Chapter 10

The Foggs were waiting in the parlor. Rebecca sat in a chair while Phileas wandered around, coming to a stop at a window that overlooked Eleanor's fine garden. He, his brother, and Rebecca had played back there as children. What he saw on their old playground made him beacon Rebecca to the window.

Rebecca looked out and saw Katharine sitting on a bench with a gentleman. They were talking and sitting together with an easy air of familiarity. The gentleman took her hand, which he had been holding the whole time, and planted a chaste kiss on her knuckles, before putting a lingering one in her palm.

"Could he be her Scottish suitor?" Phileas said.

Rebecca chuckled. "If he isn't a suitor, he will become one if Eleanor sees this."

She judged the man a little older than Katharine. They made a handsome matched couple in the trellis's shade.

Phileas looked on with relief. Maybe he can take over the escort duties for me. He didn't like being put in Katharine's company, so such. People would talk and he didn't want to make explanations.

Her companion let go of her hand, allowing Katharine to leave, but he did not look happy about the loss of her company.

"Katharine is getting a good bargain out of this family set up," Rebecca said. The chiseled features and soft expressions on that face were to die for. Men who looked at women with such expressions were undoubtedly in love. Rebecca felt herself relax toward her new friend's marital predicament.

In a few more moments, Katharine entered the parlor, ready to go. The three left, not noticing that a one-horse buggy entered the road following at a discreet distance.

The play was quite good. Not wonderful, but an acceptable afternoon's entertainment. Into lunch, Rebecca asked about the gentleman in the garden.

"That was Andrew McCollum," Katharine said. "He came down from Scotland and for a stay in London, with two others. I should tell you; we might not go out as often now that he has come."

Rebecca smiled. "That would be expected."

"No," Katharine continued. "You misunderstand. Andrew is insisting that I have a constant escort here in London. Mr. Robertson will go with me whenever I leave the house from now on, and I know you are not used to such things."

"Oh, I see," Rebecca replied. "Well, that should not hold us back too much. Who is this Mr. Robertson?"

"He is my family chieftain. An uncle of sorts."

"With the name of Robertson?"

"He is married in," she continued. "We have a tournament for that office. The family name is not required, just a connection and residency. He was a ship's marine under my father before I was born."

"Gruff old salt?" Phileas inquired.

Katharine giggled. "With my cousins always, but not with me. He has four daughters of his own, all much older. I will introduce you if you like when we get back to the house. If we are lucky, he might even tell us a few sea tales. Mr. Robertson sailed in the Caribbean in the early twenties before signing on with father. There are even rumors that he sailed with pirates before joining the family fleet. He doesn't say so, though."

"Speaking of your return, I have another appointment," Phileas broke in. "Perhaps I could drop you and Rebecca off on the way so you could spend more time together."

"That is quite good of you, Phileas," Rebecca said.

They found a hired carriage and headed back. The buggy, a full block away, pulled out after them. So did a pair of horseman, moving closer to the carriage.

William Robertson had watched the horsemen shadow Mary Kate's carriage two blocks from the countess's home. He had recognized one as the man he had followed to a telegraph office at the Scottish border a week ago. He had wondered if they followed his lady here. There was no reason to think so until last year.

Andrew brought James to handle these people. Sir James was to follow and identify them if possible. If he could get close enough to catch one, that would be a boon. The boy had skills.

Andrew had graciously included Robertson out of recognition that Katharine's protection had always been his traditional responsibility. His duchess did not know what they were doing. That had been Andrew's choice, not his. Robertson had agreed in principle, though it had been against his better judgment. Bloody hell will be paid when she finds out, especially when she finds out I agreed to it.

Robertson caught sight of James while the others were having their lunch, working his way up on the one sitting at the edge of the café, alone. He did not get too close. They did not want to chase them away at this point.

The lad was making the old man proud. James had been one of the pack of arrogant pups on the island who followed him around. Robertson had taken a few of them under wing and taught them a few things. He had shown them a few fencing moves one didn't get in formal training and hand to hand skills he had picked up on the docks of several countries. Robertson had been sure James was destined for the fleet. But his father force-fed his son an army commission.

Coming back to the present, the old marine knew the two of them could not play cat and mouse like this for the next two months. These pests were professionals and would not remain unaware for long.

Robertson was considering a course of action. Neither he nor Sir James knew London. They needed help, and as much as he disliked getting outsiders involved in family dealings, the best candidate was sitting with his duchess right now. Robertson had been in the garden and had overheard his lady telling Andrew Phileas Fogg's background.

Andrew was too prideful. And this man, by appearances, was a rival for the lady's affections. That would damn it twice. Technically, however, he did not answer Andrew. Phileas Fogg was the only person Robertson knew with the background to find out things he wanted to know.

I'll pay a visit to Phileas Fogg this evening.