  ‘Is that how you feel?’

  ‘I can’t discuss business. The Procurer—’

  ‘It’s you I’m interested in, not The Procurer,’ Cameron snapped, the teasing light fading from his eyes. ‘Is that such a crime?’

  Kirstin shook her head, feeling like a hypocrite. When Louise, highly relieved to have been able to be of some assistance in finding her daughter, had become voluble over a luncheon of smoked salmon and eggs scrambled with cream and chives, Kirstin had encouraged her to talk, telling herself that everything she could discover of the girl’s home life was potentially of value. Once the subject of Philippa’s short and rather mundane life had been exhausted Louise had turned to her own life, and it would have been so easy, by way of some skilfully placed questions, to lead her on to the subject of Cameron. Kirstin had resisted, but it had been a very close call.

  She had tried, but had not been able to persuade herself that his history had any bearing on the case, though the fact that she had tried to twist the facts to satisfy her curiosity appalled her.

  The question was, what to do about it? She could keep quiet, but her innate honesty made that option repellent. Guilt and shame made her want to hang her head, but she forced herself to look him s
traight in the eye. ‘No, it’s not a crime, Cameron, especially when I cannot deny my own curiosity regarding you. I have to confess that I came very close to encouraging Louise to talk about you over luncheon.’

  He stiffened. ‘It would have been a futile exercise. Mrs Ferguson knows next to nothing about me.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Colour had flooded her cheeks. Now she felt it fade just as quickly. ‘I wanted to understand how it is that you and your half-sister are strangers to one another.’

  ‘The one topic on which I was not forthcoming,’ Cameron said. ‘It didn’t occur to you that it is a chapter of my history I wish to keep private?’

  ‘I have no excuse to offer.’

  In fact she had one very valid excuse, but she would not use it, even to salve her own conscience. The questions she had almost asked had been to satisfy her own curiosity, and for no other reason. Cameron remained silent, giving her no clue as to his thoughts.

  ‘I am deeply sorry,’ Kirstin continued, striving to recapture her usual cool, professional tone. ‘You may be assured that I will make no further intrusions into your personal affairs.’

  He smiled faintly down at her then, shaking his head before touching her cheek lightly. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t pry when you could have. Anyway, I’m flattered.’ Seeing her confusion, he broadened his smile. ‘It proves that I intrigue you enough to make you interested in me. Which I suspect makes me an exception.’

  Kirstin blinked up at him. ‘You are an exception to almost every rule. But that does not mean I have any desire to—’

  ‘But you do, don’t you?’

  He slid his fingers in a deliberately sensual movement up her arm, to rest on the bare skin at the nape of her neck. Though she tried to ignore it, she couldn’t disguise her shiver of response.