“The very one.”
He rubbed his scruffy chin. “Does … er … the duke know? Because I was under the impression that his sister had set her cap for you.”
That again. “Lady Chloe has set her cap for no one, least of allme. And no, the duke doesn’t know yet. He’s up north. So is Lady Chloe, actually.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” Beasley frowned. “And Miss Bernard has accepted you?”
Of course she’s accepted me. I’m a bloody earl, for God’s sake.
No, he could hardly say that. She had been surprisingly reticent.
“Yes, she’s accepted me.” If one could call it that. “In any case, as my fiancée, she has brought a matter to my attention that I promised to discuss with you.”
He tugged the sheaf of papers out of the pouch he’d brought in, and Beasley’s eyes went wide. “My lord, I should probably warn you—”
“No need. Jon and I had already guessed that you undoubtedly provided them to the Bernard ladies. It’s fine. We would never reveal what we know to anyone. We owe you too much for that.”
Mr. Beasley reddened. “You and the others don’t owe me anything. I was happy to help. And it’s not as if you ever got to use the passports.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Heathbrook said. “But that’s why I’m here.” Swiftly, he explained about Lewis Nash and what had alarmed Giselle. Then he drew out the sketch she’d done and handed it to Beasley as the man’s daughter entered and came toward them with the tray.
“This is the fellow,” Heathbrook said. “Do you know him? Or why he’d be asking about your handiwork?”
The tray clattered on the floor next to him, scattering lemon biscuits, breaking crockery, and splashing tea on them both. Beasley’s daughter stood there, ashen faced, staring at the sketch.
“Sarah, what the devil?” Beasley cried. Then he followed her gaze to the sketch and groaned. “Aye, my lord. We know the fellow. And his name isn’t Lewis Nash. It’s Vaughan Jones, who was Sarah’s beau in Verdun a little more than three years ago. Until I found out he wanted to marry her right away, and I sent him packing.”
Sarah knelt to start picking up the broken crockery and tossing it onto the tray, along with the lemon biscuits. “I thought he was a nice man at first. But when Papa told him he had to wait until I wasat least seventeen to marry me, he went into a rage and made all manner of accusations against my father. It frightened me something sore.” She rose with the tray full of broken bits in her hands. “After that, I refused to see him anymore.”
“Very wise of you,” Heathbrook said gently. He might have had a fierce temper himself in the past, but he had never loosed it on women.
Her father set down the sketch. “Sarah, my sweet, go on upstairs now. I need to speak to his lordship privately a moment. Close the door behind you when you leave.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, and did as he bade.
Only when the door was firmly closed did Beasley speak again. “When I refused to let Jones see Sarah, the arse tried to report me to the commandant for doing those woodcuts that mocked Napoleon.”
“The ones that were handed about town? I remember those. We all laughed ourselves silly over them. But I never heard that you were involved.”
After fetching a broom by the door, Beasley swept up the shards Sarah hadn’t seen and pushed them over to a grate. “Fortunately, when Courcelles sent the gendarmerie to search my rooms, a French friend of mine warned me in time for me to hide the wood blocks.”
“So, it was indeed you who did the woodcuts,” Heathbrook said.
A small smile graced his lips. “With the help of Sarah, who sketched the designs I carved into the blocks. Jones must have seen one of her sketches when he was with Sarah and recognized the style of art in the woodcut.”
That gave Heathbrook pause. He lowered his voice. “Could Jones have been the one who reported me and the others to Courcelles? Could he have guessed you had forged our papers?”
Beasley frowned. “It’s possible, I suppose. But why wouldn’t he just have turnedmein for that? Why drag you four into it?”
“He’d already tried reporting you for the engravings, and it hadn’t worked. So, perhaps he thought that reporting our escape would lead to your passports being discovered on our persons—tangible proof ofsomeone’sinvolvement. Then Courcelles would demand from us the truth of who made them, which would result in you being arrested and sent off to Bitche, too.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Beasley got a funny look on his face. “To be honest, after they captured the four of you, I kept expecting a knock at the door, but it never came. So, if that was his plan, it didn’t work.” Guilt shone in his eyes. “Even though I did hear that they tortured all of you for the truth.”
Heathbrook shrugged. “They tied us up and pummeled us a bit. Threatened us. But it wasn’t too bad. Jon got off light because he was a duke’s son, I got off light because I was an earl’s heir, and Morris got off light because he was old and had injured his leg in the escape.”
All right, so he was downplaying the events of their brief stay in the Citadel, but Heathbrook generally tried not to dwell on that part of the whole affair. He went on. “Really, the main punishment was marching us off to Bitche, especially in the winter, and by then there was no point to telling them your part, anyway. Not that we would have.”
“And the captain?” Beasley prodded. “Did he not ‘get off light’?”