plans and is trying to destroy our lives, and I don’t want to see his wicked lying face again!” She ran sobbing from the room.
“Excuse me,” Hammond said heavily as he rose. “It’s been a bone of contention. But now you’re here, it will resolve itself.” He left the room in pursuit of his fiancée.
Julianne was left sitting alone, looking at a plate of cooling eggs, trying to ignore the sympathetic gaze of the footman clearing the table. She felt sorry for Hammond, a nice young man, who seemed to be in love with her cousin. Sophie was acting as though she wanted him to challenge the imposter to a duel. Certainly, she mused, if a woman loved a fellow, it would be painful to see him lose a rich heritage. But wouldn’t it hurt his feelings if all that carrying on led him to think that was all she cared about?
Still, maybe that was all Sophie cared for, Julianne thought, as she went upstairs to wait to prepare for what was bound to be a long day.
Julianne was disappointed; she’d thought a Bow Street runner would be dashing. She could have passed him in the street, town or country, and not noticed him. Mr. Murchison was a short, thickset middle-aged man; he dressed like a clerk and spoke in London accents. But then she noticed that his dark, deep-set eyes missed nothing.
As they stood in the hall waiting for a carriage that was being brought round, he studied her from underhis bushy brows. Then he gave her his instructions.
“You’re off to Egremont, eh? Well, now, if you should run into this fellow who claims to be the heir,” he told Julianne, “because you may, as he’s been poking around the manor, all you need to do for now, Miss, is get a good long decko at him. Look at him close, I mean. Don’t try to be clever. Don’t try to trap him or lure him, trip him or test him. He’d be better at that than you. Leave that to me.”
She smiled. “I’d no intention of anything of the sort. As I told my cousins, I was just a little girl when I last saw him. I doubt I’ll recognize him any more than he’d recognize me. I certainly won’t challenge him. I wouldn’t even know how to begin! And,” she added, “there’s been talk about how suddenly the succession came to him. I’m a great coward. I wouldn’t like to anger a villain.”
The runner shot a dark look at the squire. “I told you, no need for spreading such talk, sir! Only muddies the water. A great many heirs died in a row, but it happens in the best of families, and there’s not a scrap of proof one way or the other. Mr. Hammond here is right, better relations with the fellow would make my work easier. It’s easier to find out things about a man who thinks he’s a friend than one who feels you’re his enemy. Don’t have to get under the covers with him, missy,” he told Sophie, who gasped. “But there’s nothing amiss with being polite. Oh, aye, sorry. My talk’s a bit rough. But it’s straight. Now, if anyone thinks of anything they’d like to tell me, anytime, I’m stopping at the White Hart, a message will always find me there.”
“Isn’t that where he’s staying?” Sophie asked.
“Aye,” he said. “And where we two have lifted a pint many a night since I got there. Well, here’s your coach. Good afternoon.” He clapped on his hat and stalked from the house.
Julianne was glad to step out of the house, too, and not just because it was a mild spring afternoon. But she’d noticed that there was increased tension between Sophie and Hammond, and she didn’t know whom to speak to or what to say. So she got into the carriage, anxious to see the great estate that was the reason for her visit and even more hopeful of getting a glimpse of the man who had started all the fuss.
They drove off. Julianne sat back and enjoyed watching the countryside as it responded to the spring sunshine. They passed long green pastures filled with fat sheep and plump cattle, fields of sunshine-bright hops and rapeseed, and meadows