“Whoever he is,” Jenny said in her best upper-class accent, “I had a word with him last night and ‘e—he—promised to keep his potato—”
Roland raised a brow and Oscar smiled.
“He promised never to breathe a word of our former acquaintance.”
Oscar clapped. “Oh, well done!”
“With only a month left in the Season,” she said, “I doubt we will see him again.” But she knew it wouldn’t be so easy.
“Never say so,” Roland chided her. “I want a look in those trunks of his. Quinnell!” Roland raised his voice, and a moment later, the butler entered.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Send for my solicitor, posthaste, will you? There’s a good man.” He looked back at Jenny and Oscar. “I want to know what clubs Sterling belongs to, what invitations he’s accepted, and who he keeps for a mistress. We absolutely must see him again, and this time we need him to agree to let us appraise those treasures of his.”
“He might let her see his treasures,” Oscar said with a smile.
Jenny did roll her eyes now. “I’ve already seen his treasures.”
“Really?” Roland’s eyes went wide. “You were lovers.”
“I was seventeen and he was sixteen. Calling us lovers is putting a sheen on it.”
“Was he your first?” Oscar asked.
“Oscar!” Roland chided him then looked at Jenny. “Was he?”
“A lady never kisses and tells,” she said.
“Now she wants to be a lady.”
Roland nodded his agreement. “This does make things more interesting.” He tapped his chin. “I don’t see Sterling as a particularly sentimental man, but he’s loyal. He’s always in the company of that troop he fought with in the war. Perhaps we can use loyalty to secure access to the find.”
“Roland,” Jenny said, “there are other jobs we can take. There’s a stack of correspondence on your desk, all of it from people who will pay for you to appraise their jewelry or paintings.”
He waved a hand. “Trinkets. I want Sterling’s find. I have a good feeling about it. Quinnell!”
Jenny rose and left Roland to his machinations. She wanted no more talk of Aidan Sterling. Although she didn’t reside at Roland’s town house—she had a flat not far away—she felt at home there. Judging by the gleam in Roland’s eye, it would be at least an hour before any real work for the day would begin. So she started up a set of marble stairs that gradually narrowed and became merely serviceable and wooden. They ended at an unpainted wood door. She took the key from the hook on the wall beside the door and unlocked it, stepping out into the midday sun shining down on the town house roof.
Unlike most town houses, the roof of Roland’s was flat and encircled by a brick wall painted white, like the outside of the house. Plants and small trees circled the perimeter and flower boxes added pinks and purples and whites to the green. In one corner stood a large aviary, well shaded by several trees and an awning. Jenny could hear the pigeons cooing almost as soon as she stepped onto the rooftop. She made her way to the aviary, opened the door, and stepped back as several of the homing pigeons flew down from their boxes and hopped out onto the rooftop. She watched the gray-and-black birds peck around the flowers and trees for insects, the iridescent feathers on their neck gleaming in the sun. Until she had met Roland, she had not known people kept pigeons. She had seen them as scavengers, like herself.
But Roland had trained his pigeons to return home, and whenever he traveled, he took several pigeons with him so he could send messages to her or his solicitor in London. It was much faster than the mail. Jenny even took pigeons home with her some evenings when she was working on an artifact so she could send her findings back quickly.
The door to the roof opened and Oscar stepped out. He immediately shielded his eyes. “It’s too bright,” he complained. “How do you stand it?”
“I like the daylight,” she said. “It’s easier to stomach if ye go to bed before dawn.”
“So says the belle of the ball.” He sat in one of the groupings of chairs and a pigeon flew up to his knee. He stroked the bird gently, keeping his eyes on the bird as he spoke. “So Aidan Sterling. I hear he’s handsome.”
“If ye like that sort,” she said.
“He’s tall with dark hair, dark eyes, and millions of pounds. Who doesn’t like that sort?”
“Ye forget that ‘e only cares about blunt. For four years we were mates and then one day ‘e ‘as the opportunity to get out, and it’s like ‘e never knew me.” She lifted a metal watering can and strolled to one of the trees, tipping the can to the soil. “Ye can’t trust a man like that.”
“Rollie isn’t asking you to trust him, just appraise his artifacts.”
She moved to the next tree. “I’d rather stay away. Don’t want to get mixed up with ‘im. No one knows my past, and I don’t want nobody to know.”
“Darling, no one has more invested in keeping your past a secret than I do. The sooner you are wedded to Rollie the better. Already your betrothal has quashed all the whispers that he’s a sodomite. Once he marries you, we’ll all breathe easier.”
Jenny set the empty watering can down and went to fetch another. “The nobs last night licked the betrothal up like it were cream,” she said. “Ye ‘ave nothing to worry about.”
“Jenny,” Oscar said, his voice so serious that she looked up from the flowers she was watering. “I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about you. You know I never wanted Rollie to agree to marry you.”
She hadn’t actually known that. She had gone to the two men together to propose—so to speak—that she marry Roland and become Viscountess Chamberlayne. Jenny had thought it hilarious at first. Her, a viscountess?
But Roland had taken her seriously. A few weeks before he’d shown her a story in the paper that didn’t mention him by name, but which gave enough hints to indicate it was him. The story implied Roland had a preference for bedding men. That was true, but Jenny didn’t see how it was anyone’s business. Roland had explained that buggery was a hanging offense. Of course, as a nobleman his punishment was less severe, but Oscar could be hung if they were caught. Roland didn’t think he and Oscar would be safe unless he married. Other men with his preferences had done so and continued on much as they had done before, albeit with caution and discretion.
Jenny had decided then and there to marry him. Roland promised if she did so, she would become the viscountess and be well provided for, even if he should die before her. Jenny had learned never to depend on anyone else, and she didn’t depend on Viscount Chamberlayne. But if she were married to him—in name only, of course—the law said he had to provide for her. And if there was one thing Jenny had found immutable and constant in her life, it was the law. This marriage was her chance to ensure financial security for the rest of her life. What did she care if it was a marriage of convenience to a man who did not love her? She didn’t love him either, but they were friends and she trusted Roland, and that was enough.
“I didn’t think it was fair to you,” Oscar said.