Rumours in the Regency Ballroom. Diane Gaston

      Adrian responded, accustomed to people asking him about Tanner. In fact, in this situation, he’d counted upon it. Mr Coutts scribbled the direction of Wexin’s solicitor on a sheet of paper and handed it to Adrian.

      The solicitor’s office was close by and Adrian quickly found the building and entered. A moment later he had been admitted to the man’s office.

      The solicitor was a younger man, near Adrian’s age, but obviously trusted with a great deal more responsibility. His desk was littered with papers that he hurriedly stacked into neat piles at Adrian’s entrance.

      “I am Mr Newton, my lord,” he said.

      Adrian shook his hand and explained his purpose, stressing it was at the behest of a friend that he inquired about Lady Wexin’s financial affairs.

      Adrian’s intention was to imply to Mr Newton that Lydia’s benefactor was Tanner, not Adrian. It was widely known that Tanner was a generous man, the sort of man who would assist Wexin’s widow. No one would suspect the frivolous Adrian Pomroy of such a thing.

      “I am certain you understand that my friend—” Adrian emphasised the word friend “—does not wish his name to be known. He fears the lady would refuse his assistance. My friend would say, however, that it is the right thing for him to do for her.”

      Because Tanner had been instrumental in exposing Wexin as a murderer, it was not too much of a leap of the imagination to think that Tanner might feel an obligation to assist Wexin’s innocent widow. In fact, Tanner would be very willing to assist Lydia, if he knew she needed help. He was that kind of man.

      Mr Newton blinked rapidly. “Of course, sir.”

      Adrian nodded. “The mar—my friend, I mean—” he smiled “—sent me in his stead. He is anxious to discover if Lady Wexin has any financial difficulty and, if so, charges me to see it remedied.”

      “I do understand.” Newton gestured to a chair and waited for Adrian to sit. “Would you care for tea?”

      “No, thank you.” Adrian lowered himself into the chair. “Tell me about Wexin’s finances.”

      Newton rubbed his face. “Wexin’s debts, you mean.” He peered at Adrian. “We speak in complete confidence, I presume.”

      “Indeed,” Adrian agreed.

      “Because even Lord Levenhorne does not know how bad it is.” Newton leaned over the desk. “There is nothing.”

      “Nothing?”

      “Worse than nothing. The townhouse is mortgaged to the hilt. There is only the entailed property, but even that is mortgaged, and it provides nothing to Lady Wexin. There is no money for Lady Wexin’s widow’s portion. I do not know how she is getting on. I have been unable to give her any funds at all.” His hand fluttered. “She assures me she is able to manage, but I do not see how.”

      Adrian’s chest constricted. “It is as I—we—feared.” He straightened in his chair. “Tell us what needs to be done.”

      Newton pulled out a wooden box, opened the lid, and lifted out a handful of small pieces of paper, letting them flow through his fingers like water. “Gentlemen have sent their vowels.” He picked up a stack of papers. “Shopkeepers have delivered their bills—”

      Adrian had no interest in Wexin’s debts. His purpose here was solely for Lydia. “What was the marriage settlement supposed to provide Lady Wexin?”

      Newton closed the lid of the box. “In the event of Wexin’s death, she was to receive the amount of her dower and the Mayfair townhouse.”

      Adrian could guess the value of the townhouse. “And the value of the dowry?”

      “Nine thousand pounds.”

      Adrian leaned back and drummed his fingers on the mahogany arms of the chair. He calculated the sums in his head and leaned forwards again. “This is what I will do…” Adrian glanced up at Newton. “On my friend’s behalf, I will assume the mortgage of the townhouse.” Levenhorne said the house had been a gift from Lydia’s father. Adrian would give it back to her. “And I will restore the dowry, but only under the stipulation that creditors are not to seek redress from Lady Wexin. Any debt must be attached to what was Wexin’s.”

      Newton’s jaw dropped. “Your friend would pay so much?”

      “He can afford the sum.” Adrian smiled inwardly.

      It was a staggering amount, but one Adrian was well able to afford. For years he had kept his gambling winnings, and the investments made from them, separate from his quarterly portion. It had been a game he played with himself to see how much he could win and also how much he could afford to lose. His quarterly portion from his father was more than adequate for his other needs.

      He’d done quite well at the game, quite well indeed, so well that he could restore Lydia’s widow’s portion, keep her in her London house and still have plenty of gambling money left over.

      “My friend wishes the lady to have fifty pounds immediately and to have the townhouse in her name.”

      Newton nodded, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

      Adrian pointed to the wooden box. “How many unpaid bills pertain to the lady’s belongings or to the contents of the house?”

      Newton riffled through the papers again. “I would have to do a careful calculation, but it is not as bad a debt as some of the others. Perhaps as much as two hundred pounds?”

      “Those will be paid as well. I want—and my friend wants, as well—that Wexin’s debts do not cause her any more suffering.”

      “I understand completely, sir.” Newton’s mouth widened into a smile.

      Adrian returned the expression. “Need I add that no hint, no speculation as to the identity of her benefactor must ever be divulged to her? Or my small part in this?”

      Newton gave him a level gaze. “It will be kept in complete confidence. I have been successful in keeping the extent of Wexin’s debts from becoming public knowledge, and I certainly can keep Lady Wexin’s affairs private.”

      Affairs.

      The word sparked the memory of Adrian’s very brief affair with Lydia, an affair she was loath to continue.

      He supposed he was mad for bestowing a small fortune on a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. It was not like him to invest time or money in a lady who had no regard for him, but what would happen to Lydia if he did not assist her? He was investing in her happiness, a divergence from indulging in his own.

      What’s more, it was his money to do with as he wished. And he wished to do good with it, to feel a scant bit useful in this world. Besides, it gave him a new game to play, to see how long it would take to recoup the amount of money he had invested in Lydia. How many card games and horse races and other wagering would he have to engage in before he earned back the total amount? It was a game.

      Nothing more.

      Adrian and Newton completed all the arrangements and shook hands. When Adrian walked back to the Strand, the sun was peeking through the clouds. He headed in the direction of waiting hackney coaches, feeling both exhilarated and deflated.

      The next morning from the drawing-room window, Lydia watched Mr Newton leave her townhouse. As soon as he stepped onto The pavement, he was accosted by a throng of newspaper men. Mr Newton pushed his way through them, waving a hand and shaking his head.

      She breathed a sigh of relief. Mr Newton had not stopped to talk to the newspaper men. She ought to have known. Mr Newton had not breathed a word of how distressed Wexin’s finances had been, and still were. It appeared Mr Newton would also not discuss this reversal of her misfortune, this restoring of her finances.

      It was too remarkable to be true. Her widow’s portion was restored and the house was securely