Free Lord Perfect by Loretta Chase Page B

most of the time."
    Benedict had prepared himself for a good deal more
trouble. Peregrine had not sought a fraction as many whys and
wherefores as expected. Perhaps he'd at last realized that his
father's behavior seldom had any rational basis, and had given up
looking for one.
    Perhaps the boy was maturing, learning, finally.
    "If you please, sir, may I go to the British Museum
tomorrow?" Peregrine said. "I should like to have another
go at the head of Young Memnon. I had asked Mrs. Wingate if we might
have an extra lesson on a Saturday, there or at the Egyptian Hall,
but she hasn't time. She will be in Soho Square for most of tomorrow
morning and early afternoon, she said."
    "A portrait commission, probably," Benedict
said. One of the tradesmen whose daughters she taught must have
recognized her talent.
    "I believe she's looking for lodgings there,"
said Peregrine.
    Benedict supposed that Soho Square might seem to some an
improvement over Bleeding Heart Yard. Yet both addresses teetered on
the edge of unsavory neighborhoods. "I should advise her against
it," he said. "She is unwise to move so close to Seven
Dials. It is as bad as if not worse than Saffron Hill."
    Peregrine frowned.
    "Not that it is any of our concern where she
chooses to live," Benedict went on. "You want to visit the
British Museum. You had better go with Thomas. There is no reason for
me to hang about while you practice drawing."
    "Indeed not," said Peregrine. "You would
be dreadfully bored. Naturally I assumed I must behave as though it
were a lesson day. Even if one of the museum directors happens by, I
shall say nothing to him about the red granite sarcophagus in the
courtyard—the one Aunt Daphne is so troubled about—though
it truly is shameful, sir, the way they have treated Signor Belzoni—"
    "So it is, and sooner or later, Rupert will start
throwing the directors out of windows," Benedict said. "You,
however, will hold your tongue."
    The last thing in the world he needed now was to become
involved in the wrangling about Belzoni's acquisitions: what belonged
to whom and who ought to pay for it. He had carefully deflected all
Daphne's attempts to lure him into fighting that exasperating battle.
He had enough battles to fight as it was. The primary one at present
involved Peregrine's future.
    "I shan't breathe a word about it, sir, upon my
honor," said Peregrine.
    "Very well, then, you may go with Thomas."
    Then, relieved to have one troublesome matter settled so
easily, Lord Rathbourne left.
    He did not see the guilty look his nephew cast after
him.

Chapter 5

    British Museum, Saturday 22 September

    PEREGRINE'S GUILT WAS ON ACCOUNT OF THE Wingate lady
he'd failed to mention, the one sitting on a portable stool next to
his. They were sketching an enormous red granite pharaoh's head with
a partially broken crown: the head of Young Memnon that Belzoni had
sent back from Egypt.
    Unlike the Egyptian Hall, the museum was rarely crowded,
because it was so difficult to get tickets. It was easier, some said,
to obtain vouchers to Almack's Assembly Rooms, Society's most
exclusive gathering place.
    How Olivia Wingate had obtained a ticket Peregrine did
not and had rather not know.
    Though the place was deserted today, the two spoke in
whispers, and made sure to keep their pencils moving busily.
    "It will be easy enough for me to write to you in
Edinburgh," Olivia was assuring him.
    It was better she didn't write to him, Peregrine told
himself. Her letters were dangerous.
    He shouldn't be here with her. Not one of the adults in
his life would approve of her. For one thing, she was deceitful.
Today, for instance, her mother believed Olivia was here with a
school friend and the friend's mother.
    While Peregrine hadn't told his uncle about her, he
hadn't told any outright lies. His conscience nagged and pinched all
the same. She, on the other hand, didn't seem to own a conscience.
    He knew this, knew she was trouble. But he couldn't seem
to help himself. She