other. Together they helped her to stand. "Before you go, the name of Estelle Pearson…does it mean anything to you?"
"No," Lord Harcourt said. "I've never heard it."
"Nor have I," Lady Harcourt said, leaning heavily on her husband's arm. "Once again, thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Fitzroy. You've been most kind." Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled.
The dowager rose and settled her hand on Lincoln's. "A word," she intoned, as Lord and Lady Harcourt exited the parlor slowly, Gus having gone ahead to assist with coats.
"Is this regarding Estelle Pearson?"
"No. I don't know who that is. It's regarding Miss Overton."
Ugh. The sweet and lovely Miss Overton who lacked spine and character; the girl the dowager Lady Harcourt was encouraging Lincoln to court.
"Not now, Julia. I must see to my guests." For someone who rarely gave away his thoughts or feelings, he sounded quite irritated.
She clung to his arm, anchoring him in the way only a lady can anchor a gentleman. He was much too polite to extricate himself. At least, I hoped it was merely politeness keeping him locked to her. "She and her mother are dining with me tomorrow night. I told them you would be there."
"Julia, that was unwise. You'll have to make my excuses."
"Can you not carve a little time out of your schedule for her? She's quite besotted with you, and you know how marvelous a wife she would make."
"Julia. Stop this." He removed himself from her grasp and headed to the door with long, purposeful strides as if he couldn't get out fast enough.
"You know she's perfect for you," she called after him. But he was already gone. "He does know it. He'll succumb sooner or later." She wasn't in the habit of talking to herself, so I knew her words were meant for me. Had the entire scene been for my benefit? She suspected I had feelings for Lincoln, so perhaps she was trying to show me that I could never have him when there were far more eligible women in London. She wanted him to marry but not to her. Although she claimed to love him, Lady Harcourt had admitted that he wasn't wealthy or titled enough for her. So she was trying to place him with a wife he could never love. One who could never supplant the place she believed that she herself held in Lincoln's heart.
I'd been quite sure there was no longer a piece of his heart reserved for her, but since his refusal to question her about her past at The Alhambra, my conviction had wavered. It was only a short step from sympathy and admiration to love.
I watched her glide out of the parlor with a dancer's confidence and grace, then collected the dishes and returned to the kitchen, while Lincoln farewelled his guests. Gus was already there, regaling Seth and Cook with details of Lady Harcourt's swoon.
"It were in reaction to hearing the name," he said with all-knowing solemnity. "She knows the Pearson woman."
"Or has heard her name before," I added. "I wish Fitzroy had questioned her about it."
"One does not question a lady over matters that have caused her to faint," Seth said. "Particularly when she pretends it was ill health."
"One doesn't, does one?" I said in my best imitation of him.
"No. One waits until he corners her alone." He winked at me. "I suspect that's what Fitzroy will do."
"I wouldn't be so sure. For one thing, how will he get her alone?"
"Climb into her room tonight," Gus offered with a shrug, as if it was something Lincoln did frequently.
"But her room must be on the third floor at least!"
"That ain't a problem. The problem will be doin' it quiet enough that she won't scream the place down first."
I put my hands up in protest. He was being ridiculous. Lincoln wouldn't climb into Lady Harcourt's room in the night. I asked him as much when he joined us.
"No," he said. "Her constitution is too delicate. She'll probably faint again. I can't get answers out of an unconscious woman."
I didn't know why I was surprised. If Lincoln wanted answers, he would get them any way he saw