Did she want to end up wed to that nitwit?
I don’t want her to marry Healey.
Admitting a problem was the first step toward solving it, wise words from the late Viscount Worthington before he’d stooped so low as to tup the woman his son was intent on marrying. The only other person to know of his father’s poor decision making was Charles’s brother. He’d never even told Drew.
“Mr. Worthington.” Healey immediately stepped back from Aurora, leaving one arm to hover possessively near her waist. A silent claim on Aurora. Healey’s features ruffled between annoyance and outright challenge at Charles.
Twit.
“My apologies,” Charles said smoothly, ignoring Aurora’s furious look. “But I’ve just come about Lord Kenebruke. You may want to have a word with him, Mr. Healey.”
Chasing Aurora when he wasn’t supposed to and having his thoughts invaded by images of Cecily had put Charles in a mood. Following the pair to the terrace, Charles had made the unfortunate decision to step inside a small parlor hoping for aglass of brandy to help smooth over his emotions. Champagne wasn’t working. And Travers was a well-known sot. He had bottles stashed all over his house.
But instead of a finely stocked sideboard, he had been greeted by—Good lord.As jaded as Charles was, he had difficulty finding the right words.
“A delicate situation has come about,” he finally said to Healey.
Aurora narrowed her eyes at him.
He glared back at her.
“This again, Worthington?” Healey shook his head as if Charles was merely a gnat that continuously annoyed him. Couldn’t Aurora see what a pompous idiot he was?
“Have you upset Lord Kenebruke once more with claims of increasing his wealth with your tales of profitable investments?” A cutting laugh sounded. “How dare you take advantage of an elderly gentleman only recovering from his illness.” Healey’s palm landed at the base of Aurora’s spine.
His head would explode if Healey did not step away from Aurora.
“I am handling my uncle’s business, Mr. Worthington. I alone am in charge of his affairs.” Healey puffed out his chest. “I don’t care for the proposition you’ve put forth. I’ve reviewed the papers thoroughly and found your investment advice unsound.”
So Kenebruke hadn’t bothered to tell Healey that the papers had already been signed. He was completely unaware that Kenebruke, Charles, and Drew were now partners in a string of textile mills. Healey had pushed him in the ballroom out of pure dislike.
“That’s unfortunate,” Charles mused. His temples ached from listening to Healey prance about like that rooster Drew kept at Blackbird Heath.
“My uncle has been quite ill. Your persistence is not helping him heal.”
Prig. “Well, Lord Kenebruke did appear to be in pain a few moments ago.” The good sort. But Charles kept that to himself.
Healey took a step in the direction of the terrace doors, brows drawn together in concern. “Has he fallen? Or had a fit of some sort?”
“I suppose you might say that.” Charles nodded. “Heislying down.”
“How thoughtful of you, Mr. Worthington, to come all the way out here to find Mr. Healey and inform him of the situation.”
Aurora’s eyes drew into slits. Not once since Charles arrived had she even attempted to pretend mortification over tossing herself at Healey.
My God. Couldn’t she at least pretend?
“I thought Mr. Healey might wish to know,” he shot back, watching the spate of conflicting emotions across Healey’s face as he tried to determine what to do. Should he drag Aurora inside with him, make a polite excuse, and leave her with the dowager or sprint directly to Kenebruke?
Choices. Choices.
“I’ll escort Lady Aurora back inside to Miss Maplehurst,” Healey finally said.
“That will be difficult. I fear Miss Maplehurst is otherwise occupied.” Charles leaned back and clasped his arms.
Healey’s brows disappeared into his hairline. His mouth popped open in horror before snapping shut. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Aurora,” he sputtered. “Given my uncle’s health, I must see to him immediately.”
“I think he’s recovered quite well,” Charles said blandly.
