“My next move is to accompany Matilda tomorrow to this meeting with the prospective buyer. I will create the impression that I am her man of business and form my own opinion of the buyer, if he has the courage to show up in person. The men will follow Merridew from the meeting, or watch the solicitors’ office until Merridew is sent a message.”

“You’ve sent men to Oxford, you’re regularly patrolling Matilda’s house, and now you have the solicitors’ office under surveillance.”

“Almost as if I anticipate a battle, isn’t it?”

A tap on the door effected an amazing transformation in MacKay’s features. A convincing scowl was replaced by beaming benevolence.

“Come in, darling wife.”

Dorcas MacKay opened the door and returned besotted fire with a dazzling smile. “Husband, our Michael has come to call. I’ve sent for the tea tray. My lord, are you acquainted with my brother?”

Tremont bowed as the most strikingly handsome fellow he’d ever beheld was introduced to him. Michael Delancey’s features were masculine perfection, from clean jaw, to patrician nose, to dark hair curling just so over a noble brow. He was a good-sized specimen, but one did not notice that at first, given the splendor of his physiognomy.

“Lord Tremont, a pleasure.” Delancey bowed in return. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

He had the plummy vowels of the Oxonian and the cultivated deference of the young churchman-with-great-potential. Something about his eyes nonetheless conveyed restlessness.

“I was just leaving,” Tremont replied. “Might I put a question to you in parting, Mr. Delancey?”

“Of course.”

“You attended Oxford. Are you familiar with the surrounds of Worthy Street?”

“I am,” he said, his gracious smile turning quizzical. “Among the students, the name was something of a joke. The activities common to the neighborhood were anything but worthy in the opinion of the faculty. Dicing, drink, and other dubious diversions. One learned to avoid Worthy Street unless one wanted to be relieved of all of his coin and half of his wits, not in that order.”

No judgment clouded that disclosure. If anything, Delancey sounded wistful.

“And do you recall an inn just south of Oxford doing business as the Hungry Hound?”

“I recall no such establishment, my lord, and I traveled the Oxford Road frequently, because I took all my breaks with my family here in London.”

“Thank you,” Tremont said. “You have appeased my curiosity. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Mrs. MacKay, Major, good day.”

MacKay scooted past his wife and brother-in-law and around a footman bearing an enormous tea tray. “I’ll see ye out.”

In the foyer, Tremont donned his cloak and hat and prepared to walk half the length of London in increasingly wintry weather. Another conference with the solicitors was in order.