“I am astonished,” Lilliana said. “Lady Lavinia seemed a much more likely choice to be Lady L.”
Atlas did not disagree. “A person’s true private nature can certainly surprise.”
They strolled in Kensington Gardens, falling well behind Lilliana’s sons, Peter and Robin, who ran and shouted up ahead as they rolled their hoops over the damp grass. The gardens were lush and elegant, a place where people of fashion mingled with well-dressed city dwellers of various ranks. Atlas and Lilliana had not come at the fashionable hour; consequently, the crowds had yet to descend, which gave the boys plenty of room to frolic.
When Atlas had sent Lilliana a note indicating he had news, she’d asked him to join her and the children at Kensington Gardens. It was the second time she’d invited him to spend time with her children. Now that she and the boys were comfortably settled with her brother and Somerville was firmly ensconced as the boys’ guardian and paternal figure, Atlas supposed Lilliana no longer worried about her children becoming too attached to Atlas.
Lilliana righted her straw bonnet, adjusting the satin bow, which matched the blossom pink of her walking dress. The shade brought out the color in her cheeks and enhanced the luminous quality of her skin. She looked as fresh and appealing as any of the vibrant flowers lining their path.
“You believe this maid?” Lilliana asked.
“I have no reason not to. But to be certain, I’d like to compare the writing on Lady L’s letters to Elizabeth Archer’s to see if they were composed by the same hand.”
“Consider it done,” she said airily. “I shall send Miss Archer a note—one that naturally requires a reply—and then we shall be able to compare her handwriting against Lady L’s.”
“A clever plan.”
“Well, I can be rather nimble-minded at times.”
“More often than not, in my experience.”
She tapped him with her closed parasol. “Flatterer.”
It was not false praise. Lilliana was probably one of the most adroit women of his acquaintance. But he did not say so. Instead, he turned the conversation back to Elizabeth Archer. “If what the maid says it true, it is interesting that Miss Archer maintained her connection to Davis even after her betrothal.”
“Indeed. There are two possible reasons that I can think of. Either she still had feelings for him . . .”
“Or she feared he would use the letters to disgrace her,” Atlas finished the thought.
Robin came running up to them, his cheeks flushed from exertion. “Come and play with us, Mr. Catesby. I’ve been practicing.”
His older brother came up behind him. “Yes, please do.”
“Not now, my darlings,” their mother said, her tone tender. The cut-glass edges of her precise diction always softened around her children. “Mr. Catesby and I are having an important conversation.”
Peter looked expectantly at Atlas. “What about after? Will you race us after?” He shot a disdainful sidelong glance at his brother. “Robin’s too little, but I think I can best you.”
“I am not too little,” Robin said indignantly.
Peter’s only response to his younger brother was to roll his eyes before asking Atlas, “Will you play? Will you?”
“I am not too little,” Robin repeated.
“Boys,” Lilliana interjected. “You must not impose on Mr. Catesby. He is not dressed for sport.”
“It is no imposition,” Atlas reassured her before directing his next words to her children. “I will race you both if you give your mama and me a few minutes to finish our discussion.”
Seemingly satisfied with his answer, both boys ran off, using their sticks to roll their hoops along the graveled path.
Lilliana watched after them, but her thoughts were clearly on the investigation. “What if Miss Archer and Mr. Davis were truly married? She did sign some letters as Mrs. Davis.”
He considered the possibility. “If that were the case, in order to wed Montgomery, the man she is betrothed to, she would need to rid herself of her secret husband.”
A visible shiver ran through Lilliana. “How desperate a person must be to feel pushed to commit murder.”
“I doubt Miss Archer and Davis were married. As I recall, the letters seemed to indicate that she considered herself to be his wife because of the . . . erm . . . intimacies they’d shared.”
She nodded. “Yes, I agree it is unlikely she was his wife in truth. Although if she was, she’d certainly be free to marry now.”
“Davis did return at least one of her letters unopened, and she admonished him for it. Perhaps he did jilt her and she poisoned him out of spite.”
One of Lilliana’s autumn-hued eyes narrowed as she considered that scenario. He’d noticed she had a tendency to do that—squinting just the left eye, not both—when she was deep in thought. “She implored him to return the letters. We found them in his room, so obviously he never gave them back.”
“There are certainly many possibilities.”
“We have to speak with Miss Archer again.”
“I agree, but where?” He considered their options. “I suppose I could go back to where she volunteers, to the home for tradespersons.”
“We can speak with her at the upcoming benefit.”
“What benefit?”
“Now that Somerville is an extremely generous patron of the charity, we receive information about their activities.”
“And there’s a benefit?”
“Indeed. It’s being held at the arcade.”
“A shopping area seems like an odd place for a benefit.”
“Ah, but it’s an event to raise funds for tradespersons who have fallen on hard times. Their fellow tradesmen are assisting them by organizing the benefit. A portion of the proceeds, including any shopping that is done, will go to help fund the home.”
“So it seems we are to go shopping for a good cause?”
“Yes. And it just so happens that I am in need of an escort.”
He doubted that. “I’m surprised Roxbury hasn’t already offered to accompany you.”
“I don’t believe that he is aware of the event.”
He paused. “Roxbury won’t be pleased if he learns I’ve escorted you.” He thought to warn her of her suitor’s likely negative reaction. If Lilliana had hopes in that direction, Atlas did not want to stand in her way.
Her tone was dismissive. “He has no claim on me.”
“He thinks he does.” Atlas found himself watching closely for her reaction. “Roxbury warned me off of you.”
“Did he?” She seemed both surprised and intrigued. “When was that?”
“At his garden party. It’s clear he hopes to make you his marchioness.”
“And?” Her eyes were alight with interest. “What did you say?”
There hadn’t been much to say. He admired Lilliana greatly, but given their disparate social standing, he harbored no hopes in that direction. “Very little.”
She lifted her delicate chin and favored him with a haughty look he was coming to know quite well. “You don’t strike me as a man who warns off easily.”
“I am not.”
Her mouth curved upward in that off-kilter, insolent way of hers. “I am glad.”
Her last response threw Atlas off. They seemed to have reached some sort of understanding, but he wasn’t quite certain what it was. Before he had time to fully contemplate their exchange, the boys were upon them again like a swarm of determined bees, this time pulling and tugging at Atlas, imploring him to come along.
“We’ve been patient,” little Robin said. “Haven’t we, Mama?”
Lilliana laughed, a throaty genuine sound. “Yes, indeed.” Her face was open, her expression guileless and carefree. It was only on the rarest occasions that she allowed herself to be seen in an unguarded moment, and he felt privileged to witness it.
With an admiring smile in her direction, Atlas reluctantly permitted himself to be pulled away and went off to bowl hoops with Lilliana’s children.