“—we’d be happy to take you there,” Chamberlayne was saying. He rapped on the roof of the coach, and it slowed, causing the coachmen in the conveyances behind it to protest quite loudly. Chamberlayne swung the door open, and Aidan couldn’t fail to see Jenny in the light from the carriage lamps. She wore a red dress and leaned forward to peer at him. Her dark hair had been pulled up and away from her face except for a long curl that snaked over one breast, much of which was exposed in the low-cut gown.
A thousand thoughts went through Aidan’s mind in that moment, not the least of which was that he had no idea what Chamberlayne had been saying or where he was headed. But Aidan, who a moment before had been congratulating himself on overcoming the physical needs other men succumbed to, couldn’t quite stop staring at the tendril of hair caressing Jenny’s breast, and the next thing he knew he was in the coach.
He found, once he entered, that Chamberlayne and Jenny were not alone. Another man was also present, and he was seated beside Chamberlayne. This meant Aidan had to sit beside Jenny. He did so, and the coach started away. The coachmen behind them cheered and whistled.
Jenny looked over at him. “Good evening, Mr. Sterling,” she said in her cultured voice. Chamberlayne made introductions.
“Might I present my good friend, Oscar Lexum,” he said, introducing the man beside him. Aidan nodded at the man with the overly tousled brown hair and sleepy eyes.
“Miss Tate said you were tall, dark, and handsome,” Lexum said. “She was not exaggerating.”
“I said no such thing,” she retorted, and Aidan was inclined to believe it. Jenny didn’t give compliments.
“Should we drive you home?” Chamberlayne asked. “Or were you off to one of the other events of the evening? We’ve just left the theater. The play wasn’t over, but Miss Tate found it rather dull.”
“I was actually—” He paused, remembering Phin’s words from earlier that evening. Even the lowliest night soil collector has a pint with friends once in a while. How pathetic would he seem if he admitted he was returning to his offices to work while the rest of London danced and laughed and drank?
“Which play was it?” Aidan asked, turning to Jenny. He didn’t know why he’d asked. He never went to the theater. He had a box, of course. He had the best box at every theater, but he never used them.
She named the play, still playing her part as a lady of the upper classes, but it meant nothing to him since he hadn’t seen it. But instead of expecting him to comment on the production, she changed the subject. “Lord Chamberlayne will not say it, but he would be endlessly grateful if we could have a peek at your recent find. If you have other plans for this evening, perhaps we could call on you another day, but if you are amenable to allowing us a glimpse this evening...”
“Oh, do say yes,” Chamberlayne said.
“Please,” Lexum added. “I beg you. If you don’t agree, he shall go on about it for days.”
Aidan had quite forgotten about the trunks the workmen had found when doing repairs on the ground floor of the old house. If he had remembered, he would have ordered a footman to have them sent to Montagu House for the British Museum to appraise and hopefully buy. But he saw no harm in allowing Chamberlayne to take a look. He had mentioned Chamberlayne’s offer to appraise the items to his private secretary, and Pryce had said the viscount was widely respected in that area.
“Of course,” Aidan said. “Have the coach drive to my house in Grosvenor Square.” It wasn’t until the viscount had relayed the directions and the coachman had turned the conveyance in that direction that Aidan had time to regret. He was aware, again, of Jenny at his side and of their shared history in the rookeries of London. To have Jenny in his house—his very large, very ostentatious house—seemed somehow vulgar. They’d practically starved to death together, and now he would be showing off one of the largest, most expensive properties in Town.
She moved slightly, and the silk she wore rustled, reminding him that she had come out on top as well. It might have easily gone the other way. She might be dead in a pauper’s grave right now. But somehow, for some reason, Fate had put her in his path again.
Jenny and her betrothed.
“Would you mind telling me how you came to find the trunks, Mr. Sterling?” the viscount asked, producing a notepad and a pencil from the pocket of his coat, much like a Bow Street Runner might do. Much like he himself did when talking business.
“Not the notebook,” Mr. Lexum said under his breath.
“It sometimes helps in our work to know a bit about the discovery,” Jenny said. Aidan would never get used to hearing her speak in that upper class accent. It was practically flawless, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Of course, when they’d lived on the streets together, he’d perfected a lower-class accent. He’d had to else he would be beaten by anyone who heard him open his mouth. He wondered if he could still affect it. He’d tried so hard to forget those years.
“Let’s see,” Aidan said, bringing his mind back to the antiquities. “I bought the house about two years ago and took possession almost immediately. I did some refurbishment of the bedchambers and servants’ quarters, but I hadn’t thought much of the areas belowstairs until my housekeeper mentioned that she would like to move the coal cellar to the other end of the house and might I allow her to authorize workmen to open up a wall.”
“Which wall was it?” the viscount asked, scribbling furiously.
“One of the walls of the larder,” Aidan answered. “I don’t know if it was always the larder, but that was how we used it, as had the previous occupants.”
“And you had no idea there was a room behind the wall?”
“I suspected there was something. I’d walked about the exterior and noted that the structure went on past the section we were using. I saw no reason for Mrs. Woodson not to have the wall opened.” He was distracted by the rustling of Jenny’s skirts again. She seemed restless or perhaps bored. He made an effort not to glance at her again, as his eyes were continually drawn to that lock of hair over her breast.
“And when did the workmen tell you they had found something? Was it the first day of work?” Chamberlayne looked up from his notes, pencil at the ready.
“I don’t know which day it was. I’m not home all that often, but at some point, they let me know they had found several old trunks stacked in that walled-off antechamber.”
“I assume you went to investigate right away,” the viscount said.
Jenny laughed, and Aidan did look at her then. “I’m certain he was far too busy making money to do anything of the sort,” she said.
Chamberlayne gave her a quelling look. “We can’t all be gentlemen of leisure, my dear,” he said. Aidan found he did not like it when the man used terms of endearment toward her. He’d never done that himself. If he had, Jenny would have laughed in his face. But she seemed unperturbed.
“No, we can’t,” she agreed. She looked at Aidan, and though he couldn’t see the pale gray of her eyes, he could imagine them fixed on him. “At some point you found a moment to examine the find,” she suggested.
“Yes. I found papers and clothing items. A few books. It all looked rather old. No jewelry or plate, nothing terribly valuable.”