trapped for hours by good manners if he didn’t make efforts to keep things in line.
“Hmm.” Lady Eccleston’s round little chin jerked rapidly up and down as she chewed her biscuit. “I think so—no one’s talking about ruination, and as you know, the only thing more exciting than a new fortune is imminent ruin.”
“Yes,” said Gerard dryly. “So I have learned. But what of Lady Howe?”
Lady Eccleston popped the last of the biscuit into her mouth. Her eyes grew faraway with thought. “I don’t know very much,” she said at last, sounding surprised and disappointed by her own failing. “I don’t think she’s been much in London. Howe was here every Season, of course, but if he ever brought his wife, I can’t recall it. He certainly gave everyone the impression she was delicate, or painfully shy, or some such thing. There were rumors she was deformed or disfigured, but I doubt that; Howe was much too proud to marry a gargoyle, even one with a large fortune. But I’ve never met her. I know of her mother—Mary Hollenbrook. Would you like to hear about her?”
Gerard hesitated, then nodded. Every little bit was important, given his complete lack of knowledge.
Lady Eccleston flashed him a bright smile and took a deep breath. “She was quite a beauty! No money in her family, of course, but her father was a baron, which made her proud. Well, not too proud, for she married a tradesman of some sort, although he was rich when she married him, then grew exceedingly richer. I must say, those marriages rarely work out; it’s much better when the bride brings money into a noble family, then everyone is happy. If she marries down just because he’s rich, why, what’s the result? They might have connections because of her, but really the result is the same, merely more tradesmen.”
“Which is precisely what Lady Howe did,” Gerard interrupted. “And I gather it wasn’t terribly happy.”
She shrugged it off. “Oh, well, at least it was the proper order of things! One can never account for happiness in marriage anyway, it’s too unpredictable—anything with men always is. But Mrs. Hollenbrook—I think she must have been disappointed in her daughter. All the beauties are when their daughters are plain. No doubt that’s why she was in favor of the Howe marriage. Howe was a handsome man in his youth, but by the time he married he was forty or more.” She paused for breath.
“Poor young lady,” said Margaret. “How terrible to be an heiress, then wed to a man old enough to be your father.”
“Perhaps he was the only one who’d have her.”
“Clarissa, you know very well she could have horns on her head and still be a sought-after girl, given a large enough dowry.”
Lady Eccleston giggled like a girl. “Why, that is very true! And I do believe she must have had an enormous one, for Howe couldn’t keep two farthings if someone sewed them to his glove.”
“Then she’s a respectable lady?” Gerard asked in one last desperate attempt to get anything useful from this. “I know she’s not a great beauty. I know she has a fortune. I want to know something of her character as well as her situation.”
Lady Eccleston thought so hard, her face turned pink. Gerard could almost see the wheels frantically spinning inside her brain as she searched for any scrap of information about Katherine Howe. “I just don’t know,” she admitted at last. “She’s not out in society much, or if she is, she’s so quiet and withdrawn, no one speaks of her.”
“But she’s in London now,” Gerard murmured, half to himself. “I wonder why . . . ?”
“Is she?” Lady Eccleston perked up. “A wealthy widow, come to town? I must hear more of this!”
“Clarissa, Gerard is considering marrying her,” Margaret reminded her friend. “And you promised not to say a word.”
She pursed her lips in affront. “Of course, Margaret,” she exclaimed. “But whatever I hear, I would be sure to tell dear Gerard right away!”
The solicitor. Of course, Gerard realized; she was in town because it was her money now. She must have wanted to see Mr. Tyrell herself, or needed to, in order to sign papers. Lucien Howe must be hoping to draw up marriage contracts as well. Tyrell mentioned Howe had been to see him.
“I beg pardon, Lady Eccleston,” he said, interrupting the good-natured bickering between his aunt and her friend. “Do you happen to know where the Howes are lodging?”
“Portman Square,”