hadn’t gotten that far.
Tom was watching him with open amusement.
Arthur wondered where he’d thought he was going when he decided to talk to the señora. If she was offering encouragement, what then? He examined the idea of Teresa Alvarez as a wife. His wife. And found it enormously appealing.
Tom was called to help with another man’s project. As it was clearly going to take some time, Arthur waved a farewell and left the workshop. His mind was so full of new thoughts that he nearly collided with a small man outside the door. The fellow offered him a bow, and said, “Good day, sir. I noticed you were speaking with the lady who left a few minutes ago.”
Arthur stopped, surprised. “Señora Alvarez?”
“Alv…ah, yes. I was coming up the street just now to pay her a visit. But she was away before I could speak.”
How then did he know that Arthur had been talking to her?
“I was acquainted with her in Spain, you see,” the man added.
Arthur examined him—slender, inches shorter than he. His clothes were foreign, as was his face with its dark eyes and aquiline nose. He realized that those eyes were making a thorough evaluation of him as well. They held a subtle gleam of cunning. “Indeed?” he said.
The man smiled. “Indeed. I am Conde Alessandro de la Cerda.”
“Macklin.” Arthur knew this was not enough information for a foreigner to identify him, but he found he didn’t care to say more. There was something about the man that he didn’t quite like. He was rather…professionally ingratiating. Arthur’s position in life made the type familiar. Though this fellow was quite good at it.
“You are also a friend of…Señora Alvarez?”
“I met her recently.”
“Ah, a most charming lady, as all her old friends would attest.”
A jumble of curiosity and caution, along with a lamentable tinge of jealousy, unsettled Arthur.
“Such an odd place to find her though,” the man added.
“Is it?”
The conde looked up and down the shabby street. “So very…primitive.”
“As opposed to?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where would you expect to find her? If not this sort of place.”
“Ah.” The man’s smile this time was satisfied, like a fisherman who felt a tug on his line. “A noble household with all of its…luxuries. Of course.”
There was definitely something off about this fellow. All Arthur’s instincts told him so. He was ready to walk away. Yet he couldn’t help asking, “Were you a friend of her husband?”
“Her…? Oh. No. Not her husband.”
Something badly off. The Spaniard had been oddly surprised by that question.
“I did know many others very…close to her.”
He wanted Arthur to draw him out. He wanted to dole out bits of gossip and be courted for more. And certainly rewarded for his knowledge. He was that sort of weasel. This exchange was feeling deeply distasteful. But Arthur’s protective impulses had also been roused. “How did you find her here?”
The Spaniard was off-balance for only a moment. Then he made an airy gesture. “I have been asking about old friends at the embassy.”
The señora had shown no sign of being in communication with Spanish diplomats, Arthur thought. His own inquiries had confirmed that. He wondered suddenly if he had alerted them to her presence by asking.
“His Excellency was very accommodating,” the other man added.
Immediately certain that the fellow was not acquainted with the Spanish ambassador, Arthur turned away. “I have an engagement,” he said. “I must go.”
“I will walk with you, if you permit. I am not familiar with London and often find myself quite lost.” A self-deprecating gesture and smile accompanied this admission.
Arthur could not refuse such a request without a degree of rudeness he was unwilling to employ. As yet. It might be that he would eventually. No, undoubtedly he would. This sort of toadeater required definitive discouragement.
“Perhaps you could recommend to me the best ways to make acquaintances in English society,” the conde continued as they walked.
If he thought to wangle an invitation from Arthur, he was fair and far off. “I’m sure your friend the ambassador could help you,” he replied.
“Of course. But I would not wish to take too much of his time.”
Arthur amused himself by deflecting the man’s sallies for the remainder of the walk. It was rather like a game of tennis in which he declined every serve. As he shed the man’s unwanted company at the door of his club, he determined to warn Señora Alvarez about this insinuating conde. He suspected she would not think much of him.
* * *
Teresa met Tom at the